“You and me and everyone else,” Hadassah told her.
“I know,” Yael added, pulling her closer, “that none of that matters, when I can live this life the best I can, and I can live it with you. Will you let me try?”
Hadassah kissed her again. “I don’t have any other choice.”
“We always have a choice, Hadassah. That’s what I’ve learned from you. But I’m willing to keep making this choice, over and over again.” Yael let her fingers tangle for a moment in Hadassah’s curls. “I wouldn’t blame you for not believing that I mean it. Would you like to do a reading—”
“No.” Hadassah cut that off right away with a firm shake of her head. “I don’t need to see or not see what might or might not be something for us. It doesn’t matter what a reading will say. All I need to know is that we’re both promising to keep on making choices. All the rest, we can figure out together.”
That was how to love, she thought as Yael drew her close and kissed her once more. Deliberately. On purpose. One choice at a time.
Acknowledgements
This story would not exist without the incomparable Brenda Murphy and Fiona Zedde, two fabulous women who graciously let me tag along. Thanks are also in order to the entire NineStar team for being so wonderful to work with. You all rock!
About Megan Hart
Megan Hart writes books. Some of them use bad words, but most of the other words are okay. Some of them hit bestseller lists and win awards and some don’t, but that’s the way it goes. She can’t live without music, the internet, or the ocean, but she and soda have achieved an amicable uncoupling. She loathes the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves her cold. She writes a little bit of everything from horror to romance, though she’s best known for writing steamy fiction that sometimes makes you cry.
Email
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Twitter
@megan_hart
Website
www.MeganHart.com
Other NineStar books by this author
Soul Burn (with Brenda Murphy)
Promises Made by Starlight
Fiona Zedde
To my family and beloved friends who’ve always been there.
Chapter One
“Does it count as marriage if it wasn’t legal everywhere at the time?” Izzy asked her best friend, even though she dreaded the answer.
“Not really,” Taylor said with a twist of her lips. “But you just had to go back it up by buying property with her, so basically you’re stuck as if you are actually married.”
Izzy wrinkled her nose and sat back in the outdoor terrace chair, looking past Taylor’s shoulder while not thinking about her ex-wife. Or ex-girlfriend, apparently.
Across from her at the tiny, French-inspired outdoor café, Taylor picked through her tout le monde salad, eating each ingredient one at a time, like she’d always done since they were kids. Now, she was devouring the black olives and making tiny sounds of pleasure with each bite.
Izzy wished she could enjoy her own food—a pair of perfectly cooked turkey and bacon sliders—especially since it would be the last restaurant meal she’d be allowing herself for a long while. She couldn’t afford to splurge on this but didn’t want to just drink water and gobble up all the complementary bread like her nearly empty wallet was telling her to.
At a familiar sensation between her thighs, she shifted in her seat. Soon, she’d need to change her tampon again.
The day was a beautiful one, golden with sunlight and the brightly colored spring flowers planted along the edges of the sidewalk. It was the sort of beauty she’d normally snap a photo of and upload to social media, but not today.
She had a load of problems sitting on her shoulders and they were crushing all the usual joy out of her life. When she’d inherited too much money from her grandmother years ago, she never thought she’d ever be broke, but here she was.
Now, she needed to unload the property she and her ex owned together, but apparently couldn’t until she got her stupid signature on a piece of paper.
Hell.
“This is the opposite of good news, Taylor.” Izzy bit her lip to stop herself from pouting. She was supposed to be a grown-up, competently handling all the so-called adult crap life was currently throwing her way.
“I know.” Taylor paused with her knife and fork poised above her salad, her fresh manicure gleaming dark red against the silver cutlery. “However, I told you not to marry her in the first place. She was always sketchy to me.”
When it came to other people, Taylor’s instincts were usually for shit, but Izzy didn’t think this was the time to bring that up. In addition to being a know-it-all with a convenient memory, her best friend was also her lawyer. Even though these days she was working for free.
“She wasn’t sketchy, Taylor.” Even after that last betrayal she couldn’t stop defending the woman who she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with. “She’s just not like any of the people you’ve ever met before. She’s not boring.”
“And she’s not actually here either. That’s the most important part of all this, isn’t it?”
Pain blossomed in Izzy’s mouth as she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying more. Her ex didn’t deserve any kind of defense.
Although she certainly hadn’t deserved Taylor’s disrespect when they’d been together either.
Like Izzy, Taylor had been raised with all the trappings of wealth and the standards of their stratosphere-high society. Permed hair and straightened teeth, the best schools, summering in the Hamptons, and clubbing in Europe whenever their exclusive schools weren’t in session. Even their boyfriends and girlfriends had been tailored to fit.
They had to have the same background, had to be the same shade of barely-there brown or lighter, the same conservative politics and beliefs, and ideally the same church. And, maybe most importantly, a different gender.
From the moment they met, the woman who Izzy eventually married had seemed the opposite of all that. A flash of white teeth set against midnight skin tripped through her memory and stuttered her heart.
Damn her.
Even now, three years after her ex walked out on her without so much as a note, Izzy couldn’t put the relationship and that fucking woman behind her. She snatched up her half empty glass of water and took a giant gulp.
A flash of gilt from across the terrace caught her gaze and she jerked upright, startled by unnaturally gold eyes, burning a cold and hateful fire. The swallow of water went down the wrong way and she was suddenly coughing it all up over herself.
“Girl, you okay?” Taylor was there with her spotless cloth napkin in Izzy’s face and a hand patting her back, her own face creased with worry. “Trying to drown yourself in a glass of water isn’t going to get you out of this trouble.”
Izzy waved her away, still coughing but at least no longer feeling like her esophagus was burning. “I’m fine—I’m good. I just—I thought I saw someone familiar.”
What else could she say? That some stranger’s eyes had just freaked her out? Besides, those burning eyes were already gone. Izzy couldn’t even remember the face of the person who’d stared at her so intently, only that it was a guy.
“Who?” Taylor turned to look over her shoulder, rightfully expecting to recognize whoever it was, too, since, except for Taylor’s law school friends and now work colleagues, they knew everyone in each other’s lives.
The sidewalk was a parade of sameness, the elegant and the poised, a few hipsters who’d found their way to this exclusive part of the little riverside town thirty minutes from Manhattan by train. But no one who would provoke the kind of response Izzy just had. At least, that’s what Izzy imagined was going through Taylor’s mind. She cleared her throat.
“I was probably just imagining things.” She dabbed at the damp spots on her blouse, glad it was only water spotting the white silk. It was o
ne of the few things she still had from her life before. “This heat.”
Taylor turned back around in her seat, giving Izzy a weird look. “As long as you’re okay, sweets.” She sipped her own red wine that wouldn’t dare make a mess of her pale-green blouse laying just so over her elegant shoulders. “So, what do you want me to do about the paperwork? Just keep waiting for her to show up?”
“That’s basically all we can do, isn’t it?”
“No, that’s not all, and you know it. I can put some of the firm’s investigators on it, have them try to find her. After all, how many Marun Zisanus can there be in this state or even this country?”
“It’s too much. I can’t even afford to pay you.” Even now, the thought brought a sting of humiliation to Izzy’s cheeks. “I sure as hell can’t afford high-priced corporate investigators.”
“Don’t worry about how much it costs, Izzy. We can deal with that later. I already told you, the firm’s covering it and they’ll barely notice the additional expense.”
No matter how many times Taylor said it, Izzy didn’t hate it any less.
“No, just don’t do it, okay. It’s too much.”
“Come on, Izzy.” Taylor paused to glance quickly at her work cell phone resting face-up near her plate. “Be practical.”
“I am being practical. Just drop it. Please.”
Her friend rolled her eyes and stabbed her fork into the pile of greenery on her plate.
Although Izzy shouldn’t be counting up all the little favors Taylor did for her that cost money, she couldn’t stop. She’d been independent for a few years, investing (wisely, she thought) and living off the trust fund her grandmother had left her. But now, that money was all gone.
How she lost all that money, she had no clue. One day it was there, more than enough to support her and the thriving business she’d started with her wife, and the next she was single, being put out of her apartment and then moving out of the city into a little cottage she was only just able to afford.
Izzy had no excuse for what happened, but she had enough pride to realize she’d fucked up and was in such a downward financial spiral there was no way she’d be able to pay Taylor back. They both knew people like that from prep school and even college, who because of whatever reason—drugs, sex addiction, or bad choices—ended up constantly going to their parents and friends for money.
Including her sister. Rose, who despite being a successful cardiothoracic surgeon had allowed her gambling addiction to rip everything she’d worked hard for out of her hands. Hooked on gambling to the point of financial ruin, she “borrowed” from friends, family, strangers, anyone who was foolish enough to give her money. Now, Rosalind lived with their parents, caught in a cycle of dependence and addiction and self-loathing that their mother was only happy to keep spinning.
That wasn’t Izzy.
That could never be her.
“Everything will be fine,” Izzy said and reached for one of the sliders. She was paying for these expensive little burgers; she might as well eat them. Not to mention she needed to replace all the iron she was losing from her heavier than normal period.
She and Taylor finished up the meal talking about things that barely mattered—old friends they hadn’t seen in a while, plans for the summer, who got a nose job or got caught screwing someone else’s husband. Despite the business reason they’d gotten together, they had a good time, laughing at the antics of their old schoolmates and swiping through the guys on the dating app Taylor just put on her phone.
When it was time to pay the bill, Taylor grabbed it up and shoved her black card in the waiter’s hand.
“Don’t argue!” she said and waved the waiter away.
Izzy wanted to but didn’t.
After cheek kisses and a promise to connect the following week, Taylor went back to her office downtown while Izzy headed home. It wasn’t a short walk, but Izzy didn’t mind. Over the last few months. she’d gotten used to navigating the little town by foot instead of taking a ride share or even the bus.
With rent coming due soon, she wasn’t sure she could afford to keep the place, but hopefully one of the irons she had in the fire would strike hot. Izzy adjusted the purse slung across her chest and kept walking.
Less than an hour later, she arrived at her small cottage, a duplex she shared with a neighbor she never saw, with sweat running down the small of her back despite shucking off her jacket halfway through the walk. Her low-heeled boots clattered against the hardwood floors as she made her way inside.
It was only three in the afternoon, but the shuttered windows of the cottage made it seem much later. Jacket on the coat rack by the door, purse tossed on the couch, Izzy headed straight for the bathroom. She’d made the mistake of not using the restaurant toilet before she left and now her tampon felt like it was overflowing.
Anticipating just that disaster, she’d worn black jeans. In the bathroom, she put her ruined jeans and underwear to soak and got in the shower. She scrubbed her skin of sweat and worry and blood and then let the water swirl the suds polluted with it all down the drain.
Izzy rested her forehead against the cool tiles and sighed.
For the first time since she woke late that morning, with the mists of sleep obscuring all the problems going on right now, she took an easy breath. Water flowed over her shoulders and back, splattering on the shower cap she wore and cascading over her butt and thighs, slipping between her legs.
Another sigh expanded her lungs and she felt more of her tension slip away.
It would be so damn nice just to stay there with the water washing everything away, all her cares, the blood, the anger and hurt she’d been holding on to for three long years.
But too soon, she had to get out.
Nothing in this world was free, including hot water.
Speaking of which, she had to do something to make more money before even the pleasure of taking a shower in her own private bathroom was taken away. There had to be something she could do. Maybe sell the last of her grandmother’s jewelry that she was holding on to. After all, they were only pieces of metal and rocks. But her eyes burned at the thought of parting with those last tangible connections to her grandmother.
Tampon in, shower cap dried and put away, she left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her mostly dry body. Still thinking about what she could do to make money, she walked through the living room on the way to her bedroom.
“Why do you want to sell the bakery?”
Izzy shrieked.
She jerked backward, arms flailing, and crashed into a corner table as her towel loosened and she pitched toward the floor. Strong hands grabbed her and stopped her from falling. Her heart galloped with fear as she backed away and slammed into the wall with a dull thud.
Wait. Wait a fucking minute.
She pressed a hand to her heaving chest, blinking hard and staring at the shadowy figure in front of her. Six feet plus of feminine sleekness in a flowing seafoam blouse, jeans, and with bare feet. Her untamed hair was a corona around her face, so thick and heavy that it rested on her shoulders, a flock of dark birds ready to take flight. And her face. Knee-weakening beauty perfected by piercing eyes that saw through everything Izzy ever was or hoped to be.
Her breath caught and her body responded to Marun’s presence the way it always did, calming yet growing more agitated at the same time. The fear was gone but her skin crackled with a hungry electric current.
Snap out of it!
“What the entire fuck are you doing here?” she gasped out, at the same time grabbing her towel from the floor to cover herself. Her heart was still trying to beat its way out of her chest.
“I’m here to see you,” Marun said as if Izzy was the one being unreasonable and not the actual woman who’d broken into her apartment.
Still dazed, Izzy wrapped the towel around herself and slid along the wall away from her ex-wife. Current wife? Girlfriend?
Her body thudded into a corner. She couldn’t m
ove anymore, could only stare at Marun and wet her dry lips.
“Telephones exist,” she said finally. “My number didn’t change while you were gone.”
Three years.
“Why are you trying to get rid of the bakery?” Marun moved closer, eyes roaming over Izzy in that familiar, possessive way.
Izzy gripped the towel to her chest and willed her knees not to buckle, her thighs to stop shaking. Marun was back. She was here, in the little cottage, and Izzy’s body was responding like it always had.
Swallowing hard, she tried to get herself back on track. “You may not notice but it’s not actually a bakery anymore, just a big check I can’t cash.”
“Don’t sell it.” Marun was close enough now for Izzy to see the tiny mole high on her left cheek.
“Why shouldn’t I sell it? This building is the only thing still tying us together and, from your disappearing act, you obviously don’t want anything to do with me anymore.” The words felt like glass in her throat.
The faint light over Marun’s face shifted. Her mouth softened. Her eyes burned with an unfamiliar desperation. “Don’t get rid of it. Please.”
Izzy’s stomach clenched, and it wasn’t a period cramp. She’d never been able to resist Marun. Not when she was commanding and had Izzy on her knees doing anything to please her. And especially not when she was almost soft like this, pleading, a half-hidden shade in Izzy’s living room, the living ghost of the woman who walked out three years ago and took Izzy’s heart with her.
Marun.
The woman who’d called herself Izzy’s wife.
The woman who’d allowed Izzy to belong to her for a few precious years.
None of that mattered now though.
“I need the money,” Izzy spat in a short, resentful burst.
“You have money. I left you everything I own on this earth.”
“The only thing you left me was alone.”
I needed you, she wanted to shout now that she finally had a target in front of her for her anger and pain. I missed you so much. Why did you leave? Please don’t leave me again.
Love, Blood, and Sanctuary Page 20