I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found(57)

I know you’ll likely never read this, but I have to write it. It’s the best way to clear my head, I think. I suppose we’ll find out if it helps.




I don’t know what to say to you, Maddy. I’ve been sitting here for hours just thinking about it, and I still can’t find the words I’m looking for. I don’t even know where to start. And if I can’t think of it now, how can I possibly hope to find them when I’m sitting there, looking at you? Seeing your face and knowing that there’s only one reason why you’re with me at all?

Things like this have never been easy for me. I’m sure you know that by now. But the reality of the situation is that I’m afraid. That’s all. I’ve come so close to losing you, but then again I’m not sure if I ever had you. If I tell you this, you’ll be offended. And rightfully so. Why shouldn’t I believe you, when you say you love me? Nobody wants to be with someone who doubts them. You deserve better than that.

So I err on the side of saying nothing, and most of the time it doesn’t matter much. But then things go wrong, and you wonder why I don’t confide in you. Why don’t I seem to trust you? Why don’t I act like someone who’s in love? Why do I go from lavishing you with love and attention to suddenly withdrawing, becoming cold - even hostile?

I suppose that question is bigger than just you and me. I suppose even if you weren’t just with me because of my money, I’d still find a reason not to let you in. That’s generally what I’m best at.

After a string of failed relationships I convinced myself I was better off alone, and you were the one who changed that. When I first started going through the motions, I told myself that was all it was. But I should have known I was getting in over my head, and dragging you with me. I can’t really bring myself to regret it. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I know it might not always seem like that, but it’s true.

I love you, I love you - and I think I am going to spend the rest of my life trying to learn how to act like it, how to convince you it’s real - how to convince myself. You seem determined not to leave me. I’m not going to pretend to understand why, but I am grateful.

I know that neither one of us will be able to forget how things started between us. But in time, I hope it will dissipate - the dark cloud that hangs over us, the memory of how it began as a sham. How it used to be almost a joke to us. Pretending to be in love. I hope someday I’ll wake up, see you next to me, and forget to wonder if you’re still just pretending.

And maybe, someday, when all of that has passed, I’ll be able to show you this letter. Then you’ll start to understand, if only a little. I’m sorry for everything.

I love you, Madeline Thorne.





Hot tears were brimming in my eyes. I folded the letter up again, quickly, shoving it back into the box and hurriedly fumbling the lid back on. I hurried back to the closet and shoved it back into the compartment, which was as far as I got before I crumpled up on the floor and let myself cry.

Finally, I picked up my phone and hit the speed dial for Daniel. My throat tightened and my heart thumped in my chest as it rang and rang and rang, finally clicking over to his voicemail.

I hung up.

Taking a deep breath, I reached back into the closet and pulled out the box again. I took out the letter, unfolding it and smoothing it across my lap. His hand was still so even and elegant, even as he wrote something like this.

I went to his dresser and laid it out, carefully, weighting down the corners with a couple of cufflinks.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





On the morning of the showing, I woke up early. And alone. I looked at the phone on my bedside table and thought about calling Daniel again, but I still couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.

"Ready for your big night?" Lindsey said, brightly, when she saw me in the kitchen.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "What should I wear, do you think?"

"Something flirty," she said. "But still semi-formal. You want to seem approachable, right?"

"Well, I don't know about that," I said. "But I'm hoping there won't be much of a presence from the media. Curtis didn't tell anyone that I'd be there."

"Ooh, you're the surprise guest? How romantic. Okay. Let's see what you've got."

She helped me rummage through my closet for a while, finally pulling out a slightly asymmetrical black cocktail dress that fell mid-thigh at its shortest point. I'd never actually worn it; it always seemed a little too sassy for more formal events, but still not quite right for something casual, either.

"You think?" I asked her, holding it up in front of me in the mirror and trying to imagine how it would look - me, the disgraced billionaire's wife, showing that much thigh at an art gallery.

"You're a featured artist. I don't think there's a dress code." Lindsey laughed. "And even if there was one, I'm sure that would be just fine." She went for my jewelry box and started picking through it.

"I guess," I said, sitting down heavily on the bed. "Pantyhose, or no?"

"I dunno, will they even be able to tell in that lighting?" She held up a pair of silver earrings that almost looked like little bunches of grapes. I couldn't remember buying them. "What about these? They're sort of fun and elegant at the same time."