Chapter 9
“Here, we are!” Lionel announces, patting me on the leg as if I hadn’t seen the white house in front of us. His smile lights up everything. These last few days, I’ve noticed many of his quirks. The way his eyebrows knit together when he’s studying his documents or the way he closes his eyes before answering to something important.
The house is stunning. It’s not the stereotypical millionaire home that appears on TV, but it’s still pretty big, and is located on top of a hill surrounded by beautiful, meticulously kept landscaping.
“Here we are,” that’s the only thing I can think to say.
It’s past noon and the sun is beating down on us. My hands are sweating, so I have to wipe them several times on the cotton fabric of my dress.
I’m nervous. The last few days have been a revelation. We talked a lot and figured out a plan for what would happen after receiving the green light to go home.
One of my conditions for not returning to Carrollton was that I would start studying for the SATs. It was non-negotiable and I was determined not to keep pushing it off any longer.
Lionel surprised me calling his assistant. As if by magic, not only one but four books materialized in the hospital room, plus notebooks, highlighters, pencils, and many other supplies. For a moment I felt like a schoolgirl about to start the school year. That was a refreshing change, because the other times I tried to talk to Lionel, he wouldn’t even let me plead my case.
Mrs. Kral almost had a heart attack when she found out I didn’t have plans to return to the hellhole I came from—her words, not mine—my mother-in-law has no problem expressing her opinion. Lionel respectfully told her that while he appreciated her concern, he’s a married man and his place is next to his wife. That ended the argument.
When it came down to my mother, she was quite pleased, because in her mind, the place of a wife is always next to her husband without question. She didn’t even put up a fight about having to take care of my bees. I didn’t want to ask her to make soaps. Although, I did insist that if she needed an extra hand, she could call Valerie. Still, Lionel intervened immediately, saying that he would take care of the salary if she wanted to hire somebody.
Ethan went to the hospital every day, but I haven’t seen Alexandra again, since one of her daughters hasn’t been feeling well and she had to do a double shift. Not to mention she’s also the director of a major PR firm in the city. A girl boss and, for me, an inspiration.
Nothing is impossible for the one who believes. So, I need to start studying.
The rest will come later.
Lionel and I keep looking at each other, neither of us wanting to break contact, until the driver opens his door to help him out. He’s fine, considering what happened, but a sling still immobilizes his arm. Although he still mostly rests, he’s required to do some exercises every night, and in a couple of weeks, he will start PT.
The physiotherapist at the hospital recommended a couple of colleagues who make house visits and we’ve already contacted one for an interview. Security around the house was also organized, although Lionel was stubborn about not having anyone inside, so Ethan had installed a state-of-the-art security system. In his own words, it’s top-notch.
Besides, the property is located within a private gated community, which can only be accessed by passing a security check.
And now here we are, in front of the home where my husband lives.
Lionel gets out and waits for me to do the same. One of the security details keeps the door open allowing me to get out of the SUV.
“I hope you like it,” Lionel mutters as we climb the steps that lead to the entrance. The door is red and has a glass panel on each side. It makes a lovely contrast to the gray wood planks of the walls and the white trim.
The house looks like something out of a fairy tale.
“Under the circumstances,” he says with a grin. “I hope my wife will forgive me for the fact that I won’t be carrying her as we crossed our home threshold for the first time.”
And my jaw drops to the floor.
I don’t know what surprised me more, the fact that he considered taking me in his arms or that he called this our home.
This is a joke, I tell myself. Look at the man ’ s face, of course, he ’ s joking.
I decide to put on the pink-tinted glasses I’m seeing the world through right now and joke around with him too.
“Well, kind gentleman, open the door then. I’m getting old here.”
Lionel enters a code on the small panel. A green light appears, and I gasp as the door swings open with a soft click, revealing a grand entrance that takes my breath away. The house is much more than I imagined when I saw it from the outside. It’s spacious and luxurious, with gleaming wooden floors, high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, and large windows that let in an abundance of natural light.
But despite its beauty, there’s something unsettling about the emptiness of the house. No furniture or decorations adorn the vast rooms, making it feel cold and lifeless. Doubts and mistrust flood my mind once again. This could all be a ploy to deceive me. After all, I’ve seen my fair share of tricks and scams. With his wealth and influence, Lionel could easily hire someone to rent or even buy a property for him. Does he really think I’m naive enough to believe his lies?
“Who lives here?” My head is spinning and not in a good way. “Who’s the owner of this house?
“What are you talking about? It’s mine, of course,” he responds almost automatically.
“How long have you lived here?”
“A little over three years,” he explains while looking around a bit. I am about to ask for more information, but before I can, he takes my hand and tugs me towards a set of large wooden and glass doors. As we step through them, a gentle breeze brushes against my skin, causing my hair to dance in the wind. And then I see it - the vastness of the ocean stretching out before us. The deep blue waters blend seamlessly with the sky on the horizon, it’s truly a sight to behold.
“That’s the ocean,” he states. What my eyes are seeing makes me forget the rest.
“That’s the ocean,” he repeats. “You’ve never seen it before?”
That question catches me off guard, he and I have talked about this before.
“I already told you, the only places I’ve visited are Detroit and Chicago,” I reply without taking my eyes off the beautiful landscape in front of us.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he shrugs. “Some memories are still fuzzy.”
But for me everything is clear like the sky above us, as beautiful as the vastness of the water, and as bright as the sun. I feel like I could stay here, admiring this view forever. I can’t wait to see the sunset.
“Can we go?” I wonder. “To the beach, I mean.”
He smiles, and that makes me happy, because more than anything, what I want is to put my feet in it, feel the waves, and the sand under my feet. To discover the scent of salt water. I want to find out if it’s as wonderful as everyone describes it.
“I suppose we can,” he replies. “I’d have to check with the head of security. Maybe in a few days, when the media has found another scandal to chase.”
“Thank you.” Hearing him say those words makes me happy. And above all, I do hope things calm down.
“If you’re in the mood, we can have dinner out here tonight,” he suggests, of course I accept his offer. “We can order whatever you want, I’m looking forward to a quiet meal at home.”
I also have plans and…
“I’m tired of takeout, don’t you want some homemade meal?”
He laughs a little before answering. “You get used to it. I can handle certain stuff, the housekeeper who comes once a week leaves some frozen dinners. We can go check the fridge.”
I turn toward him, putting my hands on my hips. I don’t want to eat a frozen dinner. It’s so not appealing.
“Are you crazy? I’m perfectly capable of going to the store to get some groceries to fix supper for both of us.”
Lionel looks at me with a mixed expression of surprise and curiosity. “I didn’t bring you here to take care of me, I can manage on my own.”
“And I think they hit you in the noggin stronger than the doctor said,” I rebuke. “You know I love to cook, and when something gets into my head…”
He smiles again and it almost outshines the sun above our heads. “That is impossible to forget.”
???
At six in the evening, supper is ready on top of the pristine granite countertops in Lionel’s kitchen ready to be put in the oven. I prepared a feast. I had enough time. After our moment on the terrace, Lionel said he was in urgent need of a good shower. Although I wanted to volunteer to rub him down, I held myself back. Determined to enjoy a little sun and the beautiful view. A little later, one of Ethan’s men came with the groceries we got delivered from the store.
In fact, there were a few extras. It must have been Lionel’s doing.
At that moment, he came in barefoot dressed in a simple cobalt blue t-shirt and gray shorts, asking me for help to put the sling back on. The task wasn’t easy. My hands on his back, on his firm and defined shoulders, was quite tortuous. Fortunately for me, he was looking straight ahead and didn’t realize that I had to press my lips together to avoid a gasp from escaping me. When I finished helping him, he took my hand and kissed my wrist, in the same place as the other day. He must’ve realized the effect it had on me.
It was impossible not to.
To my surprise, not only did he take a seat at the bar waiting for me to finish, but he tried to help out in some way.
“Put me to work,” he said, and even though his arm is still in the sling, he wanted to do something. He helps me to organize the groceries in the refrigerator and points out where all the utensils are. I must admit that with the way Lionel moves around so effortlessly, it’s obvious it’s not a rented house as I first suspected.
I shred some cheese on the pasta before putting it in the oven. This mac-n-cheese is going to be amazeballs, made with smoked Gouda and a parmesan coating. Set to one side, I have cooked bacon finely chopped to put on the tray when it comes out of the oven all bubbly and delicious. As I continue to fix dinner, I simply ask him, “Why is the house still empty after three years?”
“I spend very little time here,” he replies, raising his right hand. “And for the record, it’s not empty, I have everything I need. When I give you the tour, you’ll see for yourself.”
We both know his statement leads us to a deeper topic—something the two of us have avoided talking about since he woke up ten days ago.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me, Lionel?” I demand. “I still don’t understand why you had to lie.”
He leans his free hand on the counter and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he looks me straight in the eye.
He has the most gorgeous brown eyes, and those eyelashes… A girl has to be strong… I have to be strong not to get lost in them.
“There are certain things that have a logical answer,” he begins. “It’s easy for people only to see a guy like me for what he represents and not for who he really is. But beyond achievement, money, and power, I’m a just man, Stella. A man like any other.”
Yup, a man like any other … that’s debatable.
“That’s somewhat understandable , but the thing about your family. Why did you tell me that you were never adopted? You told me you grew up in the system.”
I hear him take a deep breath. “That’s partially true, I was a newborn when I went to an orphanage downtown, coincidentally quite close to the place where I was attacked. I was there for five years. Apparently, my mother was a minor when she got pregnant, and my grandparents didn’t think it was a good idea for her to keep me…”
I’ve heard this part of the story before, however, the feeling blooming in my chest is always the same. I want to hug and comfort him, not just the man he is now, but also for the lost child he was.
I grip the handles of the ceramic saucepan, in an attempt not to throw my arms around his neck, and I place it in the oven. For now, we are living in ‘harmony,’ but that doesn’t mean that we are going to go further.
When I think about the relationship we had, it feels like I’m being told someone else’s story. Not only because the memories seem distant, but the man in front of me is behaving differently than the one I fell in love with.
The Lionel who swept me off my feet in Carrollton used to joke around about everything, always with a witty answer, he really enjoyed being the center of attention.
In front of me, this man is quiet and thinks more about the words coming out of his mouth, and although he seems more confident with himself, he’s also humble. And dare I say it that this version of Lionel is confident, funny, and a bit cocky, but not snotty.
It’s evident with the way he lives, the house isn’t opulent. He has a nice watch on his wrist, but it isn’t encrusted with diamonds. Now, for reading, a pair of black rimmed glasses frames his eyes. The clothes he wears look expensive, but don’t have the designer labels all over them, he’s more subtle. I like that very, very much. But at the same time, it also confuses me.
How can someone change so much simply because they get hit in the head?
Lionel couldn’t erase his essence. He has assured me he remembers most things, that only some details are fuzzy, like the assault. I wasn’t there when the police officers went to the hospital to take his statement, Ethan was in the meeting with him, to spare me the painful details; although he has reassured me that he has told me more than enough about the attack.
But none of that does anything to alleviate this confusion.
“All ready?” he asks me when he sees that I put the last piece of chicken in the air fryer. I can’t believe Lionel has such a well-equipped kitchen and everything is almost brand new.
“All set,” I reply, a smile tugging up my lips, although it’s weak.
“Let me show you around the house.” I accept the hand he’s holding out to me and let him lead me to another room where there is an old-looking drawing table. Next to it is a long desk with just some drawing papers and a collection of pencils.
“I like working the old-fashioned way, it relaxes me,” he explains with a shrug while still holding my hand. “Sometimes technology is a hassle. Come on, let’s go.”
We go up the stairs to a room which appears to be a man cave. There’s not much in here, just a giant television embedded in the wall and a sofa that you could easily say that is older than Methuselah by its looks alone.
We continue our tour. At the end of the hall there are a set of double doors. He releases my hand so that he can open them, then gestures for me to enter. It’s his room, and like he said, it’s furnished. There’s a king-size bed against the side wall covered in a sleek dark blue duvet, two wing chairs on either side of the fireplace, and one more by the window facing the ocean.
He turns toward me in silence, then looks at the bed, and again at me.
“Stella, I have news for you, and I think you’re not going to like them.”
Shit, what is it now?