Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)(49)

She wasn’t on our flight. But, I thought about her for the nine hours it took to fly across the Atlantic. My favorite memories — the tree, Jaxson’s, the orange grove, the cake fight. Then I thought about the bad ones — mostly things she made me feel, the constant thought that she was going to leave me, the blatant way she refused to admit that she loved me. It was all so childish and tragic. I glanced at my wife. She was reading magazines and drinking cheap airplane wine. She took a sip and grimaced when she swallowed.

“Why do you order it if you don’t like it?”

“It’s better than nothing, I suppose,” she said, looking out the window. Telling, I thought. I opened the book I brought with me and stared at the ink. For nine gracious hours, Leah left me alone. I’d never been so grateful for cheap wine. When we landed in Miami, she dashed to the bathroom to reapply her makeup while I waited in line for Starbucks. By the time we made it to baggage claim, I was in one of the worst moods of my life.

“What’s wrong with you now?” she said. “You’ve been distracted this whole trip. It’s really annoying.”

I glared at her from behind my sunglasses and grabbed one of her bags off the belt. I flung it down so hard; it wobbled on its fancy f*cking rotating wheels. Who traveled with two large suitcases when they went away for five days?

“You’re supposed to be working on this with me. You’re not even mentally with me right now.”

She was right.

“Let’s go home,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “I want to sleep for twelve hours straight and eat three meals in bed.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the mouth. It took effort to kiss her back so she wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong. When she keened into my mouth, I knew I was every bit as good at lying to her as I was at lying to myself.





My car tires kick up gravel as I speed out of the parking lot. How could she? I run my hand through my hair. Why wouldn’t either of them have told me? They are such vicious, catty women; you’d think they would have come running with the information. All I can think, as I speed on the 95 toward Leah, is of the little girl that still bears my name. The one she told me I was not a parent to. Was that a lie? If Leah lied about Estella’s parentage, I would kill her myself.

Estella, with her beautiful red curls and her blue eyes — but she had my nose. I’d been so sure of it until Leah told me that she was someone else’s. Then her nose had shifted. I thought that I was seeing things because I wanted so badly for her to be mine.

My mouth feels dry as I pull into her driveway. A million years ago it had been my driveway. My wife had been in that house. I broke it all apart because of the love I had for a ghost — a married ghost.

God. I think of Olivia now and a peace settles over me. She might not be mine, but I’m hers. It’s no use even fighting it anymore. I just keep falling flat on my face and then rolling toward her. If I can’t have Olivia Kaspen, then I’ll be alone. She is a disease I have. After ten years, I am finally realizing that I can’t cure it with other women.

I push the door to the car open and step out. Leah’s SUV is parked in her usual spot. I walk past it and up the stairs to the front door. It’s open. Walking into the foyer, I close the door behind me. Glancing around, I see that the living room is a mess of toys — a Cabbage Patch doll lays on its head next to a pile of naked Barbies. I step over a tricycle, heading toward the kitchen. I hear my name.

“Caleb?”

Leah stands in the doorway to the kitchen, a dishtowel in her hand. I blink a few times. I’ve never seen Leah hold anything but a martini glass. She dries her hands with the towel and tosses it on the counter, walking toward me.

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

My chest heaves with everything that wants to come out. I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crumble beneath the pressure. Leah notices what I’m doing and raises her eyebrows.

“Oh,” she says. She beckons me to the kitchen. I follow her and watch as she pulls a bottle of tequila from the cabinet. She pours two shots, takes one of them, and refills the glass.

“We fight better with tequila,” she says, handing one to me.

I don’t want to drink the liquor. Adding it to the fire that is already coursing through me can only mean danger. I look at the clear liquid and bring it to my lips. If Leah wants fire, I’m going to give it to her.

“Where’s Estella?”

“Asleep.”

I set my glass on the counter.

Good.

I walk toward my ex-wife. She backs up, her nostrils flaring.

“Tell me what you did.”

“I’ve done a lot of things,” she shrugs, trying to play it cool, “you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Olivia.”

Her name pings between us, ripping open old wounds and spraying blood across the room. Leah is furious.

“Don’t say that name in my house.”

“It’s my house,” I say calmly. Leah’s face is pale. She runs her tongue along her teeth, blinking slowly.

“Did you know Turner?”

“Yes.”

“And you had him ask Olivia out … to keep her away from me?”

“Yes.”