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A Matter of Truth (Fate Series 3)

Page 31

by Heather Lyons


  “I don’t want to move back in here,” I tell him.

  He’s quiet for a long moment. “I bought the apartment above Kellan’s a few months ago. It’s being remodeled, so . . .”

  I pull away from him and stare up in shock.

  He tugs on his hair. “I didn’t mention it before now because I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it.”

  I shake my head in amazement, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “You and your real estate ventures. When will you ever learn to just tell me about them in the first place?”

  He pulls me back to him. “I’m sorry—”

  I reach up and lay my hand against his cheek. “I thought you basically just forbid that word. If I can’t say it, you shouldn’t be able to, either.”

  “Touché.” He kisses my palm. “We can go look at it today, if you like.”

  We head back out into the living room, our hands entwined. “What made you buy an apartment?”

  “Honestly, partially because it was one of those things that I did to prove to everyone I was moving on. Maybe even try to prove it to myself, too.”

  I pick up my purse and phone. “Partially? Also, why the one above Kellan’s?”

  His lips purse together as he considers how to answer me. Finally—“The building Kellan lives in doesn’t have a lot of movement in terms of sales, but one came up while you were gone. Sophie Greenfield had put a bid on it, and . . .” His head tilts so his dark hair spills into his eyes. “After everything that happened this winter, there was no way in hell either of us were going to let her own that apartment. Buying it seemed to kill several birds with one stone.”

  I keep my voice light even though everything in me goes taut like a thread ready to snap. “What happened with Sophie?”

  He picks up a shirt of his off of one of the chairs in the living room, one that he must have left behind. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  I consider this carefully. “I’ve had a few run-ins with her since coming back. She’s . . . still angry at me, I guess. And possibly deluded, because she thinks . . .” I try not to choke on the words, “that she and Kellan are a couple again or something.”

  Jonah tosses the shirt back down and sits on the couch. “Well,” he says carefully, like he’s afraid to set me off, “some of that may have to do with the fact that he had sex with her several times while you were gone and may have given her the impression that they were back together.”

  I drop like a stone in the chair across from him. “Whaaaat?”

  The smile he gives me isn’t much of one at all. “Everyone was very sympathetic to me when you disappeared, Chloe. I know they all meant well, but . . . personally, it was too much. I didn’t want their sympathy. I didn’t want . . . I didn’t want that kind of focus on me. I wanted to be left alone in my misery, and eventually, people got the message. Kellan was forced into his isolation over the situation, though. Nobody but Astrid and Callie knew how hard your disappearance affected him. He was just as destroyed as me, since his Connection was gone, too, and he had to put on the act he always does, where nobody knows about the link between you two. So he acted out, lapsed back into behaviors he knew would mask his pain.”

  Even though I knew he’d done this, had guessed it the whole time I was in Alaska, I still feel sick to my stomach.

  Kellan acted like this because of me. He hurt her—again—because of me.

  “Sophie was relentless after you disappeared. She figured it was her shot to win him back or something. He refused to even acknowledge her at first, but she tracked him down at some bar one night when he was really . . .” Jonah won’t meet my eyes. “Upset, for lack of a better word. He ended up going home with her. He regretted it immediately, but the damage was done. Out of guilt, he gave it a half-hearted try for a few weeks, but then he dumped her again.”

  Oh, gods.

  “She basically stalked him after that. Called him constantly, showed up at work and the apartment without notice. Confronted him in public numerous times, even once hysterically claimed she was pregnant with his baby in front of an entire restaurant we were in.” He finally looks at me. “I found her in our apartment more than once. One time she was in the tub in Kellan’s bathroom, all flowers and bubbles and champagne. Another time, she was . . .” He’s grossly uncomfortable telling me this. “Um, waiting for me, naked in my room. She . . . uh . . . thought, I don’t know, she could make him jealous by hitting on me. It was . . .” He tugs on his hair. “Anyway, there was also one time Kel woke up to her standing over his bed, watching him sleep.”

  My nails dig into my palms. Did something happen between Jonah and Sophie, too—like she threatened so long ago? My anger threatens to consume me, but he gets up and comes over to where I’m sitting.

  He takes my hands. “You have nothing to worry about, at least on my end, Chloe. Because, as hurt as I was, as much as I missed you . . .” He kisses the backs of my hands. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being with anyone other than you.”

  And I believe him. I just do.

  He kisses my cheek and sits down on the coffee table in front of me. “We’ve changed our locks several times since those break-ins. We couldn’t figure out how she got ahold of a key, since no part of the door was damaged. The doorman is on notice that she’s never allowed in the building anymore.” He looks down at his hands. “I think she’s mentally ill.”

  And by think, he means know, since he obviously understanding feelings better than most.

  “She feels . . . off,” he continues. “I don’t know how to explain it. She genuinely believes she loves him, Chloe—although I would term it more obsession than true love. But to her, it’s true love. She’s even convinced that they have a Connection that the Seers keep missing. Kellan doesn’t know what to do about it. He knows he fucked up by messing with her like he did. He also knows he never should have slept with her again the second time or humored any of her talks of a future between them.”

  Okay. Okay. Must think about this logically. Several pieces of furniture nearby are shuddering with my fury. I force myself to take several deep breaths, counting to twenty before I speak. Thankfully, the room calms. “You two are Emotionals. Have you not thought of influencing her to stay away?”

  “Yes. Of course we have.” Jonah’s bleak. “But we were warned we’d be punished if we did.”

  Excuse me? Jonah is second tier Council and extremely influential. Kellan is highly ranked within the Guard; his mentor runs it now. Who in the worlds could ever tell the Whitecomb twins that they are forbidden from using their crafts on some psycho bitch that is stalking them? “Who told you that?”

  “The first time Kellan called the Guard about her breaking into our apartment—it’s when we realized this was a real problem—Sophie’s parents petitioned the Council within a half hour, claiming they were fearful that we would retaliate and break the law by making their daughter a zombie. No matter what I argued, I was forcibly reminded that I could not influence another Magical simply because she was having,”—he flashes air quotes—“romantic difficulties with my brother. Nor was he allowed to influence her simply because he was tired of her.” A frustrated sigh fills the room.

  This just doesn’t make sense. “Law? What law?”

  “The one forbidding Emotionals from influencing other Magicals in matters such as love and hate without written permission beforehand.”

  What? This is the first I’ve ever heard of such a thing, which I guess just goes to show how little I really paid attention to my Council duties before. Shit. What else am I blindly ignorant to? I clear my throat. “Do you guys ever do that, though? Work on people without them knowing?”

  “Most things are okay. Like, making hysterical people calmer. Or, those who are suicidal, we give them hope once more. But we never work on anybody without permission when it comes to matters of the heart.” He leans forward. “Chloe, nobody wants to find out that they’re in love with somebody because an Emotional made them be—or find
out they loathe someone for the same reason. I get why there’s a rule. I agree with it in principal, actually.”

  A frustrated sigh escape me, too. This is my fault. All of this is my fault. “What can we do?”

  “Nothing we haven’t already done.”

  “Maybe . . . I could talk to her?”

  “Since I happen to know she hates you, I’m going to ask if you can make every attempt not to talk to her again.”

  I blink.

  “What she feels toward you . . . it makes me uneasy,” he says.

  “Should I be worried?”

  He pulls no punches. “I think we all should be worried.”

  Later that night, Jonah shows me his new apartment. Sawdust and plastic tarps litter the floor, walls are half painted, but behind all this, I can see something infinitely dear to me: a home. More importantly, a home with him.

  I nudge a paint can with my foot. “You know how much I’ve always wanted a gray living room.”

  I delight in watching his cheeks turn pink under his golden tan as he realizes I caught him subconsciously (or even consciously?) choosing colors that I would’ve picked for a home.

  “It’s okay.” I loop my arms around his waist, twisting my fingers in his belt loops. “Apparently, I recreated your pea coat in Alaska. Karl called me out on it. I was looking for you, too.”

  He nuzzles my neck; my knees go weak. “Yeah?”

  “I dreamed about you a lot, too,” I admit. My voice is all breathy as his hands move underneath the hem of my shirt, skimming the line of skin right about my skirt.

  His voice is soft against my sensitive skin. “Good dreams?”

  I tell him that, while some dreams helped me relive good times between us, others had me losing him over and over again, only for me to destroy whatever place we were in in my desperation to find him. Anxiety crawls the walls of my stomach as I think of these nightmares and how they tortured me for months.

  “I’m here,” he tells me, cupping my face with both hands. “You haven’t lost me.”

  I nearly choke on my regret. “I almost did.”

  The kiss he gives me is gentle, soothing. “I have something for you.”

  “Other than an apartment?”

  He grins as he pulls away. “Do you like it then? If you don’t, we can rent it out and find a place more to your liking.”

  “Are you kidding?” I glance around. “I love it.” I lean up on my tiptoes so I can kiss the corner of his mouth. “You have excellent taste, Mr. Whitecomb.”

  He laughs, and I delight in how he blushes once more. I’m told that, while the renovations are almost done, if I want to switch out any of the paints, I’m free to do that. None of the appliances in the kitchen have been bought yet, nor has any of the furniture other than what we already own, so we can go shopping for them as soon as I want.

  “Is that my gift?” I tease as I throw open the closet door in the master suite. I’m faced with what looks like a whole other room—not just a closet, but an entire room dedicated to clothes, shoes, and the like.

  Whoa. I don’t even have one-fourth of the amount of clothes needed to fill such a space.

  “No.” He pulls me away from the closet. “Nor is that.” I’m led over to a huge bay window that has a bench built in right in front of it. I sit down, but he drops down to a knee. The hummingbirds in my chest take flight as I drink the sight of him in the beautiful moonlight spilling into the room.

  “I proposed to you, remember?” Despite my teasing, my voice trembles.

  I love how deep his dimple is right now. “You didn’t give me a ring, though.”

  “But . . .” I motion to his hand, except . . . the ring we’d found isn’t there anymore. It hasn’t been there for awhile, not since he took it off the moment he found mine in the secret box. And now it lies next to the one that had hugged my finger back in the apartment we left behind a few hours ago.

  He shakes his head slowly. “I loved those rings, Chloe. Part of me still does. I have a lot of happy memories associated with them. It’s just . . .” He blows out a breath that sends the hairs around his face floating. “Fate picked those rings out for us. We didn’t have a say in them.”

  For a moment, I don’t know what to say. Jonah . . . he feels that way, too? Resentful of how Fate has manipulated us so much?

  “This one, though,” he says softly, pulling something out of one of his pockets, “I think . . . it would mean a lot to me if you wore it.” His palm opens to reveal one of the most beautiful diamond rings I have ever seen. It’s still rose gold, like our others, but constellations of small diamonds surround a beautiful square one in the middle. Wait—there’s one small blue stone near the center diamond. Maybe a sapphire? “This is the one I’ve always wanted to propose to you with. This is the one I’ve always seen on your finger when I dream about our future. This is the one I wanted to pick.”

  My breath catches in my throat. It’s gorgeous. Just absolutely gorgeous.

  “It’s been in my family for generations. My mom wore it last. It would mean the worlds to me if you wore it, too, as a symbol of how much I love you.” He’s uncharacteristically nervous, which I would find adorable if I didn’t actually feel like bursting into tears brought on from sublime happiness right now. He wants me to wear his mother’s ring?

  My voice shakes with emotion when I tell him, “I love it.”

  He holds the ring up so the blue stone faces me. “This one . . . this sapphire is from Astrid.” His smile is so very sweet. “Because I’ve been lucky enough to have not one, but two wonderful women to raise me. Maybe someday, when we pass this ring down to our son or daughter, you can substitute one of the stones for something that represents you, too.”

  Okay. I officially burst into those noisy, happy tears. I stick my hand out and the moment he slides it on my finger, this feeling of overwhelming contentment overcomes me. He gave me his mother’s ring. Somehow, after everything that’s happened over the last few years, he trusts and loves me enough right now to hand over one of the few possessions of hers he still has.

  I pull him up so I can throw my arms around his neck. “I love you so, so much, Jonah Whitecomb. Nothing would make me happier than to wear this ring.”

  Later, as we lay naked on the ground on top a blanket I made us, sated in each other’s arms after an intense yet beautiful round of lovemaking, I marvel at how right this ring looks on my finger.

  I will never take this one off.

  “I’m gone for like a week, and you get engaged?” Will nearly slams his coffee cup down on the table. “Plus you’re moving out already?” He glares at his father. “Dad! Is this not moving a wee bit too fast? Didn’t you lecture us just a few months back about how the two of us are way too young to even contemplate marriage?”

  Cameron sighs and sets the newspaper he’d been reading down. “Son, you know as well as I do that love doesn’t always move on the timetables we’d like it to.”

  “I’m not moving out today,” I assure him. “The apartment isn’t even done yet. Plus, it’s a ten minute walk away, so chances are, I’ll be over here everyday anyway.”

  Will arrived in Annar less than an hour before—he’d been ready to go to his room and pass out when he noticed the ring on my hand. From that point on, rather than telling us what happened in Glasgow, he drilled me on the particulars of everything that happened in the last few days.

  Cameron and I exchange a worried glance. If Will is acting this upset over me moving out, it’s because something bad happened in Scotland.

  “How is Becca?” Cameron asks quietly.

  He’s silent for so long I actually start believing he’s not going to tell us. Just as Cameron gets up to head into the kitchen, Will finally says, “Cora came through. Becca’s . . . she’s fine. Miraculous recovery and all. Her family nearly shattered the record for hysterical sobbing over how the doctors didn’t know shite.” He sighs and drops his chin in a propped up hand. “She doesn’t remember anything
about the accident. Broke down when she learned that Grant was dead.” He scrubs his hair with his free hand. “Had to be tranquilized or some shite when she learned she lost the baby.”

  “Oh, son,” Cameron murmurs, reaching out to lay a hand on Will’s forearm.

  “Kellan came in quite handy then. Got her . . . to a point, I guess, where she wasn’t bloody hysterical all the time. Then she called me. Begged me to come see her. Jesus. It was brutal.”

  My heart goes out to him.

  “She . . . she wants another chance. Says she misses me, that we’ve lost too much time already. Told me she was sorry for what she did, so very bloody sorry that she shagged my best mate and was going to have his baby.”

  “How do you feel about that?” I ask softly.

  “Like she fucking punched me right in the balls.” He stands up. “I’m going to go to bed. Chloe, if you dare to get married while I’m napping, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  I stand up and hug him tightly. “Understood.”

  When he’s gone, Cameron says, “I worry about him, hen.”

  Me, too.

  After much going back and forth on how to handle the situation, Jonah and I finally decide it’d be best if he talked to Kellan about our decision to get engaged again. Initially, I’d wanted to be there, but in the end, I realized there was a good chance I’d just flat-out make things worse by sobbing outright, wracked by guilt, which would have done neither man any good.

  Even still, I’m a nervous wreck tonight, knowing that Jonah is having that discussion with Kellan while I’m to have one with Callie.

  Jonah’s ex-girlfriend shows up at my apartment, board game in hand for what she believes to be a leisurely night in. But Cal’s always had keen eyesight, so the moment I attempt to hug her, arms outstretched, she stops me with a look that is an agonizing cross between resignation, surprise, and flat-out pain.

 

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