Page 19 of A Whirlwind of Color (The Light to My Darkness 2)

I had never been in love before. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Or what I should suspect. All I knew was that his gaze made me nervous. And when he touched me I felt like I had been zapped by a bug zapper. I took a huge gulp of my wine. “This is great.”

“I’m pretty sure that bottle has been open for weeks.”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. This is actually my first glass of wine.” I swirled it in my glass as I looked down at the amber liquid. “So, we opened it before my accident? I mean…is that what it was? An accident? No one’s told me what happened.”

“It’s a conversation for another day. When you’re able to remember.”

“But what if I never remember?”

He shook his head. “You will.” But his tone screamed, “you have to.”

I took another sip of my wine. “It must have been something serious. I have scars on my stomach. And I’m…fat.”

“Baby, you are not fat.”

The way he said “baby” made goosebumps rise on my skin. Did he often call me that? I liked the way it sounded. “Baby.” I smiled. “No one’s ever called me that.” I awkwardly cleared my throat. “Besides you, I mean. You call me that.”

“I do.”

I smiled at him. “I like it.” And I really did. It made me feel special. Safe. Warm. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “So how about that tour?” I grabbed the bottle of wine to bring with me. I told myself that it was because I’d need to refill my glass again soon. But maybe a small piece of me was worried that I wouldn’t keep my hands to myself. And I needed to keep my hands to myself. Fantasy or not, I didn’t know this man. My reaction to him didn’t make any sense. Technically I was kind of sort of still dating Austin. And I wasn’t a cheater. That was Austin’s job. I really should break up with that prick.

Maybe this was all a dream to motivate me to move on. A dream to show me that there was someone out there for me that was better than Austin. I followed James out of the kitchen and tried not to sigh at the sight of him. Hopefully that someone that was out there for me would be as sexy as my fake husband.

Chapter 9

Thursday

Most parts of this life would be easy to adjust to. A penthouse apartment that overlooked Central Park made the idea of being stuck in a city I hated a little more appealing. And my closet? I stared at the organized rows of dresses. I had never seen so many designer clothes. Everything in this apartment, even the closets, was over the top lavish.

But there were also secrets. A couple locked doors. Nails in the walls that held nothing at all. Like something important had been removed from existence. It was unnerving that I had no idea what it was.

And then there was James. He was the epitome of unnerving. In a lot of ways, he wasn't even my type. Or maybe he was, but he was just a little too old for me to realize it. He didn't exactly look that old, but he certainly acted older than me. He even refused to drink with me. I had to finish the bottle of wine alone. It kind of seemed like he had a stick up his perfect butt. Every time I looked at him, he was studying me seriously instead of smiling. His smiles were short. His laughter shorter.

I took one more glance at the contents of the closet. There were more shoes than I could even count. Mostly high heels. Everything looked amazing, but honestly, all I wanted to do was change out of this stiff dress into something actually comfortable. Were there any unsophisticated clothes in here? Leggings? Tank tops? Anything that would cover me from head to foot so I felt safe around James tonight?

I knew I was dilly-dallying. But as soon as I found something to wear to sleep, I’d actually have to crawl into bed with a stranger. My attempts at suggesting I stay in a guest room were all immediately thwarted. And he didn’t seem to take the hint that maybe he should sleep in one of them. It was his house. I couldn’t force him. I bit the inside of my lip. Where were the freaking sweatpants?

“Your nightgowns are in the second drawer from the top,” James said from the master bedroom.

Nightgowns? What was I, 80 years old? I’ll wear a pair of pajamas to bed, thank you very much. I opened up the drawer and looked down at the silk and lace scraps of material. These weren’t big enough to be nightgowns. I was pretty sure the last nightgown I owned had been flannel and floor length. I could picture myself wearing it on Christmas morning. No way in hell was I wearing one of these skimpy things.

“Where are all my favorite pajamas?” I asked and turned around.

James was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest. Staring. Always staring. “You don’t own any pajamas.”

“What about my favorite ones with the little panda bears all over them?”

He just stared at me. “I’ve never seen them.”

“What about a pair of sweatpants?” I was capable of compromise.

“You don’t own any of those either.”

“Seriously? They’re like my go-to thing to comfort me after a bad day. Well, that and ice cream.”

“The ice cream I know. But usually you come to me to be comforted. The sweatpants probably just aren’t necessary anymore.”

Oh. That was sweet. However, it didn’t take away from the fact that I was sweatpants-less in a time of crisis.

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