Prologue
I’m emotionally exhausted.
In the last twelve months, I’ve spent so much time rising above accusations cast upon me for crimes I never committed when the ones I was forced to relive in mind were worse. Far worse.
I’ve learned the hard way when the people you have to cross are faceless, it matters far less than if you know their names, let alone if you’re directly connected to their hearts and souls. And this makes the second time I’ve withstood this type of inquisition.
A piece of my long curl escapes the clip I twisted my mass of hair into before we left our home this morning but before I can reach up to shove it back, his fingers are there gently tucking the wayward curl behind my ear. Like he’s done countless times.
Sam trails his fingers down my cheek before running them down my arm.
Intuitively, our fingers tangle together as we wait to be called back.
Silently, I study them as they interlock tightly at the webbing.
Since the morning I woke up in a strange hospital, he’s always held my hand like this, fiercely.
As if he was afraid someone would try to rip my hand from his grasp before he had a chance to tether me to him.
I study his hands not without the same awe I always feel.
Sam’s hands have been able to bring me incomparable pleasure and yet, they’ve been used as a tool for undeniable destruction.
I apply pressure so he feels the pinch of my wedding ring, a reminder of the vows we took together all those years ago.
And have held steadfast to.
It was a near-constant pain that lanced through me as I endured allegations of breaking apart our family using more than my mind, more than my voice, my heart.
I shake my head, even now fervently denying the charges.
Not true in any manner, but to right the wrongs inadvertently committed to the people I love before God any country, I agreed to take this step.
My husband did as well.
Because before our own comfort, someone else’s needs comes first. And it’s long overdue she has this peace of mind to put some closure on this part of her—our—past.
His lips brush against the back of my fingers when he lifts my hand to his lips. “It’s graduation day.”
“You hope,” I retort. But I can’t prevent the curve of my lips because I know he’s right.
“I can’t believe we made it this far without you cursing more.”
“Sam,” I warn him, but I can’t contradict him. Reliving over twenty years of our past—when we could share it—has been incredibly emotional.
“Especially in Russian and French. You seem to enjoy the punch in those words,” he teases.
I sniff, but don’t bother with a verbal retort.
After all, how am I supposed to argue when this man knows me like no other person?
We fell in love, created a family, and have faced death together.
And that’s only what’s happened so far. Knowing we cast our future in a world that’s murky at best, we relish every moment on our island of solace with each other.
And along the way hurt caused against our loved ones has caused our own marital struggles.
But like most others, we hung on past the rough seas into smooth sailing.
I lay my head on Sam’s shoulder and bring him back to his original statement. “You hope it’s our graduation day.”
“I’m highly optimistic. Rachel asked me to help plan something,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low in deference to the other people milling about the large waiting room.
I roll my eyes. “Just tell me it doesn’t involve her cooking.
” One skill our daughter didn’t inherit from her maternal great-grandmother was her ability to devastate the senses with food.
No, Rachel is absolutely mine and Sam’s.
, I admit silently. In fact, I’d do anything for family just short of murder.
After all, if I was willing to give myself over to this torture, I’m willing to do anything to purge the demons that have plagued our family for far too long.
Ones everyone was certain we’d all moved past until…
Sam’s always been able to calculate where my mind wanders to. “What she asked us to do just made us stronger, Iris.”
Ignoring any eyes that may be trained on us—either the human or electronic kind— I tip my head back and press my lips to my husband’s.
Like the first time, the flash of heat leaps between us.
Despite our rather auspicious surroundings, it makes me want to sink my fingers deep into his sable-colored hair to deepen this kiss.
Hell, any kiss so long as it’s Sam’s lips touching mine.
And judging by the sparkle in his eyes as he pulls away, he knows it. “Later,” he mouths.
I pout, pretending an insult I don’t feel. Because like so many things in our marriage, he’s right. Now isn’t the time to lose ourselves in one another.
I twirl a lock of still dark waves around my finger as I contemplate what’s going to be said in just a few moments. Sam might have been right, but so many times he was wrong, refusing to listen on important things.
Things that have come back to haunt us.
The door swings open. A young man wearing a buttoned vest steps out holding a thick teal folder. Every time I see it, I’m reminded me of the waters in the Cooper River when the sunlight hits it just so as it passes Sam’s family home—Akin Hill. “Mr. and Mrs. Akin? Are you ready?”
We both stand, still holding onto one another’s hands.
Our future is just a few hours ahead. We’ve paid our penance, made our apologies.
I can’t deny when Sam’s hand releases mine to drop to the small of my back to guide me through the door to greet the person on the other side, I’m bolstered by the support it provides me.
“If I narrow my eyes, it would be so easy to imagine you the first time I saw you,” Saw declares outrageously from where he’s sprawled across the leather Chesterfield. His arm is draped casually across the back as if this isn’t the most important meeting of our lives.
Which it is.
I remind him, “You ignored me for the better part of three years before you acknowledged my existence.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You’re right.” I agree immediately. His face morphs into a look of shock over my admission before I continue, “You treated me exactly like Libby. I had all of these overwhelming emotions for you and you kept petting me on the head. Proverbially of course.”
He scowls. “I didn’t treat you like Libby.” Libby is Sam’s first cousin and was my college roommate for four years. She was, and is today, my best friend. The two of us are closer than many of the biological relationships I’ve had a bird’s eye to in the Akin family.
“Of course, that’s the point you fixate on, Samuel.” I roll my eyes skyward.
That’s when he throws out, “Maybe you should have tried harder, Iris.” His green eyes, eyes our daughter inherited, sparkle at me outrageously.
And I scream incoherently. In all of the trips we’ve made to this very office, I’ve never been so grateful for the soundproofing as I have at this one singular moment. After I finish with the primal shriek, I realize the pressure valve has loosened. Sam, grins at me. “Feel better?”
“Strangely, yes.” I drop down onto the sofa. His arm immediately curls around me, like it had merely been waiting to curl me into his side.
“Your ancestors—both sides— used to let loose some of those war cries before they’d go into battle.”
“Like I’m not aware of that?”
But suddenly I’m giggling.
“What’s so funny?” He asks.
“You just reminded me of something I once said to Libby before we ever got together.”
“What was it?”
I glance to the door behind the desk. Since it hasn’t opened, I begin to tell him.