Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“It’s true then.”
He doesn’t bother denying it. “Yes, it’s true.”
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Imagine that conversation. Go ahead, close your eyes and picture it.” He pauses for a moment and he lets out a breath. “There are pieces of my life that I keep segmented away in little compartments. It’s the only way a man like me can survive and keep his sanity intact.”
“I’m one of those?”
“Yes, you are. I knew you’d find out who and what I am eventually, but I enjoyed the way you looked at me before that happened.”
“And how did I look at you?”
“Like you didn’t give a damn who I am. Like you want to fuck me because you want me, not my family.”
I’m breathing fast, on the edge of panic. This conversation is getting away from me. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus, but I’m spinning out, spiraling from my body, and I want him to rip the shower curtain open and kiss me, and I want him to get the hell out of here and let me have some privacy. I don’t know what I want, and that’s the problem.
“It was him,” I say finally, blurting it out before my nerves get the better of me. “Hermia described him, and it was definitely him.”
“The one you were running from.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “Who is he, asteraki mu?”
I sink down until I’m sitting at the bottom of the tub and the water’s spraying against my back. “My husband.”
He says nothing. The water’s scalding and uncomfortable, but I can’t make myself move. I deserve this—the pain, the sorrow. I should’ve told him that I’m married sooner, but I didn’t know how to broach it, and in my mind, that ugly chapter of my life is undeniably over. Even if legally, I’m still bound to Christopher.
“I assumed it was something like that,” he says at last. “What is his name?”
“Christopher.”
“How long were you married?”
I hesitate. “Five years. Five awful, ugly years. And we’re still technically married.”
“I can help you handle that,” he says, but his voice is more distant now. I hear him walk to the door and my chest yearns for him to come back, to pick me up in his strong arms, to get soaked with me.
I slowly push myself to my feet. Just because I’m shocked and in a bad place right now, I can’t let Evander steamroll me. I have to get it together and be strong, or else he’s going to do whatever he wants, and I can’t let that happen.
I owe him too much already.
I clench my jaw and take a few deep breaths. Some life comes back into my limbs, a little bit of my anger returning. “You’ve done too much already.”
“Too bad, asteraki mu.” He’s outside the door now. “From the look of things, you need help now more than ever.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, wanting him to come back.
“To get you a towel and some clothes. You and I need to have a conversation.”
Chapter 13
Camille
Evander puts a cup of coffee in front of me and folds himself into the opposite chair. We’re in an upscale cafe a couple blocks from the apartment while his guys clean up the mess and repair the door. I accept it wordlessly and take a long sip, letting the heat and caffeine sit in my stomach and start to wake me up.
“Tell me about him.” Evander stares at me with that intense focus like he’s raking over my skin with scalpel, peeling me apart and studying what he finds. I squirm uncomfortably, and I don’t want to tell him anything, but at this point I can’t keep on hiding the truth from him.
Because he’s more like my ex-husband than I ever dreamed.
“We met when I was eighteen.” I close my eyes and think back to those early, heady days. Christopher was a guy from the neighborhood, a friendly guy that everyone liked. He was handsome, and he had money, and my parents were always encouraging me to go out with him. They said he’d be good for me. They said I needed a decent man in my life.
We went on dates at first. Movies, dinner, a couple concerts. He bought me presents, flows, chocolates, even brought some good Italian takeout home for my mom and dad. He won me over, and he won them over, and when he got down on one knee and proposed to me six months into us dating, my mother practically forced me to say yes, even though there was a big voice in my head screaming for me to run and run fast.
You’ll never get a guy half that good again in your life, Camille, Mom said. And Dad didn’t disagree.
“It happened so fast,” I say and stare into the coffee, unwilling and unable to return Evander’s gaze. “Things didn’t turn bad right away, but when they did—”