Page 54 of Ice Cold Christmas
But she ignored the cold and stared at the home before her. Her home. The place Melody had bought and lived in for the last three years. The exterior bricks had been painted a dark gray, but the front door was a bold red.
“Your favorite color,” he said. “Red.”
They climbed up the steps, and, automatically, her free hand reached for the black railing. Snow completely covered the bushes near the stoop but, in her mind, she could almost see them…green, bursting with flowers in the summer.
Is that a memory? Or just something I want to be true?
He unlocked the door. “Ladies first.”
Right. And she shouldn’t be hesitating. She shouldn’t be so nervous. But she was. She edged across the threshold and into her home.
Wooden floors.
“Those are the original floors.” He shut the door behind them. “I know because you told me. Architecture is one of your things. You’ve got ten-foot ceilings, bay windows…”
Her gaze lifted to the ceiling and lingered on the chandelier. Then she crept forward, moving toward the white banister that waited in the entranceway. Her hand pulled from his as she reached out to touch the wood. A large, gold and white rug covered the hardwood floor.
The house smelled fresh. Lemony. She turned her head and darted to the left, going into the den. Inside, white bookshelves were lined with dozens of titles. Romances. Thrillers. And bold, big abstract artwork covered two of the walls.
Victor had followed her into the den. He pointed to the closest piece of artwork. One with bright red and blue splotches. “You told me that was your Jackson Pollack period.”
She spun toward him. “I painted those?”
“Um. Yep. You explained to me once that you’ve never been good at painting between the lines, but you could do anything you wanted with abstracts.”
She glanced back at the paintings. Then she crept toward the soft, white couches. Two of them. Facing each other. With a fireplace in the middle. A red throw had been tossed over the side of one couch.
Unease prickled at her nape. “Is someone living here?” Then, worried and angry, she hurried from the den. Practically ran down the small hallway and into the kitchen. White cabinets. Marble countertops. An oven mitt on the counter. “Is someone here?” she demanded, voice more agitated because someone else had to be living there. There was no dust. She’d been gone a year, but the place was spotless. The oven mitt was positioned on the counter as if someone had been baking recently, and the throw had been tossed to the side as if someone had just finished snuggling beneath it and?—
“I have a cleaning team come in every two weeks.”
She’d been preparing to rush from the kitchen. Maybe from the whole house. Someone else is here. This isn’t my home any longer. Yet now Melody felt rooted to the spot.
“No one else is here. It’s your home. Everything is just as you left it.” Victor’s lips pressed together. “Okay. That’s not exactly true. I had the Christmas decorations taken down. And I, um, I moved all the wrapped presents you had to my place. I just wanted to keep them safe for you. I didn’t open anything.”
She shook her head, not understanding. “You—you had someone coming to clean? You left it all the same?” For an entire year? Her chest began to ache.
“When the cops finally did search your home, they left a damn mess.” His mouth tightened. “At first, I had the cleaning crew come in to get things back in shape. Not like I could have you coming home and finding things that way.”
He sounds so certain that I would be back. That ache in her chest grew stronger.
“But after the first big cleaning, then…then I realized you could come back any day. I wanted it ready for you. Always ready for when you came home.”
Her eyes widened. And it hit her. Really hit her. It one hundred percent sank in. Something that she had not fully realized until this moment. “My God.”
“Your bedroom is upstairs.”
She didn’t go upstairs. She did not move from that spot. “You loved her.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “You are her.”
“And she…I loved you?” A stark question.
“Told you, you were going to marry me.” A half smile. One that was somehow sad. Questioning? “You think you would have agreed to marry someone you didn’t love?”
Her chest didn’t ache. It burned. And then she was rushing away. Running down the hallway. Up the staircase. Her feet thudded on the wooden steps and when she reached the landing, she spun to the right. The door was open. As if the room was waiting for her.
Then again, he’d had the whole house ready and waiting for her. For an entire year.
