Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(23)

“Knocked his opponent out in the first round.” The pride in Abel’s voice was evidence that his brother was back on the road to being a champion.

I could only respond with a miffed grunt of acknowledgement.

“He didn’t tell you,” Abel hinted, as he opened the door to the university cafeteria. I suddenly wasn’t hungry but I entered anyway.

“We don’t talk,” I muttered.

“What?” Abel laughed until I rounded on him. Something in my face caught him off guard and he studied me.

“You know, right?” Abel questioned, concerned that he was about to spoil a secret.

“Know what?” I sighed, crossing my arms, playing along with his torture.

“You’re…” He looked left and right before leaning in to answer: “You’re his wife.” The smile broke out instantly on Abel’s face and he struggled to hold back an excited laugh.

“How would I not know?” I grumbled, remembering full well I hadn’t known for almost a year. “Although I’m not any longer.”

At this statement, Abel’s face fell. “Wait, what?”

“He wanted a divorce.”

“He…he what?” Abel’s expression would be considered comical, if the conversation wasn’t suddenly taking a twist.

“He divorced me. I’m not his wife. There was no marriage. Or so, we are to pretend.” That was comical, and ironic.

“But he…”

“He what?” I said, still holding my arms crossed over my chest. My hunger was completely gone, as was my patience with this conversation.

“He…he moved here,” Abel choked.

Impossible, I thought, but slowly dawning arose. The house. The familiarity. He was so comfortable in it, but he avoided acknowledging who was the owner.

“So?” I said petulantly.

“So he did it to be closer to his wife.” Abel’s voice almost shrieked as it rose in surprise. A few peoples’ heads turned as they passed us, heading into the crowded lunchroom.

“Well, that must be another woman, because it’s no longer me,” I huffed. I brushed past him and pushed my way out the heavy doors. I needed air, not food, and I took in deep gulps as I rushed down the crosswalk to the student parking lot. For the first time in a long time, I was skipping a class.




I wasn’t one to make rash decisions, but then again who was I kidding? I’d married a man, hours after meeting him, then played along with the farce for over twenty-four hours. In the moment, the only rational thing I could think to do was to try to remember the path to his home. I pulled up outside the white house with a terra cotta roof and bolstered my nerve. I needed to know if what Abel said was true. Clenched fists at my side, I marched up to the house. This was crazy, I internally scolded, then reprimanded myself again for marrying a man I didn’t know. That was the crazy part.

Knocking on the door, my heart pulsed louder. The heavy dark wood hardly made a sound as the noise of my pounding was absorbed in its thickness. For a moment, I breathed in the mountain laurels that fragranced the portico, as I stood under the covered entrance. The deep breath grounded me, and I thought: What am I doing here? Why do I care?

I shook my head at my ridiculousness and turned to step away from the house. Walking slowly down the walk, I was nearing my Jetta when a shiny black motorcycle slipped up the driveway. My pace slowed at the approach of the screeching sound. I should have run at that moment. Instead, I paused at the beauty of a buff man on a sleek bike. When the engine cut, it snapped me out of my fantasy, and I turned away quickly.

I’d hardly taken two steps when my upper arm was grabbed and I was spun to face Cain. His edged face was hard; his jaw clenched, but his eyes searched and pleaded with questions.

“Is it true? Do you live here?” I spit the words, sounding angry without reason. He could live wherever he wanted to live, even if it was a bit ironic to live just outside of my university town.

“Yes,” he replied, releasing his hold on me. He let his head fall as if he was embarrassed. He would always be ashamed. He’d married me in a drunken stupor, and he wouldn’t want that mark on his history.

“Why?” I blurted, letting my hands slap against my thigh. The sting of my palm on my skin reverberated among the afternoon sounds. A bird chirped. A lawnmower sang. My growing anger was almost viable.

“Because my wife lives here,” he smirked. An annoyingly devilish smile grew on his face as he crossed his arms casually over his chest. I’ve never had the desire to hit someone, but maybe it was the osmosis of being near a fighter. I wanted to slap that curved lip and damnable dimple off his cheek.

“It was pretend!” I yelled, uncertain where the aggression came from. My chest heaved with a sigh of frustration.

“I don’t want to pretend,” he stated in response. We both froze at his words.

“What?” I questioned, my tone softening as my chest hitched. His hands dropped from his chest and his fingers flexed at his sides.

“I don’t want to pretend,” he repeated. His tone was terse. His jaw clenched again.

“This isn’t real,” I stated softer, but harshly in disbelief.

“Then let’s work at making it real.” His mouth crushed over mine before I could reply. I wasn’t spiraled into the past, like I thought I’d be if our mouths ever met again. I was propelled into the future. This was a promise of how things would be. He would possess me, body and soul, and I would let him.