Dark Love (The Two Sides of Me Book 3) (21 page)

Isaac did this for me, even after I was so ruthless in my attack on his feelings. Shit. I feel guilty, like I totally overreacted, in fact, I feel like I’m not entirely in touch with my emotions at all. Placing my hand on my own forehead and wonder if I’m finally losing it, can a sane person tolerate this much stress and continue to be sane? I inhale deeply and blow out a big breath, drop my hand limply to my side and make my way to end of the bed and lean on the footboard to watch the source of my roller coaster ride of emotions.

He’s resting quietly, I can’t see who’s is with him because the camera is zoomed so close into his face, but I assume it’s Mr. Saint. My heart flutters in my chest and that familiar magnetic feeling of being bonded together courses though me just looking at him. I wonder if that will ever fade? If, over time, this extreme need to occupy the same space and breathe the same air will diminish, or will it grow stronger? I can’t imagine things being more intense between us, but then again I couldn’t even imagine loving a man a few short months ago. Now I’m drowning in him, consumed by him, even married to him. It’s strange and surreal but natural and necessary at the same time.

He is my sun; my existence depends on him to warm me, provide me with life. If my sun ceases to exist, I wither and die. I don’t think many people find their sun very often in this world, and that saddens me. Everyone deserves unconditional, passionate, unmatched all-encompassing love, the other side of their coin, a reason to live.

I’m lost in thoughts of forever love when two little blurs wiz through the room, taking a severe turn when they nearly crash into my wardrobe. They grip the carpet with their sharp claws for greater traction and chase each other under the bed.

“Oh! There you are!” Someone must have let them back into our room, someone who knows I need a distraction and a little love right now. It could have been Isaac or Cecelia; both have developed a knack for anticipating my needs. Kneeling down to look under the bed, I immediately have one black and one white bundle of energy pouncing on me. I tip over on my side gripping my towel, giggling as they bat at my face and nudge my hands for attention.

“So you love me when
he’s
not around, huh? Playing favorites isn’t nice, you know.” I tease and watch as they attack invisible threats under the bed. “I’ve got to get dressed little monsters, don’t break anything.” I stand too quickly and find myself grabbing hold of the bedpost until the blood returns to my head, and my vision is corrected. I thought maybe whatever was wrong with me had passed but apparently I haven’t seen the end of it.

Once I’m dressed in a pair of cotton sleeping pants and a tank top, I debate going down to see Evan or just getting into bed. I feel better, the severe nausea and dizziness have passed, leaving me with only a mild stomach ache and sore muscles from vomiting. I want to see him, but I better not risk it. As much as I know he will be pissed when he wakes up down there without me, I also know he’s better off not being exposed.

I sink down under the duvet and between the Egyptian cotton sheets that Evan and I just made love on last night. I hug his pillow and breathe in the mixture of his earthy eucalyptus and my light lilac scents combined with sex. The potent scent invokes a strong physical reaction deep in my core. I long to have him back in our bed, to curl up against, to be warmed by his skin, to have him inside of me, part of me. Somehow I’ve been blessed and cursed at the same time with such a deep unlimited love. He brought part of me to life, but his past has me in a choke hold.

I flop onto my back and stare at the twinkling chandelier; full of frustration and angst I wonder if we will we ever live a normal life? Can we with all of his enemies? Yes and No join me on the bed, attacking my feet when I move them under the covers until finally they settle down and take advantage of my warm body to sleep against. I need to close my eyes and try to sleep; I know I do, but I can’t.

After sleeping all day as a result of my late night hamster wheel thoughts, I’m now well rested. I’m not taking a sleeping pill with Evan’s condition in limbo, so I’m stuck here with not much to do until I remember my iPad is on the bedside table. Reaching over carefully as not to disturb my fuzzy bed partners I open the drawer and feel around for it. My fingers brush over the handcuffs, two guesses as to who put those away for me.

The words I slung at Isaac repeat in my mind and guilt seeps in, shit. I was so nasty, it’s not like me, but the things he said tore my heart out and he emotionally backed me into a corner, like an animal, I came out fighting. I’ll forever know that people have suffered terribly, even died at the hands of my husband. I can’t imagine how that must feel, to intentionally take the life of another removing them from the face of the earth. Maybe they were all evil people; maybe they all deserved to die?

I wasn’t raised to think that way though; God is the only one who can judge us and decide our time is done here. The murderer, torturer, keeper of slaves…fuck this line of thought! That’s not who he is anymore! I squeeze my eyes shut tight and repeat over and over ‘he’s loving, attentive, generous and he adores me.’ Those are the thoughts I have to fill my mind with but still the details of the man he used to have a place in my mind, part of me will always have my guard up watching for a sign, waiting for that stranger to return. I tap the glass of my iPad until I find the book I was passing the time with in the hospital. Yes readjusts turning in her spot before stretching out along the length of my leg. I stare at the page of a romance novel not actually reading the words, but thinking about all of the romance novels I’ve read, hundreds of them where the characters have fallen in love and will more times than not, live happily ever after. I want that, why can’t life be more like a romance book? Easy, passionate and predictable, I’ve got a third of it down pretty well, but being with Evan will never be easy or predictable.

Ugh, I throw back the covers and toss my iPad aside on the bed scaring the crap out of Yes and No. “Sorry, babies.” I can’t just lay here doing nothing, maybe a walk will help. I pass the T.V. and touch the screen where he lays, still sleeping before grabbing a hoodie from my wardrobe. I zip it up and head out to ease my restlessness and praying for something to tighten the reigns of my racing thoughts. My stomach is still a little off, but I think something to eat might help now.

The kitchen is dark; Cecelia has gone to bed long ago. Toast, that sounds like a good place to start, but I don’t know where anything is kept in this kitchen. After rummaging around in the impeccably organized cupboards, I find a loaf of bread and pop a slice in the toaster and lean against the island. The last time I was in this kitchen alone at night just like this, it was a monumental disaster. Thankfully the doctor staying in this house tonight isn’t interested in derailing my marriage. The toast pops up unexpectedly startling me away from my memories of Dr. Carter and Evan. Geesh, when did I become so jumpy? My stomach growls, impatient to be settled. I nibble carefully at the dry toast and take a bottle of Evan’s fancy water from the fridge.

Now, what? I feel totally normal; whatever was wrong has disappeared as quickly as it came on. When the kitchen is cleaned up, I switch off the light and with nothing else to do, I resign to go back to my bedroom. In the foyer, I change course at the last minute when I walk past Evan’s office. Pushing the door open, I notice a soft green library lamp glowing on his desk. I wonder if he asks that a light be left on in every room at night; my big strong husband still hates the dark. Smiling at that thought, I amble to his desk and sit in the plush leather office chair, tilting it back and propping my feet on the huge mahogany surface.

Humph…must be nice being the king of his castle, now all I need is a cigar, and I’d look like the godfather. I cover my mouth and giggle to myself while my eyes wander around the shadow ridden room. It’s kind of spooky, but the dark doesn’t bother me. Running my hand along the wood I push myself an inch or two to the left and then the right, I know what I’m here for, but I’m too embarrassed to even admit it to myself. I want to snoop. He keeps so many secrets; I know it’s for my own good, but that doesn’t make me any less curious. Shifting my eyes inconspicuously around the room I check for the cameras that I know are there. I’m surely being watched and most likely by Isaac but hey, this is my house now too, right? I can look at anything I like, I’m his wife.

Reasoning with myself is damn effective, and I end up sliding open the center drawer moving the chair just enough to peek inside. Nothing exciting, a couple of pens neatly lined up on one side and random office supplies arranged in an anally retentive pattern, yea this is definitely Evan’s desk all right. Closing the drawer, I drop my feet to the floor and try the one on the left. I already know the one on the right is where the panic room button is installed, there’s nothing else in that one that’s of any interest to me.

Leaning over, I squint to make out what’s inside this deeper and darker drawer. A bottle of scotch rolls from the back, typical man, and over a thin stack of files next to a box of unopened tissue. I reach for the files but pull my hand back hesitating. I shouldn’t be doing this, he’s my husband, and I trust him. But unlabeled files not organized in a file cabinet in color coded alphabetical order just seems very out of character for Evan. Maybe it’s just that Isaac has been using his desk, and he’s put some work in this drawer…or maybe not.

Growling with frustration I
cave into my curiosity and pull out the file on top and crack it open just enough to see a few documents from Dominus, nothing exciting. Placing it on the desk I pluck another from the stack and stop cold when I see the name at the top of the first form, Cameron Rose Lawson. A neatly handwritten
sticky note inside the file reads “To be destroyed”. Most of the contents are legal forms saying Cameron was adopted by Evan at age nine. Who would let a mafia family leader adopt a kid? The answer is obvious,
anybody
I realize. The fact that he was a mob leader is precisely the reason someone let him adopt her; no one refuses Evan Lawson anything.

I lay the file out on the desk and prop my elbows on either side of it, neatly going through each form one by one. But the file has more than legal documents, it has photographs as well. The first I come across is a haunting picture of a young Cameron sitting at the dining room table in Seattle; I recognize the table because I once walked down the middle of it seducing Evan.

I can tell it’s been taken from security camera footage because of the high angle. She’s sitting alone eating with one hand and sitting on her other one. The next photo is of a much happier child, maybe a couple years older. Healthy and glowing she stands next to Evan proudly holding a trophy. I’m not able to make out what she’s won it for, but it probably wouldn’t make any difference to her. Whether it be for running a marathon or winning a game of checkers, it’s obvious her pride is directly related to Evan.

The next few show a timeline of Cameron’s life, elementary school years to high school, she continues to blossom, getting more and more beautiful in every photo. It’s clear that her goal was to please Evan. Swimming competitively on a team, dancing jazz, ballet and tap. Playing the cello in the orchestra. Dance recitals, concerts you name it he was there supporting her. His smile changed over time from proud and fatherly in her earlier years to stiff and forced in her teens until finally he’s absent from the photos altogether. It’s in the photos without him that it’s easy to see she’s gotten in with the wrong crowd.

I know what happens after that, my tummy takes a little roll and I break out into a cold sweat at the thought of him intentionally luring her into his bed to punish her for throwing the life he so generously gave her away. The last item in the file is a death certificate. It seems so sad that a person’s life can be summed up and represented by a few pictures and documents in a file. Nobody will remember her, no family will mourn her loss, except for Evan and his grief is tarnished with guilt. When I’m finished, I make sure everything is exactly as I found it except I remove the sticky note. The short documentation of her life shouldn’t be destroyed, no matter what happened between them in the end she was a person, and she mattered.

I place the file back where I found it and decide maybe there are some things a wife shouldn’t be looking through but before I can close the drawer I notice a small wooden box with a brass latch. Whoever coined the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ was surely referring to me. I look up and scan the room before I take it out of the drawer and hold it below the desk out of the cameras view. When I open it, there are two keys nestled in purple velvet with ENL engraved on each one. Evan’s initials. On keys? Now I’m really intrigued, what the hell could these keys open. I slip one key out of the box leaving the other and replace it in the drawer exactly where it was, well as close to exactly as I can anyway. I can tell he’s got things arranged so that he will know if someone has touched them. He won’t be at this desk for a while though, and I’m sure Isaac works here in his absence so if anything is out of place Evan will assume it was him.

I have no idea how I plan on finding what lock this key opens but my heart thuds in anticipation. I’m not pressing my luck tonight though suddenly my bed is calling my name. How can I possibly be tired when I’ve only been awake for six hours? A night owl by nature, my body is conditioned to be up at all hours. Before I leave, I try to put his chair exactly where I found it but it’s hopeless, not that it matters anyway I’m sure someone will know I’ve been here. Still I look at it, moving it a little to the left and then scooting it a little to the right; I give up, dead center will have to do. Slipping the key into the pocket of my hoodie I return to bed where I see Evan is still sleeping on the T.V. screen. I kiss the tips of my fingers and press them against the glass.