Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TAMSYN
Just like that, he wipes his face clean of all the emotion I just saw and transforms himself into the bland face of inscrutability as he finishes with the fitted sheet and tosses it on the floor with the other linens. “You shouldn’t be here, Tamsyn.” His voice sounds rough. “I told you to go to bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, fighting my rising dread. “Why don’t you answer my question?”
“I told you.” He turns all that focus to removing the pillowcases, his movements still choppy. “We’ll talk in the morning. I need some space tonight.”
I walk deeper into the room, determined not to be dispatched for a third time tonight. “Space doesn’t work for me right now.”
“Ah.” He finishes with the current pillow and reaches for the next, lips curling into a sneer. “So you’re the only one in this relationship who’s allowed to need space every now and then.”
“You know what?” God, I’m trembling now. I can feel it in my belly, thighs and voice. As for my heart, it feels like it’s been nailed to my chest wall and set on fire. I’m so insulted. I know I’m young. I know I’m na?ve. But I’m not fucking stupid. “Take all the space you need. I get it. You fucked her, but you’re not ready to tell me yet. You don’t want to hurt me. But it’s okay. No worries. Save yourself the trouble of agonizing over it. The picture is more than clear enough.”
He freezes and stays frozen for a painfully long time. Eventually, his mouth opens and closes as he starts to say something, but no one’s got the time or energy to stand around while he manufactures some excuse that I won’t believe anyway.
“Save it,” I tell him.
“Tamsyn…”
“Let me guess,” I say bitterly. “None of your thirty maids made your bed today, so you’re doing your own chores? Sudden bedbug infestation? You ate crackers in bed and need to get rid of the crumbs?” I know I sound unhinged, but I don’t care. Why can’t he just be honest with me? Don’t I deserve that? “Don’t just stand there looking guilty. Say something.”
He runs his hands over his head and blows out a harsh breath. “I’m trying to.”
“You know what? Forget it. I’m leaving.”
That galvanizes him. He intercepts me at the door and slams it in my face, a wall of flashing eyes and unyielding determination materializing firmly in my space. “I told you. You’re not leaving. There’s no fucking way.”
The sudden hot burn of tears threatens to embarrass me. I refuse to let them fall. Not over them . “I’m not staying here while you make a fool out of me.”
He makes a strangled sound. That’s my only warning. “ She’s making a fool out of me ,” he roars, the force of his unleashed anger backing me up a step. “You think I want you to see that?”
I stand my ground even though his sudden vehemence scares me. A lot. I imagine a wounded tiger trapped in a corner is exactly this fierce. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I woke up and she was in bed with me.” He can barely get the words out around his gritted teeth. “Naked. Wearing your perfume. The perfume that I bought for you . That I equate with you . That I love . So you do the math.”
The scenario is so outrageous that all I can do is shake my head to reject it. My brain refuses to make these computations. I’m a woman who just graduated from college, where the trickiest thing I encountered was the occasional drunken frat-boy idiot who tried to cop a feel at a party or take a picture of my ass when he thought I wasn’t looking. There’s no way I’ve personally met someone capable of this kind of sexual manipulation. And there’s equally no way that I’m involved with a man devious enough to come up with a fake scenario like that just to manage me when I catch him cheating. So where does that leave me?
“What the hell are you talking about, Lucien? You expect me to believe that? And who would do something like that?”
“ Ravenna. ”
“But… Why? How?”
A derisive noise from Lucien. “How the hell should I know? You think my brain works like hers? I assume she stole it earlier when she got home from the hospital and showed up at the cottage.”
That makes some sense. She did have the opportunity, didn’t she? There’s no telling how long she was there alone with my stuff before Lucien and I arrived. “Oh my God.”
“She wants to get pregnant. That’s the why . I know that much. That way, we’ll be tied to each other for the rest of our lives, even if I divorce her. Although I’m sure she thinks I won’t divorce her if she’s pregnant. It’s about the only bargaining chip she has left. I always wanted kids. She said there was no way she was going to ruin her hips and stretch out her pussy with a kid.” He laughs bitterly. “That was one of our sticking points.”
I stare at him while the two halves of my brain engage in a death match. One half wants to believe him even if it means that Ravenna is far more twisted than I ever imagined. That’s the trusting half. The normal half. The other half is a suspicious bitch that I didn’t even know was in there, one consumed by jealousy and doubt. She’s got a louder voice and uses it to shout warnings about the lies men tell to keep their wives and mistresses in check. No story is too far-fetched when they’re on the hook for bad behavior. Everyone knows that. Plus, isn’t a billionaire worse than the average man because he’s got the money, power and resources to cover his tracks? Isn’t a man like Lucien used to getting whatever he wants—no matter what?
What was it that Ravenna said?
Do you really think one woman is enough for men like Lucien?
No, I don’t think. Not really. And if one woman could do it for him sexually, the woman would be Ravenna. Not me. At least, that’s what my shaky self-esteem says, anyway. I snap out of all these churning thoughts to find him studying me closely.
“You don’t believe me,” he says dully.
I shrug helplessly. “It’s hard for me to picture someone being that manipulative.”
A bark of bitter laughter. He bends to snatch the sheets up from the floor and thrust them at me, eyes flashing. “See for yourself.”
I recoil because I’m not the kind of person who gets involved in sordid shit like this. I can’t believe it’s come to this. It’s like we’ve slid through a portal into some pathetic reality TV show about warring couples. “I don’t need to?—”
“ Smell. Them. ”
There’s zero compromise in his expression, and I don’t want to be here all night. Besides, I really need to know. One way or the other. I can live with the answer as long as I know the truth. So I lean in and take half a reluctant whiff.
That’s all it takes.
The scent of my precious custom lily of the valley perfume, the one that Lucien bought me during our magical day together in Monte Carlo, overwhelms me. So she engineered their tryst and swooped in on him while he was half-asleep. Lucien wasn’t lying about that. Funny how the realization doesn’t make me feel much better. Does it really matter why they had sex? No. All that matters is that they did the deed.
I tell myself not to, but I look at the bed anyway. Now, suddenly, I see it all as though I was there in bed with them when it happened. Their perfect nude bodies twined together as he thrusts inside her with her shapely legs wrapped around his waist. Their open-mouthed kisses with glistening tongues. Their moans and cries. Their whispers and their mutual pleasure. I see it all—wallow in it all—until I feel the gorge rise in the back of my throat. I don’t know what’s worse. Is it that she stole from me and pretended to be me? Or that he got all the way through the act and never noticed that it wasn’t me? Either way, this rabid jealousy is enough to drown me. Worst of all is the fact that I always knew that Ravenna would come between us, dead or alive. Now that she’s resurrected, I’m sure he was only looking for an excuse to fuck her again. Why would he want me when he could have her ?
“Say something,” he says, his voice husky. Urgent.
“What should I say?” I say with a strangled laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you thought it was me while you sleep-fucked her?”
He recoils. “I didn’t fuck her, Tamsyn. It never got that far. I woke up. She didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel like you . How could she? How could anyone?”
Wait, what? He what ? He woke up? Just in the nick of time? How convenient.
Still, there it is. The implausible lifeline that I desperately want to grasp and hold. God, I want this all to be true. I want to believe he means all these pretty, romantic words about me. I want to believe that I’m the kind of woman capable of inspiring them even if I’ll never be the sophisticated temptress that Ravenna is. “How far did you get?”
He gives me a long and hard look. During the pause, I see him considering telling me everything and struggling with his answer. It’s so obvious. I also see the exact moment he decides not to and slams the door in my face. “We don’t need to get into that. I don’t want the images in your mind.”
I laugh again, and the sound creeps toward hysteria. “Too late. It’s imprinted on my brain already. Tell me.”
“No.” He drops the sheets, grabs my upper arms and hunkers down in my face. “We can’t let her fuck with us, Tamsyn. This is what she does. She gets inside your brain. Don’t let her win. Don’t let her manipulate you. Trust your gut. You know me. You know me.”
I go rigid and try to break free. I don’t want the hands that touched her—for whatever reason—to touch me. Especially on the same night. But he’s not letting go.
“ Please , Tamsyn.”
There’s something in his eyes. Something compelling. Frowning, I turn into some TV-style detective at that point, sifting through pieces of evidence and trying to nail down the culprit. I think about how wounded Lucien seemed earlier, when he wouldn’t let me touch him . I consider his long, hot shower, as though he wanted to scrub all traces of her from his body. And the sheets, of course. So it all looks good for Lucien. At least initially. But then I think about the box of happy wedding pictures and that terrible picture of Ravenna with a black eye and bruised face. And suddenly I don’t know who to believe, no matter how much I want Lucien to be the clear choice.
“She showed me pictures of your wedding earlier,” I say. “And there was a picture of her with her face all bruised.” I hesitate because I can’t quite bring myself to make the accusation. “As if she’d been beaten.”
He looks shocked as he drops his hands. Horrified. “What the hell are you talking about? From the time her doubles partner hit her in the face with her racket, you mean?”
And there it is. Another lifeline. I feel a surge of hope. “A tennis injury? She implied that you’d done it.”
Lucien goes still, the color draining from his face. “And you believed it.”
I quickly open my mouth, but there’s no available answer to give. I think of his dark and brooding side, which is a good chunk of him. Let’s be honest. I think about the flashes of anger I’ve seen, like those bursts of jealousy on the cruise. But then I think of his tenderness. The patience and kindness he’s shown me. The gentleness of his touch. Would this man raise his hand to a woman? Even if he hated her?
Then I look back into his eyes and it’s all there. Everything I need to see in this turbulent moment: unmistakable hurt. Vulnerability. Openness. Intensity. Wounded pride. Banked outrage and anger that I’d think the worst of him, even in passing.
How dare you accuse me of that, Tamsyn? he’s thinking. How dare you?
It hits me then, all the damage I’ve done to our fledgling relationship by doubting him about this. Doubting him about cheating is one thing. And it’s bad enough. But doubting him about raising his hand to a woman is a bridge too far for his honor. It’s borderline unforgivable.
“No. I don’t believe her,” I say. My no makes up for its tardiness with its fervency. And maybe I’m a fool. Maybe I’m too emotional to think straight right now. Isn’t this what every abuser says? It’s not like they admit it when confronted with the evidence, right? It’s not like I’ve ever been a fly on the wall when they were alone together. But he just told me to trust my gut. My gut knows this man. Maybe not everything. But the big things. “I believe you .”
He makes a broken sound of relief, all the tension slipping away from his body.
I suddenly realize that I can’t look at him. There’s too much here, and it burns. Nor can I breathe with him staring at me like that . So I hastily look around for something to do. “Where are your clean sheets?” I clear my throat in a doomed attempt to get some of the emotion out of my voice. “I can help you make the bed. Maybe we can get ten minutes of sleep before the night’s over?—”
“Fuck the sheets, Tamsyn.” He says it with an incredulous laugh, barely getting the words out. “I’m in love with you.”