“You’re to call me every day, Chloe Anne. No exceptions.”
Pound, pound, thud, goes my heart. “I will.”
“And if anything out of the ordinary happens—you see a strange car lingering around, the electric guy shows up for an unscheduled line repair, you hear some weird clicks on your phone—you tell me right away. Eric might be out of commission for a few weeks, but his buddies aren’t. There are bound to be at least a few of them who’ll want revenge on his behalf. Cops don’t take it well when one of their own gets his ass handed to him on a platter.”
I swallow, unable to answer because fear has flash-frozen my tongue. This is a possibility I’ve never considered. Will I be living with a dark cloud of paranoia over my head from now on, looking over my shoulder, suspicious of every stranger on the street?
“Don’t worry.” There’s an edge to A.J.’s voice. “I’ve got a few tricks of my own up my sleeves. Anyone who gets some dumb ideas about payback will get the surprise of his fucking life.”
I can tell my father is liking A.J. more and more with every word that comes out of his mouth. This entire incident is so bizarre I think there’s a strong possibility I’m hallucinating it all, doped up and dreaming.
Into the room bustles Dr. Mendelsohn, clipboard in hand. He’s sixtyish, bespectacled, bald as a cue ball, and scowling. “Thomas, good to see you. Chloe, my God, your face! Did they get Dr. Frankenstein to sew you up? Christ, these corporate surgeons are butchers.”
Not too alarmed because Dr. Mendelsohn is as neurotic as my mother when it comes to matters of health, I merely shake my head. Then he notices A.J. standing there and does a double take that is cartoonish in its exaggeration. Brows raised, he looks back at my father.
Who snaps, “Just get to work, Mendelsohn! I don’t pay you five hundred K a year to stand around gawking.”
An hour later, reexamined and judged stable enough to leave, I’m released from the hospital into A.J.’s care.
In the rental car A.J. picked up while Dr. Mendelsohn examined me, I sit huddled in the passenger seat, blinking into the brilliant morning light. I’m swimming in A.J.’s hoodie, wrapped in his scent. My cardigan was destroyed in my fight with Eric, and since I didn’t have any other clothes at the hospital, A.J. handed over his hoodie without a word when it was time for me to get dressed.
Luckily he’d been wearing a leather jacket over it, so he has something to leave the hospital in, too.
I’m trying not to think about the fact that his chest is bare beneath the leather. Honestly, I’m trying not to think about much at all, because if I do, my head will probably explode.
I’ve seen my face—glimpsed in the bathroom mirror as I dressed—and it’s not pretty. My eye is swollen, livid purple-and-black bruises have blossomed across my cheek, jaw, and temple, and Dr. Mendelsohn was onto something when he asked if Frankenstein did the stitches in my cheek. They’re black, irregular in size, snaking a few inches down the crest of my cheekbone. My father promised he’d schedule a consultation with a plastic surgeon, but I can’t think about anything past this moment.
I don’t dare.
We stop at the rusted chain-link fence bisecting the dirt road that leads to A.J.’s place. He gets out, unlocks it, and pushes one side open. He returns and drives past the gate, then gets out again and locks it behind us.
I notice the hole on the left side of the fence has been repaired. The glittering coil of barbed wire that tops it is new, too. I wonder if he had the fence fixed the day after I showed up unannounced here, but decide not to ask. There’s only so much reality I can take right now.
A.J. parks the rental car behind the hotel, and for a moment I forget everything.
Drifts of brown leaves decorate the cracked bottom of a cavernous, empty swimming pool. Weeds have broken through the faded tiles of two enormous mosaic fountains that flank it. An incredible, thick arbor of waving purple wisteria decorates the crumbling remains of the marble colonnade that runs the length of the back of the property, curving around in a huge semicircle from the east and west ends of the building to enclose the pool and formal gardens, which are now nothing but a tangle of native shrubs and wild roses.
At the far side of the pool are clustered elaborate, old-fashioned ironwork tables and chairs partially consumed by creeping vines. Toppled statues, green with moss, are being reclaimed by the land. A family of deer munches on tender shoots of grass in a patch of dappled sunlight, oblivious to our presence.
In spite of the hotel’s gentle ruin and its obvious abandonment, I don’t find it as creepy as I did when I first came. Now I can see that into everything is imbued a sense of forlorn, forgotten magic, as if lonely wood fairies inhabit the wild gardens and empty rooms, just waiting for someone to invite them out to play.
This place, I think. This place is enchanted.
A.J. catches me staring. He looks around, following my gaze. “I bought it because it looks how I feel.”
I try to decipher his expression, the hollow tone in his voice. “Alone?”
He shakes his head. “Corroded. Decayed.”
My heart twinges. I reach out and take his hand. At my touch, he turns to me, startled. “It’s not corroded. It’s beautiful. It’s bewitched.”
He looks at me a long, silent moment. “Yes. Bewitched,” he agrees in a murmur, and I don’t think he’s talking about his hotel. I flush and look down at our entwined fingers.
He clears his throat. “I’ll stop by your place and get some clothes for you later. And anything else you need. Just make me a list. Right now you need to rest.”
“I need to call the girls. Let Grace and Kat know—”
“Already done. I told them you’re staying with me, and that you’ll call them every day. And I called your shop, too. They’re not expecting you back for a week.”
His voice is rough. When I look up at him, he’s gazing at me with hooded eyes. “A week?” I repeat.
He nods.
A week. Alone with A.J. for a week. I think about it, considering what needs to get done at work, swiftly calculating if I can take that much time off. I’ve never taken that much time off.
But the temptation to be with him is too great. Finally I just nod, because the fatigue is really starting to hit me and I can barely think anymore. I’ve been up all night, I’m sore as hell, and I look like I lost a twelve-round heavyweight fight.
But I didn’t; I won. I got away. It could have been so much worse, and I know I’m lucky. As adrenaline from the memory of what happened floods my veins, my hands start to shake. I still can’t believe it. How could Eric have done that to me? How could I have judged him so poorly? How can I ever trust myself to make a good decision again?
“Hey.”
I look up to find A.J. staring at me with fire in his amber eyes. He takes my chin in his hand. “Don’t go there. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Grace tried to warn me. I didn’t listen.”
His fingers tighten on my chin. “You did not. Do anything. Wrong.”
His tone makes it clear he’s not going to let it go until I agree with him. I nod, until I remember that Grace has also warned me against A.J., and I’m miserable all over again. I put my face into my hands.
A.J. is out of the car and opening my door so fast my head spins. He lifts me into his arms, and kicks the door shut behind him. He kisses the top of my head. “All right, Princess. You’re getting punchy on me. Time for you to go to sleep.”
I wind my arms around his neck as he strides toward the back doors of the hotel. He leans down so I can turn the knob to open the door, then straightens and shoulders his way past it, careful not to jostle me or knock my head against the doorjamb. I think we’re going to take an elevator, but A.J. carries me in his arms all the way up a back staircase to the second floor. He doesn’t even break a sweat.
I rest my head against his shoulder as he ambles down the long corridor toward his room. “This is very impressive. You
must work out with really heavy weights.”
“Baby, you’re the lightest weight I’ve ever carried.”
This man speaks in riddles. He is a riddle. He says one thing, and means another. He wants one thing, and allows himself another. There’s so much light in him, yet he is so very dark.
And I’m falling for him. I know it. I feel it. I want it, yet because I know there will be no happily-ever-after to this fairytale, I don’t. If I allow myself to fall in love with him, I no longer think it will merely hurt, as I told Grace and Kat. I think it will be much worse than that. I think the fall might break me.
I think A.J. might have been right about this all along.
Still, I don’t ask him to stop. I don’t ask him to turn back around and drive me to my parents’ house, or to a hotel. I allow him to cradle me in his arms, take me into his room, and lay me gently down on the mattress on the floor that he calls a bed. I stare up at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to do next.
Without another word, he takes off my shoes. He tucks a blanket around me, fluffs the pillow under my head. He straightens, goes into the little kitchenette adjacent to the main room, makes me a cup of herbal tea with honey, then watches me intently as I drink, propped up on my elbow. When I’m finished, he whistles. From down the hall I hear the sound of little toenails tearing against carpet.
Bella noses her way past the door, wriggling and barking happily when she sees A.J.
“C’mon, baby. Come help Chloe get better.” He kneels, hands outstretched. Bella runs to him with her adorable, awkward, three-legged gait. He hugs and kisses her, then sets her beside me, gently encouraging her with pets and murmurs to snuggle up against me. Reluctantly, she does.
Her eyes are the most amazing liquid brown. She’s a little afraid of me, but because A.J. has told her it’s okay, she lets me stroke her head, pet her soft, warm body. As a feeling of peacefulness begins to replace the anxiety, I yawn, my eyes drooping. Bella licks my chin.
“I don’t have enough food here. I need to make a run to the store—”
“Not yet!” My lids fly open. I’m panicked at the thought of him leaving. “Please don’t leave me yet. I don’t think I can be alone right now.”
A.J. kneels next to the mattress. He strokes a hand over my hair. He murmurs, “You’ll never be alone again, Chloe, not if you don’t want to be. Okay?” Then he looks at me, really looks at me, letting me see the emotion in his eyes.
I hear what he’s saying, what he’s asking, and my vision gets blurry. All of my energy goes into trying not to ugly cry. “Okay.”
A.J. leans over and kisses me. It’s tender and beautiful, the softest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever had. When he pulls away, I have to hide my face in the pillow so he doesn’t see my tears.
He stands and goes into the kitchenette again. I think he’s giving me my space. Or maybe he needs space of his own. Because what’s happening between us is huge, and it’s happening fast.
I blow out a breath, snuggle closer to Bella, and shove all the worry away. I know I can worry as much as I want to when I wake up. Right now, I’m exhausted. I need an escape from the Category 5 hurricane howling inside my mind.
Within minutes, I’m asleep.
When I open my eyes again, it’s early evening. The sun has set behind the hills, and the room is full of soft shadows. An opera plays low on the stereo. Warm pools of flickering light dance around the clusters of lit pillar candles gathered on the windowsills, grouped around the floor. Bella is gone.
I’m not wearing a watch and there’s no clock in the room, so I can’t tell the exact time, but judging by the light, I’d guess it’s maybe six o’clock. I’ve slept the entire day. My throat is raw and scratchy. My head is pounding. I need to use the toilet.
“A.J.?”
No answer. I stand, groaning at the stiffness in my muscles, and stretch. My cheek feels hot and tight around the stitches; I should ice it. I move slowly from the bed to the kitchenette, hoping to find A.J. hiding in some corner.
He isn’t there.
I try not to freak out, figuring he’s probably taking Bella for a pee or something. I find ice in the freezer, wrap it in a paper towel, and press it to my face. Then I hear a low sound from the bathroom. I cock my head, frowning.
The faint sound comes again.
The skin on the back of my neck tingling, I lower the ice and move toward the closed bathroom door. I stand there a moment, listening.
“A.J.? Are you all right?”
Again, no answer. But my intuition is screaming that something is wrong, so I knock lightly, calling his name again.
“I’m fine.”
In his voice I hear an unrecognizable emotion that makes my skin crawl. With my heart in my throat, I say, “I’m coming in.” I don’t give him much time before I open the door.
And there he stands at the bathroom sink, in nothing but faded jeans. He’s staring at himself in the mirror.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He just keeps staring at himself, as if he can’t tear his eyes away from his reflection. “I don’t recognize him.”
He’s referring to the man looking back at him in the glass. I get a sick feeling in my stomach. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Look at him. Look at his eyes, Chloe.”
Now I’m really scared. What the hell is happening? Just when I’m about to ask, A.J. says wonderingly, “They’re happy.” He turns slowly from the mirror and looks at me. “My eyes are happy.”
And they are. They’re shining so bright, it’s like he’s lit up from inside.
He moves slowly away from the sink as if in a dream. He takes my face in his hands, gazing down at me in stunned disbelief. “I know it’s wrong . . . that I should feel . . . when you’ve been hurt, you’re so hurt, but just having you here with me, having you sleeping in the other room . . . I was in the kitchen and this feeling came over me, and it scared me so much because I didn’t know what it was, and when I went into the bathroom and saw myself I realized . . . it’s happiness. I think it is, I mean. I don’t really remember what it feels like.”
I drop the ice and wrap my arms around his waist, rising up on my toes. I kiss him softly on the mouth. “Welcome back to the human race, Prince Charming. We’ve missed you here.”
A smile spreads over his face. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful. “Angel,” he whispers. And then his lips find mine.
The kiss starts out soft, but within seconds it turns violently passionate. We’re desperately hungry for each other, clinging and voracious. His teeth draw blood as they press into my lower lip. When I make a small sound in my throat, he pulls back and sees the smear of red on my mouth. He tenses, his expression pained.
“Fuck! I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be. That’s the best pain I’ve ever felt.”
He’s appalled, but also turned on, and can’t decide whether to smile or frown. So I decide for him. I reach between his legs and grasp the throbbing bulge in his jeans.
He groans. “No. You’re hurt.”
“Shut up.” I stroke him, ignoring his protests. When he doesn’t stop me, I reach for his zipper.
In the same way he gutted me with humiliation the night in my bedroom, he grasps my wrists and commands, “Stop.”
His face is flushed. His eyes are hot. I know he doesn’t want me to stop.
“We’ve already been through this, A.J.”
His eyes briefly close. “I mean, not like this. Not when you’re hurt. Not now.”
In spite of what seems like inevitable forward momentum leading to us finally consummating our relationship to become true lovers in every sense of the word, I suffer a moment of hideous insecurity. “But you do want to?”
He releases my wrists to once again cup my face. He strokes his thumbs over my heated cheeks, carefully skirting the area with the stitches. He breathes, “Sweet angel, I’ve wanted you since the first time I heard you sing.”
That stops me dea
d. “Um . . . what?”
He wraps his arms around me, and rests his forehead on my shoulder. His heart thumps a steady beat against my breasts.
“I heard you singing to yourself one day. Nine months ago, to be exact. The day Nico and I first came into your shop to get flowers for Kat. I’ll never forget it, no matter how long I live.”
He turns his face to my neck. I hold my breath, sensing that what he’s about to tell me might explain everything. Or at least shed some light on the mystery that is Alex James Edwards.
“I came inside the shop first. Nico was still talking to Barney in the car, but I’d been working in the studio all day and couldn’t stand another second of being cooped up. And as soon as I opened the door and stepped inside, I heard your voice. I didn’t know it was you, but I heard this woman singing to herself somewhere just out of sight. I thought I would die right there, next to the rack of Hallmark cards, from sheer bliss.”
When he looks at me his eyes are endless, full of what I can only describe as love. “Your voice, Chloe. The colors of your voice are like . . . fucking . . . heaven.” He starts to sing the lyrics of a Journey song, one I instantly recognize.
“‘Don’t Stop Believin’,’” I say, stunned. “It’s one of my favorite songs.”
He laughs, but it’s choked with emotion. “You and your goddamn eighties rock. That’s what you were singing. You were hitting all the high notes, too, all the hard ones, without missing a beat. And it was like the Fourth of July and a Vegas laser show and the northern lights, all rolled into one. I was blinded. Frozen. I couldn’t move. I’d never heard or seen anything so beautiful. No occlusions or breaks, no cracks or wobbles, just pure, totally effortless perfection, surrounding me on every side, raining over me like a shower of precious jewels.”
All of a sudden, I’m crying. Tears stream unchecked down my cheeks, stinging my stitches. “Then why did you act like you hated me so much? If you thought I was so beautiful, why did you always snarl at me and push me away? Why did you tell me I make you want to die?”
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