Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(72)

She raised the iron knocker at the door of her client’s house, and was greeted by a stunning forty-something woman with black hair.

“Come in, come in,” the woman said in a smoky, sexy voice, excitement in her tone. “I’ve been counting down the hours until the shoot.”

As Annalise captured images of the boudoir session, the woman told her that she’d been divorced and was remarrying. The photos were a gift for her soon-to-be-husband. In the images, she appeared both sultry and joyful. This woman had moved on. Hell, Michael had managed to press on after losing his father and, for all intents and purposes, his mother. He still loved his father, though. So why the hell was Annalise being judged for having a special place in her heart for Julien?

After she said good-bye, she held steadfast to the notion that she was no different than anyone else who’d loved before. My God, she’d been in love with Michael before she even met Julien. At some point, Michael would have to accept that she’d been in love with someone else before she fell for him a second time. End of story.

If he couldn’t deal, she’d have to walk away. The thought churned her stomach, though. She was moving on. Why couldn’t he let her?

Anger stormed through her as she rode the metro. She stopped at her mother’s, helping her to a doctor’s appointment.

“She’s doing better,” the doctor said. “Her hip is stronger.”

Her mother nudged her and winked. “See? I’m tough.”

“You are,” Annalise said, the first real smile appearing on her face today.

“You come from a long line of tough women,” her mother said after they left the appointment and headed to a café, Annalise’s elbow hooked around her mom’s arm, their strides slow.

“I do,” she said as they found a table on the sidewalk and ordered coffees.

“What’s wrong then? Why do you seem so upset?”

“You’re too observant for your own good.”

“That’s where you get it from.” Her mom tapped the edge of her eye. “So tell me…”

Annalise watched the crowds click-clack by on the sidewalk, the cool, crisp air surrounding them. She gave her mother the gist of how Michael seemed unable to deal with her past. The coffee arrived, and they both lifted their cups, lost in thought.

Her mother took a drink then set it down on the saucer, her lips curving in a knowing grin. “I knew you loved him.”

Annalise knit her brow, shooting her mother a curious look.

“What did he say when you told him you loved him?” her mother asked.

“I didn’t say that. I said I was falling.”

“Ah,” her mother said, nodding sagely. “Therein lies the problem.”

“How is that a problem?”

Her mother locked her fingers together, forming a bridge. “Falling in love and being in love are bedfellows, but they aren’t the same. We often think they are, but they’re truly not. Falling is just a way to float the idea, like a test of I love you. If you love him, you should tell him. Reassure him. He loves you so. Michael wears his heart on his sleeve for you, and a man needs to know he’s special. He knows he’s not the only one you’ve loved, but he wants to feel like he is.” She unlaced her fingers and stared at Annalise, her eyes holding her captive, softly demanding. “Does he feel like he is? The only one?”

Her gut twisted. He was the only one for her now, but perhaps she hadn’t exactly made that clear. “I really don’t know.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Make sure he knows.”

That night, she wrote to him. She wasn’t entirely convinced she wanted to say those three words in a letter, but there were other things to say. Things that were as important.

The truth of all her fears.

When she was through, she dropped it in FedEx. He would receive it in two days.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


Sometimes when you drive to a familiar home, you’re not even sure how you got there. You stop at the lights when they’re red, turn on the blinker when you take a left, and suddenly you’re there, though you can’t recall the drive. You know the route by heart. You’ve done it so many times it’s a part of you.

As Michael walked across the grass with his sister, his feet guided him in that same fashion along the path they’d traveled many times—a winding stone walkway, over spongy grass, then through a row of headstones, guarded by oaks and elms.

Shannon clutched a bouquet of sunflowers.

She came here often, leaving these flowers on their father’s grave each time. Today, he accompanied her. It wasn’t the anniversary of their father’s death, nor was it his birthday. It was just an average day, and that was why they came. To remember those who were gone. Both their father, and the baby Shannon had lost ten years ago.

“You hanging in there?” he asked, eyeing her belly.

She nodded. “I wish I could speed up time, though. Fast forward four more months and have the baby in my arms, to know he or she is safe and healthy, and alive.”

He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, me too,” he said, rather than giving her a platitude. Everything will be all right. He hoped it would, but both he and his sister had seen enough to know those sorts of statements were pointless.