Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Isla
With a groan, I throw my arm across my eyes to shield them from the late afternoon sun that’s creeping through the blinds.
How can it be so bright and cheery when my entire world has collapsed?
A few hours ago, I curled up on my lumpy couch, and I’ve been here since. Calypso is tucked against me, her soft purrs a faint reminder that life continues, despite my internal devastation.
My eyes are swollen from tears that haven’t stopped since I arrived home and locked the door behind me yesterday morning.
And my heart… I exhale a great big, shaky sigh. My heart is shattered.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the living room was how lonely it was.
I’ve gotten accustomed to inhaling the scents of leather and whiskey, and the dark, spiciness of power that Dorian wears as comfortably as he does his tailored suits.
When I was at the penthouse, there was always the steady sound of their voices in the evening.
And the low, sexy rumble of Dorian’s never-ending sensual demands.
Without really being aware of it, I’d settled into my life.
Since we returned from our honeymoon, Brennan always poured my first cup of coffee, sometimes even bringing it to me in the bedroom.
I loved my office that I’d decorated the way I wanted.
The space had cozy nooks to sit and read, along with an amazing desk where I could work.
The evenings were reserved for my men and going out.
Then returning home…
A fresh wave of tears stings my eyes.
The heavy silence hanging in the atmosphere reminds me how very much alone I am.
Funny.
When my father forced me down the aisle, I was heartbroken at the idea of giving up my small apartment and the life I’d proudly carved out for myself.
But now?
Fleeing from Dorian and Brennan has wrecked me.
Calypso nudges my chin, and I stroke her soft fur. But for once, I’m not soothed. As much as I was hoping that I could just slide back into my old routine, I can’t.
I’m no longer the same woman I was before Dorian and Brennan stormed into my life.
A knock at the door jolts me upright, and Calypso’s tail flicks.
My pulse spikes—Dorian? Brennan? But they wouldn’t knock politely. They’d pound or tear the door down.
After nudging Calypso aside, I tiptoe to the peephole. It’s Margaux, her dark hair loose, a grocery bag in her arms. Relief and dread twist in my gut.
Yesterday afternoon, she’d sent a second text, wondering if I’d decided what to do about the pictures she found.
During the exchange, I’d ended up telling her that I’d ended my marriage, but I didn’t give her many details.
I promised her I was fine and that I wanted to be alone.
And of course, she didn’t listen, though wallowing in my misery is the only thing I want to do.
Reluctantly I wipe my eyes with an already-damp tissue, blink back the tears that are threatening to pool down my cheeks, and open the door.
Margaux’s mouth falls open as her green eyes—so like mine—scan my face. Then she seems to get hold of herself. “Jesus, Isla.”
She brushes past me.
“Come in.” My sarcasm hangs on the air, unaddressed, as I take a quick peek down the hallway to be sure neither Brennan nor Dorian is nearby. Then I slam and lock the door.
She sets the bag she’s carrying on the counter. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.” I scoop back a handful of hair. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Have you showered today?”
She knows I haven’t.
“You’re still in last night’s pajamas.”
While you’re dressed beautifully in a flowing sundress. A little embarrassed, I smooth the hem of my wrinkled T-shirt.
Feeling even worse now, I sigh and head back to the couch. The moment I’m settled, Calypso leaps into my lap.
After she’s finished in the kitchen, Margaux walks into the living room carrying a pint of ice cream and a couple of spoons .
She places the container on the coffee table. Rocky Road. How appropriate.
“Figured we needed this.” She drops down beside me and offers me a spoon.
Since I haven’t eaten all day, I accept.
Leaning forward, Margaux pops off the lid. Instantly Calypso goes to inspect before turning up her nose.
“Dig in.”
I take a small scoop. The cold, creamy sweetness hits my tongue, but it’s not as delicious as I expected. That makes me sigh again.
Margaux has a couple of bites, then turns to me. “Did you know you have security?”
“I…” Scowling, I look at her hard. “What?”
“There’s a black SUV in the parking lot.
The windows are tinted, but through the windshield, I saw the guy watching me.
When I started walking up the steps, he got out and followed me.
It was like a secret agent thing. Stayed back a little while he seemed to be talking to someone, even though there was no one else around. ”
I move Calypso onto the cushion beside me and creep toward the window. I nudge aside the blinds and look.
Sure enough, there’s a vehicle parked facing my apartment. He has a clear view of the building and the stairs.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.
I know how vast my husband’s resources are. And it wouldn’t have taken Brennan and his team long to figure out where I’d gone.
Lowering the window covering back into position, I drop onto the couch again.
“Have you heard from them?”
“At least a hundred times.” Dorian couldn’t have slept more than an hour or two. If that long.
A more rational side of my brain had insisted I turn off my phone. But I couldn’t. So every time I managed to drift off to sleep, a notification woke me again.
“I saw an article in Scandalicious .”
“Oh, God.” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“There was an incident after you left the coffee shop? And you didn’t tell me?”
In the grand scheme of everything I’ve learned, that just seems to be a tiny blip.
“Listen, Isla…” She leans forward. “When I saw you at the coffee shop, you were on cloud nine. What happened? Is it about the article? Talk to me.”
Even though I don’t want to relive the whole thing, there’s no way she’ll leave until I do.
I drag my hair back, and she goes to the kitchen again, returning with two bottles of water.
When I don’t move, she twists the cap off one and puts it on the coffee table in front of me. “You need to hydrate.”
Even though she’s right, I don’t take her suggestion. Instead, slowly, and slightly out of order, I start with the question the reporter tossed at me.
She scowls. “Who is Lena?”
I go on to tell her about the picture I found, the confrontation with my men, and all the horrible details about her death, the mob’s involvement, Brennan going to prison, and the fact Dorian had blackmailed our father.
“Dear God.” Her face goes stark. “This is even worse than I imagined. I’m so sorry I ran.”
I shake my head. “That’s on Dad. Not you. You protected yourself. You had no idea he’d force me to be a stand-in.”
“But—”
“Don’t.” Since I escaped the penthouse, this is the first time I’ve felt something other than pity for myself. At least it gives me a tiny bit of energy. “I mean it. You couldn’t have known.”
And honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted my younger sister facing this situation. I’m not equipped to deal with it, but she’s even less so.
“They loved Lena?”
The image of the two of them together is branded into my brain.
My spoon clatters to the floor. Calypso leaps down, batting at the shiny silver, but I barely notice. “Yes.” My voice cracks. Brennan had killed for her. Whereas I’m nothing, an interchangeable bride. A pawn they blackmailed my father into giving them.
I finally take a drink of my water.
“You don’t just care about them. You fell in love.”
Love?
“And that’s why the Lena things hurt so much.”
I truly break then.
I don’t want her to be right.
But she is.
I love them. Both men, equally but differently.
And the knowledge they can never return my feelings destroys me.
“Oh, Isla!” Margaux hurries across to me and draws me into her arms.
Calypso leaps onto the coffee table, trying to figure out an angle to get to me. When she can’t, she meows pitifully, and I sob into my sister’s shoulder.
I hate myself for falling for them, hate that I want to feel Dorian’s arms around me, hate that I miss all the ways Brennan cared for me.
How could I have allowed myself to believe we could share something real, that I was more than a trophy, a woman who will give Dorian the heir he wants, an interchangeable bride?
My realizations crush me .
Margaux holds me while I cry, mourning for something that I never really had and never will.
Finally, even more broken than before, exhausted with no resources left, I push myself away from her.
She grabs a couple of tissues from the box and dabs my cheeks.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I confess.
“You don’t have to know right now.”
Calypso leaps back into my lap, her warmth a small comfort against the turbulence raging inside me.
“You stood in for me, moved out of Mom and Dad’s house, even though they all-but disowned you. You’re braver than you think.”
Though I appreciate her encouragement, she’s wrong.
“I’ll be here for you. Every step of the way.” There’s some guilt in her words, along with the promise.
She stays until the ice cream’s gone, until I’ve finished my water, until I’m so emotionally wrung out that I have no energy left to do anything except sleep.
Somehow I rouse myself to stand, and she sweeps me into a huge hug.
“This whole thing is my fault. I’m so sorry, Isla. So very sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Promising to call me later, and threatening to return if I don’t answer, she makes her way to the door.
Scooping up Calypso so she doesn’t escape, I check down the hallway, then lock the door.
Now that I’m alone again, the apartment’s too small, too empty, too full of a life that’s not mine anymore. I’m not Isla Davenport. I’m not Mrs. Vale.
I hug Calypso more tightly as hopelessness swallows me whole.