Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Victor braked and parked his car in the spot that waited in front of the house.
Her gaze automatically turned to the left.
Hanover Avenue, so close to Lombardy Park.
They’d passed the park just moments ago, and she’d seen the kids running and swinging on the playground.
At first, she’d smiled, because the families seemed so happy.
But as they’d driven away from the park in Victor’s black BMW, she’d found herself tensing more and more with every passing moment until…
They’d reached her home. He’d told her it was in “The Fan”—something she already knew through her own research.
She’d actually driven by the home several times before.
When she’d first come to Richmond—before she’d even gone to the Mage Mansion, hell, before she’d even checked into her temporary spot at the cheap motel—she’d driven by her home.
She’d even thought about sneaking up and peering in the windows.
She didn’t have to sneak now, though. Victor had the key.
He killed the car’s engine and exited. Breaking from her stupor and cursing the nerves that filled her, Melody shoved open her door.
But Victor was already there. He reached for her hand. His fingers curled around hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The sun peeked through the lingering clouds as they walked up the sidewalk. Snow lingered—snow and ice—and he caught her when her boots slipped on the sidewalk.
“Steady,” he murmured.
She didn’t feel steady. The streets had been cleared, but snow still clung to surfaces all around them. The air held a vicious bite, and the wind stung against her cheeks.
But she ignored the cold and stared at the home before her. Her home. The place Melody had bought and lived in for the last three years. The exterior bricks had been painted a dark gray, but the front door was a bold red.
“Your favorite color,” he said. “Red.”
They climbed up the steps, and, automatically, her free hand reached for the black railing. Snow completely covered the bushes near the stoop but, in her mind, she could almost see them…green, bursting with flowers in the summer.
Is that a memory? Or just something I want to be true?
He unlocked the door. “Ladies first.”
Right. And she shouldn’t be hesitating. She shouldn’t be so nervous. But she was. She edged across the threshold and into her home.
Wooden floors.
“Those are the original floors.” He shut the door behind them. “I know because you told me. Architecture is one of your things. You’ve got ten-foot ceilings, bay windows…”
Her gaze lifted to the ceiling and lingered on the chandelier. Then she crept forward, moving toward the white banister that waited in the entranceway. Her hand pulled from his as she reached out to touch the wood. A large, gold and white rug covered the hardwood floor.
The house smelled fresh. Lemony. She turned her head and darted to the left, going into the den. Inside, white bookshelves were lined with dozens of titles. Romances. Thrillers. And bold, big abstract artwork covered two of the walls.
Victor had followed her into the den. He pointed to the closest piece of artwork. One with bright red and blue splotches. “You told me that was your Jackson Pollack period.”
She spun toward him. “I painted those?”
“Um. Yep. You explained to me once that you’ve never been good at painting between the lines, but you could do anything you wanted with abstracts.”
She glanced back at the paintings. Then she crept toward the soft, white couches. Two of them. Facing each other. With a fireplace in the middle. A red throw had been tossed over the side of one couch.
Unease prickled at her nape. “Is someone living here?” Then, worried and angry, she hurried from the den.
Practically ran down the small hallway and into the kitchen.
White cabinets. Marble countertops. An oven mitt on the counter.
“Is someone here?” she demanded, voice more agitated because someone else had to be living there.
There was no dust. She’d been gone a year, but the place was spotless.
The oven mitt was positioned on the counter as if someone had been baking recently, and the throw had been tossed to the side as if someone had just finished snuggling beneath it and—
“I have a cleaning team come in every two weeks.”
She’d been preparing to rush from the kitchen. Maybe from the whole house. Someone else is here. This isn’t my home any longer. Yet now Melody felt rooted to the spot.
“No one else is here. It’s your home. Everything is just as you left it.
” Victor’s lips pressed together. “Okay. That’s not exactly true.
I had the Christmas decorations taken down.
And I, um, I moved all the wrapped presents you had to my place.
I just wanted to keep them safe for you. I didn’t open anything.”
She shook her head, not understanding. “You—you had someone coming to clean? You left it all the same?” For an entire year? Her chest began to ache.
“When the cops finally did search your home, they left a damn mess.” His mouth tightened. “At first, I had the cleaning crew come in to get things back in shape. Not like I could have you coming home and finding things that way.”
He sounds so certain that I would be back. That ache in her chest grew stronger.
“But after the first big cleaning, then…then I realized you could come back any day. I wanted it ready for you. Always ready for when you came home.”
Her eyes widened. And it hit her. Really hit her. It one hundred percent sank in. Something that she had not fully realized until this moment. “My God.”
“Your bedroom is upstairs.”
She didn’t go upstairs. She did not move from that spot. “You loved her.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “You are her.”
“And she…I loved you?” A stark question.
“Told you, you were going to marry me.” A half smile. One that was somehow sad. Questioning? “You think you would have agreed to marry someone you didn’t love?”
Her chest didn’t ache. It burned. And then she was rushing away. Running down the hallway. Up the staircase. Her feet thudded on the wooden steps and when she reached the landing, she spun to the right. The door was open. As if the room was waiting for her.
Then again, he’d had the whole house ready and waiting for her. For an entire year.
She ran inside the bedroom and stopped dead.
A fluffy, white robe on the edge of the bed. Monster slippers near the nightstand. Like, actual monster slippers. Silly and big and blue and her lips trembled when she looked at them. Monster slippers did not fit at all with the image she’d gotten of Melody Mage from the online posts.
But those slippers…
This room…
It does fit. It feels right.
More books. A wall of framed pictures. Not of people, though. The pictures were of different places. So many places. Pulled to those framed photos, she lurched closer to them. Behind her, she heard the sound of Victor entering the bedroom.
The Eiffel Tower. The Grand Canyon. The Statue of Liberty. Giant, cascading waterfalls. A dark cloud-covered top of a dormant volcano. Amazing places. Beautiful. Magical. And—
A black and white picture of her and Victor rested in the middle of the wall.
She blinked. Stepped closer to that picture.
Even lifted her hand as if she’d touch it.
In the image, they seemed to be on a lake.
Canoeing? Kayaking? They weren’t kissing.
Not hugging. Not even touching. It looked like a selfie shot that she’d taken because she was in the front and part of her arm was extended.
Victor perched behind her, and she could see him gripping a paddle. She was grinning, from ear to ear.
He was smiling, too, and his gaze was completely on her.
She realized that she’d stopped breathing. Her breath left her in a fast whoosh as she whirled toward him.
His gaze was on her. Not the wall. He wasn’t smiling. But now she knew exactly what he looked like when his face was lit with warmth. When Victor was really happy.
“You tipped the canoe over five seconds after you snapped that pic. We came out of that lake soaking wet.” A shake of his head.
“You were laughing your gorgeous ass off. See, that’s who you really are.
Don’t believe the BS that’s splashed online.
The stories that circulate about you being spoiled.
A trust fund brat. That’s not you. I realized that truth about ten minutes after we first met.
You were nothing like what I expected you to be.
And you changed everything for me.” He looked over her head at the photos.
“You went on backpacking trips to most of those places in the photos. You liked to camp outside when you hiked. You’d be covered in mud and sleeping on the ground, and you’d act like it was better than the Ritz.
You were never some cold-blooded ice queen.
You were warm and beautiful, and you lit up the world around you.
When you were gone, without that light, everything was too dark.
” His hands fisted at his sides. “I was too dark.”
She wanted to lunge at him. Grab him and hold on tight. That had been real joy on her face in that photo. On his face. You couldn’t fake that emotion.
For the last year, Victor had been looking for her. Victor had never given up. Someone had been searching for her. Someone had been missing her.
Someone had been loving her.