Page 94 of A Secret and a Lie
“I brought you dinner,” I announce quietly, stepping into the dark study. The smell of black pepper and tobacco fill every inch of the room, every atom absorbing Ford’s scent. It’s heady and addictive, a smell I want to bathe in, which means I should leave.
His head flicks up, his eyes landing on mine. They’re gentle in the low, warm lighting. “Thank you.”
I simply nod, placing his dinner on the corner of the desk. Thisis when I should back out of the room, leaving him to whatever paperwork is driving him insane.
Alternatively, I find myself glancing around the space, taking in the two walls of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with old books with yellowing pages. The gas fireplace is lit on a low setting, the marigold flames shifting to ice blue as they dance. The room is decorated in dark, masculine colors that give it a cozy ambiance that tempts me to curl up with a book.
“I like your office,” I find myself saying.
He cocks his head to the side slightly, assessing me before dipping his chin in a short nod, his attention snagging briefly on my wedding band. I avoid looking at his. We scrutinize each other for a moment, and I wonder if he’ll speak. I don’t know what I’d want him to say. If I thought he could undo the last several months of my life with a statement, I’d beg him on my knees to curl his tongue around the syllables. But there are no words that will alter the course our lives have taken.
I’m set on the path of destruction. There’s no deviating now, not even if I want to. I’m desperate to reclaim the position of power I’ve granted myself, to control those who seek to control others. I want it back: my business, my family, my authority.
It’s such a shame that Ford couldn’t be the man I thought he was when he was posing as a sub in my playroom, the same man who would make my heart race and my knees want to bend with only a look. It’s too bad he couldn’t be the same man I’d spend my nights messaging online, the man who became my refuge.
Pain sears my chest like a branding iron, and I find myself speaking from the point of agony. “When did you know it was me?”
As he leans back in his large leather chair, his gaze finds mine. “Your reaction to being calleddollshould’ve been my first clue, but it wasn’t until you mentioned trusting the wrong person that things clicked into place. And when you said you hated that 3 Doors Down song, that’s the moment I knew exactly who you were.”
He never stopped looking for me.He doesn’t sayit, but he doesn’t have to. It’s obvious that he held on to the things I told him fourteen years ago, hunted for me in every conversation, wanted to find me around every corner.
I can’t say I did the same. In fact, I forced myself not to think of him. It was easier to move on if I told myself that he was a dream lost to time.
He’s silent for a long moment before adding sincerely, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you back then, whatever or whomever it was that kept you from me.”
My throat burns, and I twist my lips, biting my tongue hard to shut down the emotion building. “I saved myself,” I assert cryptically.
“You shouldn’t have had to.”
“Is that why you rescued me from prison like some kind of white knight?” I don’t hide the derisiveness from my tone.
The left side of his mouth lifts. “You’re mistaken. A white night doesn’t commitfeloniesto get you out of prison. A white night doesn’t spend weeks crafting a very illegal plan and allocate seven figures to making sure you get off on a technicality. I didn’t do it to be a hero of any kind, or because I felt guilty for whatever happened fourteen years ago. I did it foryou.”
“You hardly know me,” I argue, my voice only a notch above a whisper.
He scoffs. “I know you quite well, actually. French onion soup is your favorite, especially when it’s served with a fresh, crusty piece of bread. You prefer the color red to any other, and you’d rather have new shoes than a new handbag. Your sweet tooth could rival that of a pastry chef’s. You wash your sheets on Sundays. You care more for the lives of others than you do your own, and you guard your heart to protect yourself. I know you, Genevieve.”
My pulse whirs faster than a jet engine, my knees threatening to buckle, my body melting as the iron bars around my heart fall away.
My breath hitches, my jaw slackening, but what the fuck can I say to something like that? I’m tempted to ask what, specifically,that means, but if I do, I’ll be forced to contend with the answer. And that’s not something I’m quite ready for.
A part of me is tempted to tell him that I know him, too. Like how the color of his eyes makes him think of his parents, and that he’s a bit of a food snob. He prefers his steak medium rare and indulges in breakfast food with extra syrup. I know that the deep, throaty sound of his laugh haunted me for years to the point that I’d swear I heard it even when no one was around. He doesn’t like to talk about his years in the military, but there are pockets of that time that he still likes to laugh about. He can dance, maybe better than a professional, and his arms feel like home. I’m well-versed in the subject of Ford Crawford, but I don’t divulge any of that.
I move for the door, desperate for some space to think, to breathe, to fortify myself, but I’ve only taken a couple of steps when he stops me. “Gen.”
Twisting my neck, I meet his gaze, finding a glimmer of sadness and hope reflected back at me.
“What movies did I miss?”
Something in my chest shifts. If I didn’t know better, I’d be seeking medical attention for this feeling. I hate that I know exactly what he’s talking about; referencing a conversation from our past life and how I mentioned that I like to spend my Saturdays curled up with a movie.I’ll beg you to show me every movie I missed.
Even after all the time I spent trying to forget, I still remember those messages. They’re embedded in my mind, permanently fixed.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen one in fourteen years.”Haven’t wanted to, not without you.That pastime was ruined for me when I pulled that trigger and the walls were painted in shades of Leo.
Something indecipherable slides across his vision, even in the low light of the room. “What happened after that night? Is that when Allison was born?”
It’s obvious which night he’s referring to, and it was only a matter of time before he truly broached this subject. I’m honestly surprisedhe didn’t go directly for the obvious question ofwhy didn’t you come to Logan Circle?It’ll be mentioned at some point, though, I’m sure.
