by Calia Read
“I moved here two years ago. I grew up in a small town. Farmville, Virginia.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Well, you might be the only person that’s heard of it. My parents still live there.”
“You left them all alone?” I teased lightly.
“Don’t feel bad for them. Two of my siblings live around the area. And then I have a sister who lives in Falls Church…actually, she’s your gardener.”
“Renee?” My eyes widened, but my mind was running, putting Sinclair and Renee next to each other and seeing if there were any similarities. Now that I was looking closely at Sinclair, I could see it: the olive skin, coal-black hair. High cheekbones.
Sinclair simply nodded and a hint of a smirk played at his lips.
“She never mentioned it.”
“Renee isn’t exactly the most talkative person.”
“I gathered that. At first I thought I was annoying her.”
“Oh, believe me, if you were annoying her, she’d let you know. Renee comes off as aloof, but as you get to know her she’ll come out of her shell.”
“Good to know.”
Was it wrong of me to want this conversation to never end? Probably.
Out of the corner of my eye, I snuck another glance at him. Sinclair caught me red-handed. He smirked, and two parentheses appeared at the corners of his mouth.
My heart started to thump like crazy and I had to remind myself that I had a husband. Husband. Another man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. A man whom fate and the world had led me toward.
So why was I reacting this way?
“Did you start without me?”
The sound of Wes’s voice made me jump. My head whipped to the left as Wes stepped into the room. He was dressed in a black suit. His navy striped tie was loosened. He draped an arm around me and gave me a quick kiss on my head and shook Sinclair’s hand. Even though there was a healthy distance between Sinclair and me, Wes’s eyes narrowed.
“I thought you had a case to work on.”
Wes waved his hand in the air. “I left early. Couldn’t let you tour the house by yourself.” He gave me a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. Wes directed his attention to Sinclair. “How is everything?”
“Just fine. We were just finishing up the tour.”
“I was telling him my plans for the garden,” I said quickly.
“She loves that damn garden.” Wes’s abrupt words were scathing, almost cold, completely taking me by surprise. Where was this coming from?
“It sounds like it’s going to be stunning,” Sinclair replied. The friendly smile stayed on his face but I saw his eyes dart between Wes and me.
“So, Sinclair, how long do you think it will be until we move in?” Wes asked.
Sinclair’s brows furrowed in concentration. “If you want the honest truth: about another month.”
“Another month?” Wes asked curtly.
I gave him a look, but he ignored me.
Sinclair rubbed his bottom lip, staring between the backyard and me. “If you want, I can have my men working overtime to get it done faster. Maybe a few weeks?”
“And we’re still on budget?” Wes snapped.
Sinclair crossed his arms and smiled. “Still on budget,” he said smoothly. But the friendliness was gone from his eyes. Wes stiffened beside me. There was a beat of awkward silence. Wes cleared his throat and glanced down at his watch.
“I think we should be going.”
“Right. Right.” Sinclair swept his hand toward the door. “Sorry for holding you up.”
We had nothing planned for that night. Nowhere to go. I had no clue why Wes was so anxious to leave.
We walked down the stairs with Sinclair behind us. The hairs on the back of my neck stood and I knew he was staring at me.
Sinclair followed us out the front door and stopped at my car. Before I got in, he held out his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Donovan.”
Manners dictated that I shake his hand. But I was hesitant; Wes was watching me too closely.
Finally, I took his hand and the minute I did, I felt a zing that hit me straight in the heart. “Likewise, Mr. Montgomery,” I managed to say.
Once again he shook my hand. Those butterflies that I had when I first saw him swarmed in my stomach, begging to take flight. I shoved all unwanted feelings down as much as I could.
“Please, call me Sinclair.”
I nodded. “Sinclair it is.”
He held on to my hand longer than necessary. Long enough to make Wes stare between the two of us with suspicion. I would be the biggest liar if I told you my heart didn’t speed up. Quickly, I snatched my hand away and opened up the driver’s-side door. Wes caught it with his hand.
“I’m driving.”
“But your car—”
“I’ll pick it up later.”
There was a deadness in his eyes. As if all the emotions and life had been snuffed out of him. He was angry and the last thing I wanted was to get into another fight with him. People were all around us and I’d rather fight in private than in public.
I got in on the passenger side. The door slammed behind me, the sound ricocheting. Wes stared straight ahead, saying nothing.
He started the car. For a few blocks there was silence. No radio. No conversation. I went to roll down the window, just to hear the wind rush by. Anything.
But he locked my window.
We stopped at a red light and Wes finally turned toward me. “What the hell was that back there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you met Sinclair before?”
“What?” I frowned. “No.”
Wes laughed darkly. It sent chills up and down my spine. “Don’t lie.”
“I haven’t!”
The light turned green. Wes took off, his foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The engine revved. I glanced at the speedometer. He was up to 55.
“Are you cheating on me with him?”
My jaw dropped. What in the hell was he talking about? “No!”
I looked at the speedometer. He was at 65. I feared he was going to do something really stupid.
“Liar.”
I gripped my seatbelt with both hands. “I’m not! That’s the first time I’ve ever met him.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Wes turned his eyes on me. “You know how he was looking at you.”
“Wes,” I said very carefully. “Eyes on the road.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” he screamed.
He was not rational or in control. I had no idea what was running through his head. I just knew that in this state of mind he was capable of anything. Up ahead was a bridge. I could see us driving straight off it.
Self-preservation made me react. I swallowed loudly and touched his arm. In my sweetest voice I said, “I love only you, Wes. So slow down. Okay?”
He clenched his jaw and I thought he was going to keep ignoring me. But then, out of nowhere, he pressed the brake pedal. The tires squealed. I jerked forward, my face inches from the dashboard before my seatbelt jerked me back.
I panted heavily and looked around. A car behind us honked and drove around us. I wanted to get out, flag the car, and ask the driver—a random stranger—to help me. At this point it felt safer.
Wes laughed. A loud, genuine laugh, as if my reaction was hilarious. I stared at him in disbelief.
And then his laughter faded and he smiled as if I was the most important person in his life. “You want to get something to eat? I’m starving.”
I blinked at him rapidly. How could he go from zero to sixty and then right back to zero?
“What just happened?”
“What are you talking about?”
I hooked a thumb behind me. “Back there. The accusations. The cheating.”
“You mean a conversation? That’s what you’re talking about?”
That wasn’t a conversation. That was mere seconds away before a murder-suicide. How he didn�
��t recognize that was beyond me.
My emotions were reeling. One second I was defending myself. The next I saw my life flash before my eyes. And then…nothing. My heart continued to pound at a rapid pace, showing no signs of slowing down. It was as though Wes’s stunt had left it in a permanent state of fear.
“So? How ’bout it?”
Slowly, I turned toward Wes. “What?”
“Dinner?”
I swallowed loudly and looked out the window. “Dinner sounds great.”
I wasn’t hungry, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
Wes did a U-turn and headed back into town. I couldn’t stop shaking.
He reached across the console, his hand curved around my kneecap. He gave me the same smile that had made me fall for him.
“I love you,” he said.
I think he believed what he said. I think he thought this was love.
At a red light, he shifted in his seat to look at me. “But don’t play games with me, Victoria.” His other hand curved around my jaw. When the pad of his thumb brushed against my cheek I shivered. He moved even closer so our lips were practically touching. His next words were soft but deadly. “You’ll lose every time.”
Then he kissed me. And I let him because my heart refused to believe that I could be married to a monster.
December 2013
Sinclair made good on his word and a month later, on an early Saturday morning, we were moving into our dream house.
I spent the weeks before the move packing up everything. They say moving is one of the most stressful things to go through, but the chaos around me—packing up boxes, going through everything—kept me distracted. There was no time to focus on the blemishes slowly appearing in my marriage.
No time at all.
Instead, I concentrated on what I knew to be true: Every couple has flaws. No one is perfect. Put two people together and it’s normal for those flaws to become even more apparent. Yes, that’s all this was.
We were a completely normal couple. Besides, Wes had been perfectly fine these last few weeks: no outbursts, no anger. He was back to being the same man I loved. He had just had a bad few moments. I kept trying to tell myself that, but at the end of the day I still had my doubts.
Wes parked the car on the opposite side of the street. As the movers backed the truck into the driveway, I stared at our house. Even though it was the middle of December, the weather seemed to be on our side, with not a single cloud in sight. I had my North Face zipped up and a black beanie to keep myself warm. Wes was dressed just as casually. It might have been the first time in a while I’d seen him without a suit and tie.
Wes smiled at me and held out his hand. “Welcome home, Mrs. Donovan.”
It was hard to believe that this day had finally arrived. A car drove by, causing leaves to scatter across the road. A few skipped under the car and flew up in the air before they slowly fell to the ground.
“You ready for today?”
“Absolutely.”
Hand in hand, we hurried across the road and got to work. Wes helped the movers and when I tried to help, he smiled and told me to do nothing but tell the movers where I wanted everything. So I did. I stood in the finished foyer, with the walls freshly painted. The windows sparkled and the sun shined in. The front door stood wide open as men walked in and out, carrying dismantled furniture, boxes, rugs. I watched as the first floor slowly began to fill up with items. A rush of excitement danced down my spine. I couldn’t wait to cut open every box and make this house our own.
In the middle of the afternoon, everyone took a break and Sinclair arrived. His car pulled up behind ours and a slow tingle spread across my skin. He stepped out of his car and I stood up and leaned against the doorframe and watched him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black polo shirt. Sunglasses concealed his eyes and gave him an aura of danger. Wes shook his hand and spoke to him briefly, then gestured in my direction.
When Sinclair saw me, his lips pulled up into a grin. He waved. I waved back, but my gaze instantly traveled to Wes, who looked completely nonplussed to see Sinclair around me.
“It’s finally moving day,” Sinclair said as he walked toward me with quick, confident strides.
“Finally,” I said with a smile.
“Let me guess…you’re telling the movers where to put everything.”
“How did you know?”
“You’re the queen of this palace. What else would you be doing?” We stood there, a small slip of silence creeping around us. I cleared my throat and quickly stepped aside to let him through. Sinclair slipped off his sunglasses and hooked them on the collar of his shirt. I saw a peak of his collarbone and olive skin that led to his shoulder.
My pulse didn’t quicken. It soared. It pounded against the base of my throat, begging to burst free. All because of a fucking collarbone.
I quickly looked away.
Sinclair was completely oblivious. He circled the foyer, staring at the walls and floor with a critical eye. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful,” I replied and I meant it. This home was truly my dream house.
Sinclair moved down the hallway, toward the kitchen, but I stayed put. I wanted to follow him yet I was terrified of Wes seeing us together.
I went back to my spot at the front door and a few minutes later Sinclair walked back down the hall. He stepped outside the house and looked around. “How are you doing?” he asked casually, not looking at me once.
“I’m good.”
“Just good?” He grinned.
Every time I talked to Sinclair I felt he was searching for something. I stayed perfectly straight when all I wanted to do was relax and slip into an easy conversation.
“What are you doing here on the weekend?” I asked him.
“I thought I would take a day off.”
“It’s not a day off if you’re visiting a client,” I pointed out.
“Since the house is finished, you’re no longer a client.” He lifted a brow. “We’re friends.”
Friends.
No, that didn’t sound right. Friends shouldn’t look at each other the way we were doing.
Nothing between us was friendly, but I nodded and gave him a weak smile. “Don’t you have a family?”
He smirked. “No. No family.”
I already knew that, but I wanted to hear him say it.
Since I’d found out he was Renee’s brother, I’d casually asked her about him. I wanted to find out all I could. It was wrong, but I couldn’t ignore my curiosity. He was the middle child out of three. He was single. No ex-wives. No children. No nothing.
And all my mind could think was, How? How was this incredible man not taken?
“Why not?” I said before I could think twice.
“Why don’t I have a family?”
I nodded.
Sinclair chuckled and shrugged. “Haven’t found the right person.”
“You will.”
“You think?”
“Of course.”
And then he looked me straight in the eye. His face was serious. “Maybe I’ve already found her.”
I gulped at the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe.”
Heavy pause. Tension crept over us. A handful of unspoken words hung between us.
“I should be going,” Sinclair finally said. “I’m glad you like your house.”
“I love it.”
“I’ll see you later.”
There was no masking the innuendo. I heard it loud and clear. Here was my chance to clear everything up. With a simple shake of my head the looks and sexual tension would vanish. But instead I nodded. I heard him, heard his request, and agreed.
—
At the end of the day, my mother stopped by. We all had dinner together and then she and I got to unpacking.
She was a woman on a mission, quickly reverting to the mom I grew up with. When the kitchen was unpacked, she immediately moved to the living room.
A few
times she made Wes come and help us. He looked completely drained, but he didn’t say a word.
“Mom, we’re beat.”
She placed her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly. “What time is it?”
I glanced at my watch and groaned. “Eleven forty-five.”
“Oh, I had no idea it was so late.” She looked around the living room. The sofa and overstuffed chair were angled toward the TV. The carpet was rolled out in front of the sofa. Lamps were plugged in and pictures were on the end tables. All that was left were the curtains and pictures.
My mother grabbed her purse and coat. Wes and I walked her to the door, afraid that if she glanced around at the bare space she’d make a run for it, find a drill, and start hanging up curtain rods.
I leaned heavily against Wes as I stepped out onto the porch. In the distance I could hear a dog bark. Across the street the neighbor’s lights were on. Their blinds were shut, but I saw the shadows of bodies moving around. Streetlamps ran the length of the road. This small community was just as I had pictured it.
“Well, I’ll let you two get some rest.” She gave me a big hug and pulled back. “I’ll be back bright and early for round two of unpacking.”
“Goodie,” I teased.
She was walking to her car when I quickly thought of something. “Mom!” She turned around. “Hold on one second. I forgot something.” I grabbed my phone from the kitchen and ran back to the front door.
“Before you go, can you take a picture of the two of us?”
She grabbed my phone but playfully rolled her eyes. “You and your pictures…”
She walked to the middle of the pathway. Wes draped his arm across my shoulder. My hand snaked around his waist.
“Smile in one…two…three.”
I smiled.
I’m pretty sure I did.
November 2015
Everything I remember, Dr. Calloway writes down. Her hand moves quickly across the paper. I talk rapidly and I know that doesn’t make it easy for her, but part of me is so afraid that if I don’t say it right at that second, then I never will. She keeps up with me, never telling me to start over.
When I’m done, she sets the pen down and looks over at me. “So things were difficult between you and Wes.”
Here it is. I knew we would have to have a patient-doctor chat. With anyone else, I would try to change the subject. But I feel the smallest amount of loyalty to Calloway and answer: “It seems like it.”
