Amour Toxique: Books 1-3 Boxed Set (Books 1-3 Series Boxed Set)

by Dori Lavelle

  To occupy myself, I enter the walk-in wardrobe and sit down on one of the cushioned stools. My eyes take in all the clothes he’s bought for me, the clothes he delights in seeing me wear.

  Not knowing what else to do, I stand and start pulling clothes off hangers, dropping them to the floor, where they form a sea of expensive fabrics. I take my time hanging them up again, which gives my hands something to do and prevents my wild thoughts from causing chaos in my mind.

  It takes me another hour to tidy up the wardrobe again, but my reward is an exhaustion that makes me feel human.

  I’m just about to walk out of the wardrobe again, to go lie down on the bed and count the minutes until lunch is served, when I spy a big white box at the top of one of the shelves. It’s too high for me to reach, so I climb on top of the stool I was sitting on earlier. I’m still unable to reach the box, so I fold a few pieces of clothing to pad the stool up some more and give me more height.

  As I stretch my body and arms to reach the white box, I wonder if Damien has forgotten, or deliberately chosen, not to install cameras inside the wardrobe. Why else didn’t Adrian intervene when I turned the wardrobe upside down?

  At this point I don’t care whether he’s watching or not. A moment later my curiosity has me wrapping my hands around the box and bringing it down with me.

  A cloud of tulle and silk meets my gaze as I lift the mother-of-pearl cover. My brows draw together and my hands dig into the fragile fabric. I don’t need a label to tell me it’s a wedding dress. Is it the one I wore to our fake wedding?

  The gown is beautiful: pure white, with pearls and crystals scattered over the bust.

  Sitting down on the stool, I allow the dress to spill over my knees as I study each intricate detail. I don’t know what I’m searching for, what I want the dress to tell me, but I’m unable to stop the palms of my hands from sweeping over the fabric, my eyes following as though on a mission to uncover some kind of mystery.

  I lift the dress to my nose and inhale deeply. In spite of its crisp new look, there’s a faint old, musty odor attached to it that screams “already been worn.”

  “What’s your story?” I whisper, pinching a piece of tulle between my fingers.

  A scratching sound outside the door of the suite brings me back to my senses, and I start to fold up the dress as best I can. A small tag in the lining catches my attention, and I brush wisps of tulle out of the way to lift the tag to my eyes. The tiny, cursive words are sewn in gold thread: Damien and Kristi Forever.

  Alarm bells shrill inside my head as I quickly fold the dress and return it to its place on top of the shelves.

  I return to the bedroom, hands clasped in front of me to stop them from shaking.

  The fact that he used to be married isn’t what has my heart pounding. Plenty of people get married multiple times—they divorce, remarry, and move on. But I can’t shake the chill that’s running down my spine, telling me it wasn’t divorce that separated Damien and Kristi. Do I even want to know what happened?

  43

  “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” Damien reaches under his pillow.

  I want to tell him to fuck off. We finished having sex a few minutes ago, but the high has worn off, and pure, undiluted hate now simmers inside my veins. “What is it?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Come on—close those beautiful eyes and give me your left hand.”

  I shut my eyes and hand him a limp hand. It feels small in his warm grasp.

  I hear a snap, and then feel something cool slide onto my finger. I open my eyes before he gives me permission.

  It’s not one ring on my finger, but two. The simple band is silver, or maybe platinum—I never can tell the difference. Next to it is the biggest, most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen in my life, an emerald-cut diamond and platinum ring. I gape at my hand in astonishment.

  “Like them?” He sinks back against the pillows.

  “I don’t want these.” I attempt to remove them, but he stops me, holding my hand tight.

  “Never remove them. They’re a symbol of our union.”

  “I thought the ankle bracelet served that purpose.”

  “I wanted to give you more things to remind you who you belong to.” He plays with a strand of my hair. “You’ve been such a great wife lately. I wanted to show you my appreciation.”

  I leave the damn rings on. The thread of warning in his tone is unmistakable. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

  “More than you can even imagine. I’d kill for you.”

  A cold chill touches my spine, but I ignore it and the fear that trickles into my bloodstream as I remember Jennifer. He killed for her too.

  “But when you love someone, don’t you want them to be happy?” I ask.

  “Absolutely. And you should be. I give you everything. What more could you want?”

  “Damien.” I touch his naked shoulder. “Being locked up in this room every day is not my idea of happiness.”

  “I know. I do agree that you need a change of scenery.” My heart leaps at his words. “That’s about to happen. From now on, I’ll be taking you out to dinner… to a restaurant. You deserve a treat.”

  I bite my tongue. I don’t want to say anything that might cause him to change his mind. This is the best news I’ve heard in a long time. It’s taken a while, but it seems agreeing to have sex with him was the right move after all.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Good. I’d love to accompany you to dinner.” Inside my head, the wheels are already spinning as I think of all the possible ways I can escape from a restaurant.

  “Look at me.” He places a hand on my cheek and turns me to face him. “I will take you out on one condition. You will not betray me. If you even think of doing something stupid, there will be consequences.”

  I blink in response.

  “You’re wondering what those consequences might be, aren’t you?” He moves his hand from my cheek to my neck. “If you ever try to leave me, I’ll have to kill you. I’ve been good to you up to this point. But things could change like that.” He snaps his thumb and forefinger. “Do you understand?”

  “I do.” The hell I do. As soon as I step out of the gates of his mansion, there’s no way I’ll be coming back. Being threatened with death has further strengthened my resolve.

  He narrows his eyes. “You don’t seem excited.”

  “Trust me, I am.” I force a smile. “When’s our first date?”

  “Maybe sometime next week. I’ll let you know.”

  My heart deflates a little. Knowing how many days I have to plan would help. No matter; I’ll just have to start weaving my escape plan right away.

  He places a hand on my naked waist, turning me to face him fully. “You do understand that the reason I keep you in the house is because I don’t want to lose you, right? Maybe I’m a selfish son of a bitch, but I love you so much that I want to have you all to myself. I never want to lose you.”

  “You won’t.” Lying has never come easily to me, but when you’re in a life-or-death situation, you find yourself doing things that are out of character.

  “That’s what I want to hear.” He kisses me on the forehead, releasing a flutter inside my belly. “Hey, don’t look so sad.” He takes my hand into his and weaves his fingers through mine.

  “I’m not.” I force another smile that doesn’t come close to reaching my heart.

  “There’s no need to be. We are married, with a wonderful future waiting for us.”

  “Have you ever been married… before?” I ask without thinking, but now that the words are out, I find I actually want to hear him say it. I can’t get that wedding dress out of my mind.

  The silence between us is taut, like a rubber band about to snap. “Why do you ask?”

  I shrug. “I’m just curious.”

  “What if I was? Would that be a problem?”

  “No. I just... I was wondering, that’s all. I want to kno
w you better.”

  He turns away from me and gazes up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. “In that case, yes. I was married once, several years ago.”

  I force myself not to analyze anything, to listen what he has to say without judgment. Still, I have a sinking feeling that his first marriage is what made him the man he is today.

  “What happened to her?”

  Shit. I swallow hard and rephrase my question before he reads between the lines. “I mean, why did you get divorced?”

  “We didn’t. I don’t do divorce. I take marriage vows seriously.” He clears his throat. “Only death has the power to end a marriage.”

  An involuntary shudder races through me, but I do my best to remain calm. Did he kill her?

  He turns his head to look at me. “How about you? What’s your opinion on divorce?”

  “Hmmm...” I decide to be honest. “The reality is, some marriages don’t work out. If two people decide they’re happier apart than together, then I don’t see a problem with that.”

  “I see.” He grinds the words between his teeth. “Well, at least you never have to worry about going through one. You and I are never getting divorced.”

  44

  I’ve been holding my breath the past few days, worried that Damien will change his mind about taking me out for dinner. But this morning he looked like a little boy on Christmas when he informed me we’d be having our first date tonight.

  My heart almost leapt out of my chest, but I harnessed my emotions to prevent them from spilling over and showing on my face.

  In the evening, he surprises me by telling me I get to choose what to wear. Up until now, he’s always picked out what I wear both to dinner and to bed.

  Hanna, who has been instructed to help me get dressed, tries to talk me into wearing a gray, see-through floral print dress.

  “Very sexy and elegant.” She’s so excited, it’s like she’s the one going on the date.

  I shake my head and continue looking through the clothes. “It’s beautiful, but I want to wear something different tonight.” I pull a pair of black straight-leg dress pants from a hanger. “Pants would be great for a change.” I push my hand into one of the pockets at the back of the pants. Perfect.

  Hanna’s face has fallen. She doesn’t know that the clothes I’m choosing tonight will make or break my escape plans.

  “Help me pick a top,” I say, trying to lighten her mood.

  In the end, I choose the pants, a café au lait silk blouse with cap sleeves, a shawl, and a pair of suede ballerinas. Comfortable, yet elegant. I’m ready half an hour before Damien says we have to leave the house. My fiery hair is tied into a sleek ponytail, and despite looking a little gaunt, my face is fresh without makeup, except for a sweep of red lipstick.

  While I wait for Damien to come and get me, I manage to pick up one of the Photoshopped photographs of me and him scattered on the dresser. Surely he won’t notice that one out of six is missing. Even if he does, I’ll be long gone. In case the camera is on and Adrian is watching me, I make a show of pretending I’m interested in the photo. Eventually, I manage to slip it into my back pocket discreetly.

  When Damien unlocks the door, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Ready?” he asks. He’s already dressed in a custom-tailored suit, cream shirt, and burnt orange tie.

  “I am.” I rise to my feet, waiting for him to appraise my attire.

  He rubs his clean-shaven chin as his gaze travels from the top of my head to the tips of my ballerinas.

  Please don’t tell me to change into something else.

  “Simple elegance.” He surveys me with appreciation. “I like it. Except, I prefer you in heels. A pair of stilettos would be perfect with that outfit.”

  Shit. I want to insist on wearing the ballerinas, but rocking the boat right now would be a big mistake.

  Instead of disagreeing, I nod and change into a pair of stilettos, the same color as my blouse. I also grab a sequined clutch purse, which he insists on looking through before we leave the house.

  As he does so, I hold my breath, praying he won’t also check my back pockets. He doesn’t, but only because the slightly long blouse has hidden them from sight.

  He leads me to the limo, where Adrian is holding the door open for me. He’s our driver and bodyguard for the night.

  The limousine pulls away from the massive mansion that has been my prison for many long weeks. This is goodbye.

  45

  The way Damien’s hand curves around my waist, making sure I stay as close to him as possible, I can’t help wondering how I’ll ever manage to get away from him. The way he looked at me during the car ride, I could have sworn he was able to read my thoughts.

  Hotel Sierra has a brightly lit lobby with marble floors, glinting chandeliers, and antique paintings on the walls. Before I even see the designer handbags and clothes, and the jewelry dripping from necklines and wrists, I already know this hotel is where the rich come to play. The air around us smells of money.

  We’ve just made it to the center of the lobby when a small man stumbles from behind the reception desk and approaches us. “Good evening, Mr. Steel. I’m glad to see you, sir.”

  “Evening, Jerome.” Damien tightens his hand around my waist. “Meet my wife.”

  “Congratulations on your marriage. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Steel.” His hand is firm and sweaty as it shakes mine, and his beady eyes study my face in a way that makes me a little uncomfortable.

  “Is our table ready?” Damien glances at his watch.

  “Of course, sir.” The man clasps his hands together. “Everything is ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Jerome.” Damien pauses. “How’s Elizabeth doing? Has she found a job yet?”

  The man’s face falls and he drops his eyes. “I’m afraid not. Jobs are scarce in our small town.”

  “Tell her to come and see me at the office on Monday at eight. I’ll see what I can do.”

  With his free hand, Damien pulls out his phone and switches it on. Standing close, I watch him create a new calendar entry. He types in the name Elizabeth Torres.

  “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind. Your help is much appreciated.” Jerome gives a small bow. “And thank you for the bicycle you bought my boy for his birthday.”

  “That’s quite all right.” Damien drops his phone back into his pocket. “I hope he likes it.”

  “Very much.” Jerome’s face breaks into a smile.

  “Glad to hear that. I’ll talk to you later, Jerome. I’m treating my wife to a nice meal. She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

  I stiffen and clench my teeth so tight my jaw aches. So he’s been lying to everyone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he also told them about my fake skiing accident that led to my memory loss, which exacerbated my existing mental problems.

  “Of course. Enjoy your evening Mr. and Mrs. Steel.”

  As we walk away, I mull over the conversation Jerome and Damien just shared. Damien came across as some kind of a saint. The idea weighs heavy on my mind; it makes my situation far more complicated.

  I’d hoped to be able to tear myself from him and solicit the help of a member of the staff. But it seems Damien has brought me to a place he frequents, a place where everybody knows and respects him.

  Hearing him tell people I’m unwell leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. If he has painted me as a person with mental problems, it will be his word against mine.

  Our short journey to the restaurant is punctuated by more guests and staff members greeting and conversing with Damien, who introduces me to each person, repeating the lie that I’ve been unwell.

  One of the people we meet is Maria Sanchez, the hotel manager. She’s pretty, with a baby face framed by coal-black curls that stop at her chin. She kisses Damien on both cheeks and gazes into his eyes as though they’ve known each other a long time.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Steel. It’s been a while.” She glances at
me with her dark eyes. “This must be your lovely new wife.”

  Damien smiles and nods, running a gentle hand around my waist. Like he did with Jerome earlier, he takes a moment to inquire about the woman’s well-being and family, listening as though there’s no other place he’d rather be.

  While he’s at ease in the moment, my nerves are getting the best of me. The fear that I might not be able to get away from him tonight is draining the energy from my body.

  Maria pauses her conversation with Damien and narrows her dark eyes at me. “Are you okay, Mrs. Steel?”

  “Yes, yes.” I quickly wipe the sheen of sweat from my forehead.

  Damien turns to me, his brow furrowed. “You look a little pale, darling.” He glances back at Maria. “Maria, it was nice talking to you. I better take my wife to our table.”

  As he leads me away, I feel Maria’s gaze on my back. Perfect. Now she’ll really believe I’m sick. Why can’t anyone see through Damien?

  As we walk through the restaurant doors, he places a hand on the small of my back. “Is this too much for you?” he asks under his breath. “Would you rather we return home?”

  My neck almost snaps as I turn to him. A bubble of panic rises in my chest. “No. No, that’s silly.” I attempt a chuckle. “We came all this way. I’ll be fine. I just need to sit down.”

  A waiter with teeth as white as his shirt comes over to receive us. He greets Damien with all the respect he’s due, and shows us to a table for two in the back.

  My gaze roams the interior of the dining room, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a well-tended garden. Inside there’s a sparkling fountain, a white grand piano, the bar, and a long salad buffet. I also spot the sign indicating the restrooms.

  Damien waves at someone, a gray-haired woman wearing a diamond chandelier necklace.

  I sink into my chair. “You must be a regular here.”