21. Zara
ZARA
In my home office, Conrad and I celebrate closing a seventy-five-million-dollar deal. He pops champagne, the bubbles spilling over the two glasses, just like my unease.
I take one glass from his hand, and we clink to the successful deal, forcing a smile.
I should be happy. Proud. Content. I’m a successful woman in a male-dominated field, but my thoughts dwell on revealing the puzzle image.
I’ve never believed in coincidences, and I wonder if my brain is trying to tell me something.
That house is still on my mind, so going to the therapist is imperative, yet my heart latches on to the honeymoon, completely shutting the door to reason.
“Did you reschedule it?” I ask him, the two parts of me warring—the one that wants to focus on the present and the one stuck in the past.
“Not yet.”
“Do it.”
“Are you sure? You seem settled.”
I can’t deny it, but it’s not enough. Or maybe I am just not destined to enjoy serenity. Maybe everything is ephemeral.
There’s this nagging feeling, an invisible alarm ticking toward doom. Both Vian and I sense that.
He’s hiding something. It’s clear. But what? I suspect he knows me from before. As far-fetched as it sounds, it’s the only logical explanation I can postulate.
The possibility leaves me desolate. If that were the case, his cruelty would know no bounds, and I could never forgive him.
But how can the man who looks at me like I am his life be the one to betray me the worst?
What if Vian is my lost love? I shake my head, frowning at myself for having such a wild fantasy.
I hear his jet landing, and Conrad says, “Enjoy your honeymoon. Be happy, Zara. You truly deserve it.”
“Thank you. For everything,” I say, emotions lodged in my throat.
I trust this man completely, and he nods, a muscle in his jaw straining as he retreats, leaving me to wonder what is bothering him.
I walk toward the window and find Vian in the Jeep, my heart beating unruly, overly excited. That’s nothing new in his magnetic presence; he has been drawing me in from the moment I saw him.
As if he knows I am watching him, his eyes roam around, landing on me through the window. Like an arrow hitting the intended mark, he pins me to the spot.
A wolfish grin stretches across his face, loving to affect me.
I smile, besotted with this man as I rush downstairs. Denying it would be in vain. Hiding it would be blasphemy.
I reach the foyer, noticing my household manager standing beside my luggage.
“Thank you,” I say, and the door opens to reveal him.
I doubt the day will come when he doesn’t captivate me. He captures my attention, tugging at my heartstrings with a simple gaze.
He cuts the distance between us in two long strides and lifts me off the floor, slanting his mouth over mine. Everything else vanishes, his heated kiss layered with sheer passion and unfiltered desire, unraveling me.
“Ready?” he asks, sounding as eager for some undisturbed time as I am.
Our honeymoon should thrill me, but loss looms like a shadow of dread.
I plaster a smile on my face and ignore my gut instinct once again. After I have my fill of him over the honeymoon, I will uncover the mystery.
I can trust him with my body.
I can trust him with my heart.
But I can’t trust him with my brain. That’s why the mission of discovery I will embark on once we return will remain secret.
I have a few starting points: the tattoo, the house, and some flashbacks. If the therapist can’t help me, I will scour the world for someone who can.
Inside the jet, seated across from one another, I look at my handsome husband, the man I know deep down I love with all of me. Don’t be the one to break my heart after I entrusted you with it.
I roll the ring on my finger, and he notices. “Nervous?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Of my feelings for you.” Of you obliterating the other half that survived the aftermath and was stubborn enough to thrive against the odds.
He cocks his head, his index and middle fingers digging into his cheek. “You should be, if you feel even a smidgen of what I feel for you.”
A small smile teases my lips. “It’s not a competition.”
“I would still win.”
I roll my eyes at him, trying but failing to hide my glee. “You can’t quantify feelings, so how would you even know that you love me more?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Because you could be the one to end me, and I would go smiling.”
That sounds ominous and romantic in a very disturbed way. His love for me feels darker, more nuanced, as if forged in pain and strengthened by obsession.
“Don’t give me a reason to kill you, and we’ll be fine,” I say, my voice ending on a playful note, but there’s an undertone to it.
Raw emotion shines in his eyes, his voice haunted. “You have too much confidence in me. You shouldn’t.”
My amusement fades as I stare into his sorrow-filled eyes. “Why? Would you hurt me, husband?”
“I’d sooner kill myself, but I don’t know how to avoid that.”
“Then why?” I breathe out, feeling exposed after he broke down all my walls.
His eyes narrow as if he’s sparring with invisible demons. “We all think we know best for the people we love.”
Leaning my elbows on the table, I steeple my fingers on my mouth. “A hypothetical question.”
“I don’t like the beginning of this conversation at all,” he grumbles, gripping the arms of his seat.
That sound brings the smile back to my face, and it hits me how natural that comes with him. Then I remember the gravity of the subject and clear my throat. “If an accident left me with lifelong pain, but you could end my suffering, what would you choose?”
He doesn’t even think about the answer, as if this scenario has played a hundred times in his mind. “Your life.”
“Selfish.”
“Perhaps.”
Tapping my chin, I tilt my head, locking eyes on him. “What if I ended up hating you?”
He waves a hand through the air, seeming unaffected. “So be it.”
“What if I didn’t want to see you again?”
“I would stay away and watch you from the shadows.”
“Like a stalker?”
“Like a man desperate for a glimpse of his life.”
He says things like this, instantly disarming me.
In a swift movement, he bends over the table, grips me by the neck, and draws me to him.
His hot breath causes tingles to erupt on my lips.
“I don’t think about whether my love is good, pure, or selfless.
It’s not. It’s mad. It’s intense. It’s raw.
And it’s obsessive. I would cross any limits for you. ”
“Dangerous,” I murmur.
He runs his nose along my cheek and whispers in my ear, “You like danger.”
Goose bumps pepper my skin, remaining even after he releases me and I suck in a much-needed breath.
“Have we met before?” I ask before I lose the courage, before he sweeps me away and drugs my brain with pleasure until I am too high on endorphins to care about anything else.
He leans back like a king on a throne, imposing and calculating. “What do you think?”
He’s cruel and too damn astute. I thought I could trap him, but I might have better luck capturing a wild animal.
“Answer me,” I grit out, my voice demanding.
“Answer me first,” he says in a matter-of-fact voice.
The flight attendant approaches with refreshments, and I pluck a glass of sparkling water from the tray.
I toss my drink back. “What are we? Kindergarteners?”
After she places a drink in front of him, he dismisses her with a wave, his focus entirely on me—a heady feeling, no wonder I struggle to breathe in his nearness. “Let me ask you a hypothetical question.”
That piques my interest, and he notices.
“You are offered a second chance, a clean slate. In this scenario, you get everything you ever wished for back. You just have to look ahead.”
My frustration stirs to life, the question hitting too close to home. “What is it? An Orpheus retelling?”
“It’s a well-known tale, a warning. The closer you are to your goal, the more desperate you get.”
Eyes locked, a silent battle wages between us.
“I thought it’s about trusting.”
“Nothing good awaits when you look back. What would happen if, instead of focusing ahead while driving, you kept looking in the rearview mirror?”
“It’s good to assure yourself.”
“You would crash because you should be paying attention to what’s in front of you.”
A surge of frustration stirs in my belly, and I arch a brow, eyeing him intently. “Is this a question or a demand to forget the past?”
He twists his hand to reveal his palm. “A cautionary suggestion.”
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t suggest, Vian. You imply, and people obey.”
“Everyone but you, wife,” he says matter-of-factly.
This conversation leads nowhere, fueling my annoyance and doing nothing to ease my confusion.
“What are you afraid of? I married you. Whatever and whoever hides in the closet of my past shouldn’t affect us.”
“It does if I share you with them.”
He wants me all to himself, and as endearing as his possessiveness might sound, I relish having things for myself as well. It is healthy, considering I am dealing with a very consuming man.
“And you want a child,” I say incredulously.
“Immediately, if it were possible.” A mischievous gleam sparks in his eyes, and the atmosphere heats. If it weren’t for the contraception shot, he would have gotten me pregnant long ago.
“Afraid of losing me?”
“Terrified.”
“Good.”
The corner of his mouth arches in a lopsided grin, making him appear even more attractive. Damn, I stand no chance.
“Enjoying my torment, I see. But don’t forget where we’re heading, wife. Once we’re there, I’ll deal with your brattiness.”
“I’m not a brat,” I say haughtily, but with no conviction.
Eyeing me earnestly, he rolls his lower lip between his teeth. “You’re a brat. A spoiled one too.”
The accusation is so absurd that I throw my head back, laughter bubbling out of me.
“I can’t believe you think I am a brat,” I say, dabbing at the corners of my eyes.
He lifts his hand, ticking one finger. “Exhibit A.”
I laugh some more, but his features remain stoic. “You leave my bed whenever you damn well please.”
I place my hand on my chest in faux outrage. “Unreasonable of me.”