8. Jules
JULES
Pressed against a hard wall,
No choices, no way out.
Without the air to breathe,
And only left with doubt.
There’s no way to move forward,
No will to make amends.
Nothing but what he gives me,
Trapped and at dead ends.
I ’m desperate for my mother, of all things. Desperate to call her, to confess what’s happened, to plead with her to protect me. As if something so simple could save me.
I pick at the comforter on the bed and wish I had my computer or my phone. Or any way at all to contact someone.
Not a single soul has come up Mason’s driveway since he brought me back here.
There are no neighbors close enough to just drop by, not that Mason’s the neighborly type.
Even the mailbox is all the way at the end of the long driveway.
I’m trapped in this house that’s practically a gilded cage without a damn thing to do other than write down every forsaken emotion and thought that comes to me.
Time is moving slowly; the past three days have felt like a year, and all I can do is be consumed by the thoughts of how I got here. How did this become my life?
The moment I look out a window or walk toward a door, Mason’s there. Watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do. He went from being my lover and my hope, to a prison warden. Every time he enters the room, I can feel him.
Yet he’s pretending he’s not monitoring me, that he trusts I’ll behave because I’m afraid. Part of that’s true, but mostly I’m waiting, simply biding my time. I’ll be quiet and listen until I have a chance to leave him. He can’t keep me here forever.
The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, stealing me away from my thoughts as Mason steps into the bedroom from the en suite.
He’s bare-chested, his tanned skin on display as he strides toward the dresser with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His demeanor is casual, as if nothing happened.
As if I can live with the fact that he’s a murderer, and my life is in danger because of him and his father.
If I’d known he was tied to anything at all like this, I’d never have gone home with him that first night.
I’d never have flirted, I’d never have touched him, let alone fallen in love with him.
I have to bite my cheek to keep from screaming, to keep from doing something stupid as Mason turns his back to me, letting the towel drop as he selects a pair of boxers from the top drawer of his dresser.
Between the multiple heartaches and chaos, loss is there.
Loss of someone I thought I loved who didn’t exist. Loss of the independence I was so sure I had.
“I bought you a dress for Saturday,” he informs me matter-of-factly as he unzips a garment bag with his back to me.
My eyes flicker to the beautiful evening gown hanging on the back of the closet door.
Its jewels sparkle as the light hits it; they’re sparser on top, just a faint pattern that forms the outline of an hourglass, overlaying the darker gray on the sides and absent on the light gray inlay.
From the hips down, the gown is completely covered in the dazzling Swarovski crystals.
It’s stunning. I’m sure it would impress everyone at the charity event. I don’t remember which one this is; I only know that Mason wants to attend to discuss business with a number of investors and it’s an annual charity gala I’ve gone to without fail for years.
For a moment, I can only watch Mason continue with the business of getting dressed, wondering how he could even consider the two of us attending an event together.
“I don’t see how I could possibly go.” I can’t imagine standing in a room smiling and playing nice when I feel like this.
When I’m trapped and cornered. When I’m literally scared for my life.
Mason’s steel gray eyes pierce through me as if he heard every one of my thoughts when I look at his reflection in the cheval mirror.
“You’ve had a couple of nights to think about things. You’ll have another handful of days to come around,” he says confidently and breaks my gaze to shut a drawer, holding a pair of socks in his right hand.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, feeling a touch of hope rise in my chest at the prospect of him leaving. I just want to go home. The thought plays in my head on a loop like a broken record.
His lips press into a thin line and he turns slowly to face me, leaning back against the dresser. “Do you think it would be wise?” he asks. He hasn’t moved but somehow he seems much closer than he was a moment ago.
I feel the blood drain from my face. “What do you mean?”
“Jules, my sweetheart,” he says as he sets the clothes on top of the dresser and strides toward me.
The bed dips as he sits on the edge, my heart racing from the proximity even though he doesn’t touch me.
“I’m still the man I was,” he says calmly; his voice is soft and it breaks something inside of me.
The smile he gives me is sad and doesn’t reach his eyes.
Leaning forward, he adds, “I can practically hear what you’re thinking. ”
Thud , my heart pauses, caught in a trap that snaps shut around it. I swallow and focus on calming down to pry it free from the steel bars, attempting to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.
My head shakes to deny the truth but he reaches out, grabbing me by the nape of the neck and my hip, holding me in place and forcing me to look at him.
It’s possessive, it’s dominating and it steals my breath.
He hasn’t been this close to me in days.
His lips are so very close to mine. Just like my heart, I’m trapped.
“I’m not going to lose you, Jules.” He speaks with an intensity that makes the world blur around him.
“I’m not leaving,” I whisper with a shaky breath, although even I can tell it’s a lie. My words are just as weak as I am when it comes to him. The corner of his lips twitch as if he wants to smile and pretend I’m telling the truth, but he doesn’t.
“I’m the same man you fell in love with.” The steel gray gaze softens, begging me to understand and believe him, but I can’t. The tension is thick between us, but how can he expect me to simply forget? When I look at him, I see it all play out, over and over again.
I refuse to believe I ever knew this man, but the very thought splits my heart down the center.
I could never love a murderer. I could never be with the person who killed Jace.
Pain lances through my chest, and I have to look away.
As much as I wish I could turn it off and stop loving him entirely, I know that’s not a possibility either.
A piece of my heart is his forever, but that only makes me hate him more.
A question begs to be asked. One I’ve thought every night since he confessed. “You knew when you saw me that first night?” I ask him with a raw voice. That’s what I simply can’t wrap my head around. He knew who I was. He knew how much he’d hurt me and ruined me. Yet it didn’t stop him.
“Knew what?” he asks, sitting easily across from me and I look him in the eyes to confront him as I say, “You knew who I was? Jace’s widow.”
He nods once.
“How could you?” I ask as my blood races and whatever took over a moment ago vanishes. It’s yet again another betrayal. “Was I a prize to you? A reward for getting away with it?” I say out of spite.
His expression changes to one I’m growing familiar with. To distaste and anger. Apparently we both feel it. “Don’t you dare.” His nostrils flare as he adds, “Don’t you dare do that to us. To what we have.”
“Had,” I say and my throat hurts as the word leaves my lips.
I don’t see how I could ever forgive him or how he can expect that I would.
He may be the only thing keeping me alive and standing in the way of his father silencing me, but he’ll forever be my husband’s murderer.
A liar, a sinner, and ultimately someone who used me.
“You were only Jules to me. Only a woman who was hurt and broken.” His words hang in the air between us and my conviction sways. Mason hesitates then adds, “I knew your pain was because of what I’d done. I knew it was my fault, and I wanted to make it better.”
My lips part with disbelief. “Make it better?”
“I don’t know what to say, Jules.” He lets his hands fall to the bed beside me, his fingers resting against my thigh. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“There’s nothing to say.” I’m certain of that at least. I stare at the comforter and avoid the hurt look in his eyes. He has no right to be saddened or angered. He has no right to expect anything from me. He’s the one who put all of this into motion. He could have stopped it.
“There is more to say. And in time you’ll want to know more.”
My shoulders rise with a heavy breath. I know it’s true. I need to know if my husband did have a woman murdered. How could he? Mason must be wrong.
I just can’t imagine it. I can’t believe I was married to a man who would have someone killed.
He was living with me, sharing my bed and kissing me every morning.
I can’t see it. What’s worse, I don’t want to see it.
Just like I didn’t want to see the other lies that came out after he died.
I didn't know the man I once loved. I look up into Mason’s gray eyes and I don’t know which man that thought was for. Jace or Mason.
I suppose both.
“I just want to go home,” I tell Mason one last time. One last plea.
“No, you’re staying here. Don’t try to run, Jules,” he tells me and his voice is so low. He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “I would kill for you. I’d die for you. I love you.”
His words send a chill through me, not because of the intensity, but because I feel with everything in me that each word is utterly and completely true.