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I wanted to tell her “No.” I wanted to tell her to fuck off. But my sick curiosity was stronger than my anger. “What?”
“Tell him I love him, and that I understand.”
The fuck she did! I disconnected without acknowledging her request. I was pretty sure she heard my disgusted scoff, but I didn’t care. There was no way in hell I was passing that little message along. Ever.
“Feel better?” Leander’s voice asked behind me, mimicking my tone from earlier.
“No,” I replied loftily, turning with a bright, but bitter, smile. “How much of that did you hear?”
He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. If he was mad, it didn’t show. Nor did I detect any amusement. “Enough.”
I crossed the room to him in slow, measured strides. As I did, he unfolded his arms and pressed himself into the doorframe to let me pass. Except, I didn’t. I stopped directly in front of him and leaned in close, my lips hovering above his, the promise of a kiss hanging in the air. “She’s in love with you.”
“I know.” His voice was steady, but there was a slight shift in his shoulders as if he was mentally preparing for a brawl. I didn’t blame him. Every time her stupid name came up, we ended up fighting — just not physically.
“Until she accepts it’s over between you, don’t expect me to be ok with any of this.”
He kept his eyes locked on mine, the muscle along his jaw tightening. “Shall I call her right now?”
“No.” Grabbing the knot in his tie, I slid my hand down the length of it slowly. His breath caught at the same time my hand stopped, right above his belt. “You can tell her when she drops off the damn cat.”
“Since it troubles you so much, why wait?”
“I want to see the look on her face when you crush her little heart.” My hand slid even further, past the end of his tie, until the black silk slipped out of my grasp. It floated backward gently and my hand fell to my side, all without ever touching him directly.
His gaze dropped and he swallowed whatever reply he might have had.
With a smirk, I pivoted, venturing back down the hallway to the red guest room. It was the only room that didn’t reek of the blonde bitch.
Pulling out my phone again, I ordered a new mattress, pillows, and bedding in the matter of seconds. Leander wasn’t the only one who could erase a person’s existence in the blink of an eye. Lucky for him, my method didn’t involve an axe or a giant fucking fire.
8
Leander
There was no gentle way to settle back into my old life. It was more akin to ripping off a bandaid, or kicking a baby bird out of its nest. As soon as we returned to Easton, I had a million things waiting for me — people demanding my time, my money; the house; and of course, Bennett.
I wasn’t oblivious to the fact he was rankled by the knowledge Lorelei had lived in the mansion, however briefly. A few weeks was nothing compared to the years Bennett had come and gone at will, and hopefully the years we had in store for us. A part of me wanted to point that out — that he had no reason to eye each room with suspicion, like he was flipping through a mental catalogue of the way things used to be and assessing the changes, however minute.
In the hope of avoiding another fight, I didn’t say anything. It was practically all we’d done since we came back. Chicago was a disaster, a fact which I was reminded of every time I saw the scar on Bennett’s forearm. It was almost identical to the one on my own arm, though their meanings couldn’t have been more different. Mine was part of my master plan for revenge — his was an insane declaration of love, as insane as his marriage proposal. And yet, there was no way I could possibly doubt the sentiment behind either action.
My brief memories of Lorelei floated through the house like dust motes, nothing more than glimpses of moments we shared. I tried to leave it alone, to ignore it. Bennett, in an attempt to eradicate her from existence, stirred it all up, much like yanking a sheet off abandoned furniture and shaking the particles free.
Subtly was not exactly his strong suit. I got the message loud and clear when he set up his things in the red guest room instead of my bedroom. Still favoring his broken ribs, he said. The luxury memory foam he ordered would be much better for both of us, he said. I agreed.
Likewise, his sudden urge to clean out the pantry didn’t go unnoticed. He threw out an entire garbage bag full of any ingredient he knew did not belong to me. Even the items he remotely suspected of being tainted by her influence were immediately binned. I had to rescue both a tin of earl grey and a bottle of imported truffle oil as they sailed through the air. We needed to make healthier choices, he said. Some items were expired, he said. I agreed.
He asked Yolanda to send everything in my armoire out for dry cleaning, despite the fact it had been weeks since I’d worn any of it. And room-by-room, every drape, curtain, or scrap of cloth was taken down or taken out to be cleaned, despite being cleaned in the spring as per schedule. The flu virus, he said, never mind the fact it was late summer. Dust mites. Allergens. He thought it would help with my headaches, he said. Again, I agreed. I agreed to anything and everything he wanted in the hope it would assuage his anger at the past.
In the midst of purifying the house of all its imaginary toxins, Bennett also developed an obsessive candle habit out of nowhere. Still ignoring the fact it was summer, the house continually smelled like mahogany, teakwood, and amber — clearly masculine scents. I wasn’t complaining, it was just… odd, to see him actually making an effort at domesticity, like he said he wanted. Even if he had ulterior motives, I took comfort in the knowledge he was making the house his own. If he made it his own, then maybe he wouldn’t leave.
Sometimes I still didn’t quite believe it, that he was really here with promises to stay forever. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe the love between us would last an eternity. The cynic in me knew better.
Beyond the curse that afflicted every member of the Welles family, there was another thing standing in our way — Lorelei. She was wholly my responsibility to deal with but for reasons I couldn’t explain, I kept putting it off. It wasn’t to hurt Bennett, as he sometimes accused. Nor was it to protecther, as he alternatively claimed. There was no valid excuse for my reluctance beyond my own fear.
“So what’s the deal with Malibu Barbie?” Olivia asked on the phone one day.
“What do you mean?”
