Chapter 23
Iwake up in an unfamiliar bed, draped in sheets I’ve never seen before, in a room I’ve never been in.
At least the warm body beside me and the steady breaths it lets out is one I know.
Thick curtains are drawn, letting barely any light filter in, so I can only discern vague silhouettes of my surroundings.
My foggy mind and the throbbing pain in my shoulder pile onto my confusion, and I force myself to think through the hazy fog.
We were in Canada. Lex was driving us to a safe house. But I don’t remember ever arriving or getting into this bed. I can’t recall anything past the first ten minutes across the border. Jesus, what was that pill he gave me? A sleeping pill for rhinos?!
Looking around, I notice a glass of water and a painkiller tablet on the nightstand, and I immediately forgive Lex for making me pass out. I’m not mad I missed the seven-hour drive. At all.
Sitting up is a challenge, but I somewhat manage, then take my pill before standing up to find the bathroom. I stumble upon a vast walk-in closet first, then find what I’m looking for. It’s beautifully designed, with sage glass tiles, soft-colored woods, and light beige walls.
My eyes are on the view out the large window as I pee.
It looks like we’re one floor up, and there’s nothing out there but nature and trees.
Once I’m done, I find a robe and slip it on the best I can before returning to the bedroom.
Curious to see what view this side has to offer, I slightly pull one of the curtains open.
Holy shit … The view over the lake is splendid.
Especially with the sun veiling the entire landscape with a warm, fiery glow.
It almost looks like fall instead of spring.
Gazing down at the lawn, I see a large natural stone terrace facing the lake, with a firepit surrounded by a round lounge sofa.
There’s also a wooden hot spring, and then a stone path that leads to what must be a boathouse.
I’m still taking in the utter beauty of this place when I feel a warm presence behind me.
“Do you like it?” Lex murmurs, his voice low and rough from just waking up.
“Baby, this place is incredible,” I say, twisting to look up at him.
“I knew you’d like it.” He opens the curtains all the way, letting the morning light in.
I lean back into him as he wraps his arms around my middle, my head leaning onto his shoulder. “So, we’re safe here?”
“Yes. My name isn’t tied to this place. This is the summer house of an old couple from Vancouver.
I offered them twice its price the day after the shooting, on the condition that it remained fully furnished.
They came by, took their personal belongings, and hid a key in an agreed-upon location.
Today, I’ll work on setting up a secure location so you can remain in touch with your loved ones.
And I have two phones with untraceable chips, which we’ll get to use. ”
Stunned by how much he accomplished in so little time, I stare forward for a moment, watching the surface of the lake shimmer with the golden morning light.
“Thank you,” I say in a small voice.
“For what?”
“For coming up with all this so we could be safe. For taking me along with you. For looking after me …”
His hold tightens just a little. “I’ll forever look after you, Andrea. We’re in this whole mess because of me, and if I have to, I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to making sure you’re safe.”
“I also contributed to the mess,” I remind him. “Whoever is doing this is retaliating for my heist. Maybe I should have been more careful with whom I picked. I hope we can find out who this person is and take that kill order down.”
He kisses my temple before offering, “Do you want me to show you the rest of the house?”
“Yeah. Then you can make me one of your signature breakfasts, if there’s everything you need for it.”
“I had someone stock up the fridge and the two freezers in the garage, so we should be good.”
“Perfect. I’m starving.”
“I’d imagine. You’ve been out for eighteen hours straight.”
“Jesus. That was some pill you gave me.”
“It isn’t that potent. You were extremely tired, which makes sense.”
“I slept through you carrying me up here, didn’t I?”
“Like a log. But it was better that way. You were more comfortable. How’s your shoulder?”
“A little sore.”
“I’ll change your bandage and help you shower after breakfast.”
“Thank you, Nurse Cole—Wilson. Nurse Wilson.”
The house isn’t what I’d expect a lake house to be.
It’s a masterpiece of modern architecture.
Its materials, grandeur, and wide openings are opulent and sleek, built toward the lake, with large windows overlooking it.
On this floor with us, there are two more bedrooms with separate bathrooms, some sort of leisure room with shelves full of board games, and a small office.
Then he leads me downstairs, assisting my descent.
The heart of the house is sumptuous, with an impressive ceiling height, combining the two levels into one.
A massive fireplace in the middle of it hangs from the ceiling, with a round couch surrounding it.
There’s a dinner area, with a long table and ten chairs, and the kitchen is separated from the rest by a sleek wooden counter that serves as a bar or another eating spot.
The kitchen itself is imposing, with stainless steel appliances, a huge island in the center, and warm terra cotta lacquered facades.
Lex shows me the entire ground floor, where there’s a home office, a personal gym, a TV room, a utility one, and a spare bedroom with its own massive bathroom.
This place is much more to my taste than Lex’s apartment, which makes me wonder if he’d agree to some remodeling once we’re back home.
“You like it?” he wonders as we walk back to the kitchen.
“I love it. You were right. This will be perfect for my recovery—the fresh air, the view, the serenity of it … Can you help me up onto this counter?”
He complies without a word, easily lifting me so I can sit on the wooden surface to watch him prepare our breakfast. “Since we can’t order in like we do at home, does it mean you’ll cook all our meals?” I wonder.
Lex grimaces at the thought, and I reassure him with a gentle laugh. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll Gordon Ramsay you into becoming the best chef you can be.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Basically, I’ll shout, throw creative insults at you, and if you’re lucky, I’ll even call you an idiot sandwich.”
“That sounds oddly specific.”
“It’s a whole experience. But I promise I’ll be relatively indulgent.”
“How merciful of you.”
“I know. Alexandra the Magnanimous would be my queen name.”
He frowns at the mention, and I understand that my teasing has struck an unexpected chord. “Maybe those names weren’t such a good idea. I don’t like you being anything other than Andrea.”
“Yeah, it’s a bit weird. But also a little kinky, in a way.”
“How about we stick to our real names when it’s just the two of us?”
“Oh, baby, if you really think I won’t be screaming ‘Fuck me harder, Andrew’ when we start having sex again, you’re severely mistaken.”
“And just like that, we’re never having sex again.”
“Like that’s gonna happen …” I mumble to myself, amused by his empty threat. He must have heard it because he shakes his head as he takes the eggs out of the fridge.
Four weeks isn’t that much. We’ve had longer dry spells. And in the meantime, I get to watch my dutiful husband take care of me, which isn’t such a bad alternative.
Though the strategy in coming here was centered on our safety, it turns out there are other advantages to it. The quiet tranquility of this place allows Andrea to rest as much as she needs to for her recovery. And then some.
A routine quickly settles between us, where we have breakfast together in the morning, she lies down to read a book or watch TV while I handle some work and ensure our tracks are covered.
At noon, she sits with me in the kitchen, coaching me as I prepare our lunch.
In the afternoon, she often naps while I exercise for a moment, and by the end of the day, we sit down with one of the board games that came with the house.
She can’t have alcohol yet, but I always let her have a sip of my wine or margarita—which I’m getting better and better at.
Then, a movie while we snuggle on the couch.
I’ve been a good nurse, helping her shower and changing her bandage every day. Even though she feels well enough to do it herself after the first week, she allows me to keep the ritual alive. It’s like a small penance, nothing compared to what she deserves for saving my life, but it’s something.
When the second week arrives, things take a bit of a turn as I help her with her motion therapy—and insist on it despite her reluctance.
We go slow, making sure she doesn’t injure herself, but we do what must be done every morning and evening.
Then, I earn her forgiveness by running her baths, lighting up a few candles, and helping her shampoo her hair.
She can’t fully soak in it until her wound is healed, but she still appreciates the relaxing moment it offers.
Everything is going rather perfectly, I would say, if it weren’t for her vivid nightmares.
On our fourth night in Canada, she woke up with a scream, tears welling up in her eyes.
It has happened nearly every night since, which doesn’t fail to worry me.
Back at home, Michelle has made herself available to talk about her apprehensions and fears, so the two of them have been having video calls every other day.
There has been no improvement yet, but Shelly insists it’s normal and some traumas take longer to heal than others.