Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(54)

I press my lips together and look at him. “We were eloping, but things went very wrong.”

A beat of silence throbs between us. “Did you love him?”

“I feel nothing but anger when I think of him. I don’t understand why I was eloping with him. It makes no sense. Nothing adds up.”

“Did you love him?”

“No,” I say. “I did not love him.”

“But you thought you did.”

“No, I don’t think so. No. No, I didn’t love him. I’m telling you, there’s more to the story. I just can’t remember it.”

“What was his last name?”

“I know nothing else.”

His one reaction is a slight narrowing of his eyes, and I now have confirmation that he chose to let me see his emotions last night. He doesn’t choose to do so today. I might still be in his room, but I fear he’s already shut the door with me on the other side.

“There is more to the story,” I insist.

“I’m going out,” he says, obviously done talking. “Until we deal with Gallo, you’re stuck in the castle. Study the file and when I get back, we’ll figure out what comes next.” He’s already walking away.

I rotate and follow him, and he’s almost at the door, and I don’t want him to go. “Kayden,” I call out, and he stops but doesn’t turn, stirring dread in me over what I’m about to ask. “You brought me here and then left. Do you want me here?”

“Too much. That’s the problem.”

He exits the room, shutting the door with a finality that tells me he won’t be back any time soon. Too much, he’d said. I decipher that as confirmation of what I’d thought before, and the reason he’d been angry when I’d shown up at his door. While he drives away my demons, I’m the trigger that awakens his. I shouldn’t be here.



Everything or nothing. Kayden’s words replay in my mind as I walk to my room. I then proceed to take a long, hot shower, and the only flashbacks I have are of last night, every single kiss and touch we shared. The idea that he might have chosen “nothing” twists me in knots. I know that he and I are new to each other, but we seem to know each other in ways no one else can. I’m also fairly certain that our bond tears down a wall Kayden doesn’t want destroyed.

Once I’ve dried off, a clawing need for stability has me organizing the items in all of the bags on the counters and in drawers. I avoid the one with the gun, though, as I’m really not in a mental place this morning to deal with the memories it creates. I just need a little peace and quiet today. With the bags unpacked and folded, I dress in a light blue V-neck sweater and faded jeans, and pair the outfit with ankle boots. I open my new blow-dryer and flatiron and put them to use before moving on to my makeup. The selection of products in the bags is impressive but I keep it simple, satisfied with the pale pink shadow and gloss I use. My hair is another story, though. The honeysuckle shampoo and conditioner paired with a pass with the flatiron have rid me of frizz and turned my dark hair impressively soft and silky, but I still don’t look like me. This color is just wrong, like David. I shake off the thought, afraid it will trigger one of the flashbacks I’m avoiding this morning.

“Coward,” I whisper, and I force myself to grab the journal before heading to the kitchen, promising myself I’ll write in it while attending to my growling stomach.

As I make my way down the hall and into the living area, my thrill at the architecture I can’t wait to explore in more detail is detoured by the smell of fresh-baked bread that lures me straight to the kitchen.

“Smells yummy,” I say, stopping in the entryway as Marabella hums while preparing sandwiches.

Her head lifts, eyes lighting at the sight of me. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” I say, not about to explain my lack of sleep. “Is that homemade bread?”

“Is there any other kind? And fresh mozzarella as well. Sit down and I’ll bring you a plate.”

“Sounds terrific,” I murmur, my eyes landing on the table, a memory of lying naked on top of it, while Kayden’s mouth was in the most intimate of places, heating my cheeks. Eager to direct my thoughts elsewhere, I sit down, sliding the folder closer and opening the journal to stare at my not so masterful butterfly. The image takes me back to that hotel room I’d shared with David. “We can’t even get married here!” I yell. “They don’t allow US citizens to get married here.”

“An oversight.”

“You don’t make oversights.”

His cell phone rings and he answers it. “I’ll be right there.” He ends the call. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

I grab him and he slaps me so hard I fall to the floor, my hand going to my burning cheek. The door slams, and I push through the pain and to my feet. I rush to the hallway just as the elevator shuts and go back into the room, leaning on the door and yanking off the necklace he’d given me. It lands at my feet and I stare down at it. A butterfly with blue stones and a ruby in the center.

I grab the journal and write: Deceit. Danger. A secret.

“Here you go,” Marabella announces, setting a plate in front of me.

Mentally shaking myself back into the present, I shut the journal. “Thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”