Ryan’s cheeks puff out, his palm rubbing at the back of his neck. “But you know Jarrad killed him.”
“He came home late one night. He told me if the police asked, he was home with me all night. The next morning news of Quinton Brayfield’s suicide broke. He’d hung himself.” I notice for the first time since I started talking that I sound a bit robotic. I’ve not replayed any of these events in over five years. And yet I recall every single detail as if it happened an hour ago.
“Hannah.” Ryan rests his palms on either side of my waist, leaning in. “Why didn’t you just go to the police? Have him locked up.”
I smile, but it’s in sympathy. He has no idea. “Do you think my husband’s power and influence would shrivel up just because there were bars between us?”
“He wouldn’t be able to hurt you.”
“Jarrad always fell in shit and came out smelling of roses, Ryan. He would have gotten himself out of it in one way or another. I would have still been a prisoner. He would never let me go, Ryan. His ego would never allow it, and neither would his obsession with power. Jarrad didn’t see me as his wife, he saw me as a possession. He never lost his possessions. He told me endlessly that only death would ever take me away from him.” I swallow, feeling my throat thickening. “So I had to die.”
Ryan turns away from me, as if he can’t look at me anymore. “I want to kill him.”
My head drops, the energy it’s taking to keep it together waning. This is exactly what I feared. “I need you not to do that,” I say, with almost humor in my voice. “It’s taken me a long time to reach this point in my life, and I don’t need you ruining it for me.”
He swings around in utter disbelief. “This point in your life? Hannah, at this point in your life, you’re being spooked by every little thing that reminds you of him. At this point in your life, you’re constantly looking over your shoulder. You should let me kill that motherfucker slowly so you can have your life without those constant worries.” He slings his arms into the air in frustration. “And then maybe I won’t live in fucking fear that I’ll wake up one morning and the woman I love will be gone because she saw a fucking Mitsubishi drive past.” He takes his fingers to his temples and wedges them there, closing his eyes tightly. “So don’t fucking tell me I shouldn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t. I asked you not to,” I murmur timidly. “And I realize I have a way to go, Ryan. I realize I’m a work in progress, but I’ve been doing well. I’m proud of myself, and you should be proud of me, too. This is a blip, that’s all. A minor relapse.” I slide down from the counter, feeling a bit mad. Kill him. Problem solved. Except for the fact that Ryan will be locked up or face retribution, and, frankly, keeping Ryan is more important than inflicting pain on my husband. “So lose your damn ego and look a bit closer to home for what’s important.” I barge past him and get precisely nowhere, his arm shooting out and curling around my stomach, hauling me back. I’m picked up and set back on the counter, trapped by his hands on either side of me.
“No running,” he grates, his face furious. “Never, ever run from me again.”
“Then stop being such a pigheaded arsehole,” I fire back.
His forehead falls onto my shoulder, resting there, and I watch his back roll with his deep breaths until he finds it in himself to look me in the eye again. “You said dying was easy. How did you do it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, Hannah. It matters to me. I need all the pieces of the puzzle to stop me losing my fucking mind.”
He’s right. He’s losing his mind, and I can’t watch that happen. God knows what he’ll do. “The caves,” I confess, and Ryan frowns. “There are tunnels in the caves where we were on holiday in the Bahamas. One of them opens onto the rock face to the side of the waterfall. I crawled in and followed it to an opening on the beach.”
“How did you know where it would lead?”
My lips purse, and I realize how ridiculous this is going to sound, but it’s the truth, however crazy. “TripAdvisor,” I murmur.
Ryan lets out a loud bout of laughter. It makes me flinch. He thinks I’m joking. I’m not. “Be serious,” he chuckles.
“I am.” My shoulders jump up on an awkward shrug. “A guy uploaded a video of him following the tunnel from a beach on the east of the island to the waterfall. It took him forty-three minutes.” Another shrug. “It took me an hour and fifty minutes, and I was covered in cuts and grazes.”
Ryan stares at me in utter disbelief, and my lips press together in something close to an awkward smile. “I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs quietly.
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“And then?”
“Then I stole a towel off the beach, went to a hotel and collected the stuff I’d sent there, and from there I flew to Tenerife.”
“Why Tenerife?”
“Jarrad hated the place. Reminded him of the time he couldn’t afford luxury holidays and he had to settle for cheap package deals.” Those vacations were some of my favorites. Before everything went horribly wrong. Before Jarrad became more successful.
“And money?” Ryan asks. “I know you paid for your identity with a watch, but how have you survived? Did you siphon money off over time?”
I laugh. “Jarrad knew how much he made every second. I couldn’t buy a tampon without producing a receipt.” The man was controlling down to the penny.
“Then how?”
“My rings.” I hold up my left hand. “Jarrad had them commissioned. My engagement ring was a heart-shaped yellow diamond. One of a kind and worth a fortune.”
“Isn’t that a huge risk?”
“I sold them to a private collector of precious stones. There’s a reason he wanted to remain anonymous.”
“Crook?”
“I guess so. I didn’t ask. Brayfield put me in touch with him.”
His head looks like it might pop off with the pressure of my secrets. Weirdly, I find myself smiling on the inside. I know he’s not just shocked over it all because it’s all pretty shocking, but because this is me. His cute, quirky Hannah. He didn’t know me back then. He doesn’t know of the things I faced. I had no choice but to play the game. I’m well aware that if Jarrad had gotten a sniff of my betrayal, I would have paid the ultimate price. It wouldn’t have just been old man Brayfield dead. It would have been me, too. I hope Ryan sees that now. I hope he sees my world through my eyes.
My happiness hangs on the wire. Without anonymity, there is no freedom for me. And there is no me for Ryan to love.
He drops his head low, and it hangs heavily, the information weighing it down. “And you came back to England for your mother,” he eventually says, looking up at me.
“She’s dying, Ryan.” I don’t know how I keep my voice even. I feel hollow. “I needed to see her. And soon I won’t be able to see her at all.”
“What if you could?” he asks, throwing me for a hoop. “What if you could see her?”
I shake my head. I’ve considered it, of course, but ultimately, the risk is too great. I could never put my sister and her family in that position. I could never risk their safety for my need. I said goodbye years ago. They bought my lies and reassurance that all was well in my life. I became a good liar. The best. I couldn’t allow them to worry. And I couldn’t allow them to find out how weak and damaged I’d become. Jarrad knew how much they meant to me, and I had no doubt in my mind that he would use them against me. Everyone was safer if I was dead. And, painfully, I couldn’t choose whom I was dead to. It was all or nothing. They’ve had time to heal. Time to mourn me. And Mum’s mind isn’t her own anymore. It’s done. “You look like you could do with a beer.”
Ryan laughs, digging his fingers into the sockets of his eyes. “Or for someone to pinch me and tell me that none of this is real.”
I reach forward and squeeze the skin of his cheek. “I can’t tell you none of this is real. But I can tell you I love you.”
; He softens before me, holding my hand on his face. “You look like you need a cuddle,” he breathes.
“Can I have one?”
“Can she have one?” he whispers to himself, lifting me from the counter and squeezing me.
I settle into his hold, try to enjoy it as best I can, but I feel like every dirty little secret is stuck to my skin, staining me. Staining him. Staining us. “Can I take a shower?”
“Sure.” He kisses my forehead and carries me through to his bathroom, holding me to his chest as he flips it on. He starts to remove my dungarees, and some of the uninvited feelings are replaced with feelings I want to feel forever. I inhale, and he growls brokenly as he rips himself away, and it’s all I can do not to yank him back. “Soon,” he promises, backing away into his bedroom. He slides my phone onto the nightstand before he heads out, and apprehension instantly sinks into every bone.
“Where are you going?” I blurt, and he stops at the door. Takes a breather. Then reverses his steps, coming straight back to me and holding my head in his hands, getting so close to my face.
“I’ll never be far from you, Hannah, I promise you.” He shakes me gently, as if trying to get that promise as far into my head as it can go. “Okay?” he asks, and I nod as best I can with my head restrained. “I just need a moment to process things with a beer in my hammock.”
I blink up at him. He’ll never be far. I wrap my hands around his wrists as he pushes his mouth to mine. And then he’s tearing himself away again. He needs a moment. I should let him have that. Honestly, I should take one myself. It’s been a tidal wave of emotions and truths. Ryan knows everything. My secrets are no longer secrets. And he still wants me.
I stand and stare at the closed door for a while, immobilized by relief, but I eventually talk life into my muscles and strip down. Stepping into the shower, I relish the warm spray as I wash my hair and scrub myself clean. By the time I’m done, my skin is tingling.
I rub myself down with a towel and slip some knickers on from my duffel bag, but instead of dressing in my own clothes, I snag my favorite of Ryan’s shirts from the chair in the corner of his room—the gray plaid one—and pull it over my head instead of wasting time unfastening the buttons, only to refasten them. His scent wafts up to my nostrils, and I lift the fabric to my nose and inhale. So distinctive. So manly. So Ryan.
Padding out to the kitchen, I peek out the window, seeing him reclined on his hammock, swinging slowly, one leg draped over the side. He’s staring into space, lost in thought, taking sips of his beer every now and then. I need a drink, too. Anything to further calm me.
I look down at my wineglass on its side on the counter where we left it, and reach for the stem, standing it up. I wipe up the pool of wine and go to the fridge, pull out the bottle of wine and pour myself a fresh glass.
I settle back at the window, watching him swinging peacefully, as I take my first sip. I freeze. What the hell?
I frown, the glass held at my lips, my gaze moving to the bottle on the side.
Chills.
They jump onto every inch of my skin as I stare at the label, swallowing hard.
Chapoutier Ermitage l’Ermite Blanc.
I set my glass down with a shaky hand, the wine I’ve always hated feeling like it’s burning its way down my throat. I step back, continuing to stare at it, like it might speak up and offer me the perfectly reasonable explanation I’m hunting for. There is no explanation. There’s only memories of Jarrad’s insistence that this particular, outrageously expensive wine be served wherever we were.
One more step back. The chills sink past my skin and reach my veins, and I swallow, not anticipating my stomach to turn at the exact same time. My coughs come on thick and fast, choking me, and I run to the bathroom, smacking my shoulder on the doorframe in my haste to make it to the toilet in time. I throw myself over the bowl and bring up a mixture of bile and acidic liquid, my throat burning, my retches violent and uncontrollable. My eyes water, my body goes into spasm. I’ve lost control of every muscle and limb.
I fight to pull it together, reaching for a towel and bringing it to my mouth to wipe. “No, Hannah.” I slam my fist on the edge of the sink, my freak-out stalling me from thinking clearly. I breathe in deep, let it out, in deep, and let it out. I’m just having a moment. Freaking out over nothing. I can’t let Ryan see me like this again, over something so stupid.
I will my shakes away, bracing my hands on the edge of the sink and breathing my way through it. My imagination is running away with me. It has been all day. Ryan could have bought that wine. Just a coincidence. Surely?
I hear my mobile phone, and any progress I’d made on settling my nerves disappears. I edge toward the door tentatively, looking at the nightstand where Ryan left it. My phone glows, the ring seeming shrill, almost like a warning. Ignore it. And then what? Wonder who it was? Wonder if it was him? I can’t go on like this. A prisoner to my fear.
I take slow, cautious steps toward my phone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
RYAN
The motion of the hammock swinging is enough to send me into a trance. The beer is good. The quiet is good. Until it’s no longer quiet. My mobile rings in my pocket, but I’ll be damned if I can move my tired arse to retrieve it. It rings off, but immediately starts again. I groan and lift myself a bit to reach for it, sliding it out and spinning it the right way up to see the screen. “Luce,” I mumble, relaxing back into my hammock as I answer. “It’s been a long day. Are you going to make it longer?”
“You asked me to keep an eye on Knight.”
I’m frozen still in a nanosecond. I don’t like the sound of this. “And?”
“And he’s apparently taken a leave of absence from his empire due to exhaustion. Jarrad Knight doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who would take a leave of absence, especially because of exhaustion. The guy is propped up on cocaine and power.”
“I agree. So where is he?”
“In between his London penthouse and Scotland. His pregnant wife, however, has joined her family in Prague while he recuperates. I mean, it’s all a bit strange. If my husband—”
“Scotland?” I ask, pushing my way up from my hammock and sitting on the edge. “You said Scotland.”
“Yeah, Scotland. He bought a derelict castle there a few years ago. Spent millions renovating it.”
My bottle of beer starts to shake in my hand. “Hannah’s been sending paintings to Scotland,” I say mindlessly.
“What?” Lucinda sounds as confused as I would expect.
“Hannah. She’s sold a few pieces to a man who owns a castle in Scotland.”
“Are you joking me?”
“No.” I stand and start pacing to the cabin. “He sent her flowers today. What else do you know?”
“Well, for a man who’s apparently emotionally exhausted, Knight’s been a busy boy. He recently spent a small fortune at a private auction.”
“On what?”
“A rather spectacular one-of-a-kind, very rare heart-shaped yellow diamond ring.”
“Fuck, no.” I throw my beer to the ground and break into a sprint, running like a man possessed.
Chapter Thirty
HANNAH
I don’t recognize the number on the screen and it turns my blood to ice. I reach for my phone with trembling hands and answer, though I don’t speak. And neither does the caller, leaving a stretched silence between us.
“Hello?” I somehow find the courage to say.
“Hannah?” The voice nearly makes me throw up again, but this time it’s in relief.
“Molly?”
“Yes, are you okay? I found the flowers Ryan bought you on the street.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I came over a bit funny. Dropped them. Ryan’s brought me back to his cabin to lie down.”
“Oh my God, he’s actually making you light-headed with his swoony gesture.”
I smile, though it’s tight. “Whose phone is this?”
“Mrs.
Heaven’s. Mine’s at the cottage. I just wanted to check up on you.”
She’s a good friend, and best of all, I now get to keep her. “I’ll come back to help you clear up.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got an army of children to help. Crap, gotta go. Father Fitzroy has started country dancing.” She hangs up, and I laugh, tossing my phone on the bed. “So stupid.” I turn to go join Ryan—he’s had enough time—but I make it only one pace before I jerk to a stop. I stare at the doorway in front of me, my heart thumping its way up to my throat. Ice glides across my skin. Blood pumps in my veins with such force I can hear it.
You’re seeing things, Hannah!
I slowly turn on the spot until I’m looking at Ryan’s bed, and I take fairy steps forward until I’m standing at the foot, staring at his pillow.
And my wedding rings.
“No,” I breathe, grabbing my phone and backing up, banging into the wardrobe.
“How have you been, Katrina?” His voice cuts through my flesh, and I swing around, my scream building.
But his hand is over my mouth before I can release it.
Chapter Thirty-One
RYAN
Hannah!” I yell, flying through the door. I stop, listening, my eyes taking in every inch of my cabin. It’s eerily silent. I sweep up one of my axes from beside the door and stalk on, my insides an inferno of anger and fear. When I reach my bedroom, I stop, staring at the closed door. I can’t hear the shower. I can’t hear movement at all. I push the door open with the head of my axe and scan the space. Empty. Except for her mobile phone lying in the middle of the floor.
Leave Me Breathless Page 35
