“Thanks for coming by,” I say, taking the mug and setting it on the coffee table. “Wait—what’s tomorrow?”
“Didn’t Michael tell you? You’ll be coming over for dinner. The guys can talk business, and we can get acquainted.”
As she waves goodbye and heads down the sidewalk toward the cypress grove, I stand at the spot in front of the windows where she stood moments before. I can’t shake the feeling that she was probing me for answers, trying to get a feel for me, to see if I was some kind of threat. But that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? All I know is, whatever our meeting was, it wasn’t innocent.
I spend the next few hours unpacking and filling Joanna’s china cabinet with my own dishes. When Samara makes her way downstairs, she insists I leave the empty boxes near the back door for her to pack away in the garage, since I shouldn’t be carrying heavy loads. For some reason, unpacking my things makes me feel better. Like I’ve finally made my imprint on this place, no matter how faint. Rachael’s comments spin through my head: I’m glad you’re with Michael now. Because I’m not a threat to this neighborhood. I’m far from glamorous and at times uncomfortable in my skin, and won’t make Rachael feel intimidated. How’d you do it? As if landing Michael was a trick, because he couldn’t possibly like me for the woman I am, not after the perfection of Joanna.
If I want to be in Michael’s life for the long haul, I need to become the kind of woman deserving of his love and attention. I’m going to have to make Ravenwood my home, so I don’t feel like an invader, squatting here in Joanna’s space.
Rachael may be gone, but her words are lingering, ringing in my heart.
I don’t think they’ll be leaving anytime soon.
MICHAEL
By the time I wind my way up the drive and pull into the garage, it’s six-fifteen and I’m burned out. Meetings all morning. Development paperwork all afternoon. Conference calls on the way home. I haven’t heard from Colleen since the morning and I want nothing more than to see her. Judging from the way she crashed this morning, she’s probably spent the day recuperating.
If I know Colleen, no matter how tired she is, she’ll greet me at the door with a kiss and a smile. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she has a talent for making the madness of my day melt away. She hates the fact that she’s not more of a Betty Homemaker type—she’s mentioned her lack of housekeeping skills a time or two—but with Samara on staff, she won’t have to worry about that anymore. She’ll be able to relax and enjoy her days. I don’t mind that she can’t cook anything edible, either; it’s the reason I kept Dean on staff after Joanna left. What woman wouldn’t enjoy having a personal chef who does the grocery shopping and cooking?
For the first time since Joanna ended our marriage via text message, I think I’m finally ready to file for divorce. My past with her will stay buried. With Colleen there is a new start. I turn up my collar to brace against a frigid blast of wind and eagerly jog up the steps. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to walk through the front door.
“Hey, Coll, I’m home!” Pushing inside, I hang up my jacket, set down my briefcase, and stop in my tracks. “What the hell?”
The house is eerily quiet, cold, and dark, as if the life has been sucked right out of it. A few dim overhead fixtures trickle light, but shadows claim every corner. The boxes I’d stepped over this morning are gone. The couch is now covered in fuzzy blankets and throw pillows. Framed pictures of us have been hung on the walls.
Colleen’s been busy today, but where is she?
“Colleen?” I pad through the living room. “Sweetheart?”
In the study, the air is stagnant and chilly—the fire hasn’t been lit—and the curtains are closed tight. At first glance, it doesn’t seem as if Colleen has been in the room at all. Then, I catch sight of something on the bookshelf across from my desk. A romance novel. Next to it, a thriller.
Those definitely aren’t mine.
On closer inspection, an entire row of my financial books has been replaced with genre fiction. Mysteries, romances, thrillers, and sci-fi.
“You’ve made yourself at home,” I whisper, and then shut the door behind me. “As long as you haven’t…” I glance at the ceiling, beyond the headers and beams, and imagine the second story over our heads. “Colleen? Baby, where are you?”
Slightly panicked, I search through the house with renewed purpose. Dining room and kitchen are empty. The counters look different, as if something’s been moved. Wait—the Keurig that had rested in the corner has been replaced with the espresso machine. Bizarre, since Colleen can’t have caffeine until the baby’s born. I dart into the wine cellar. No trace of her. Charging to the second story, I call her name over and over again.
I stop at the top of the stairs. Right or left?
Please, God, don’t let her have ventured too far….
I’m not ready to have that conversation yet.
“Colleen? I’m starting to get worried. Where are you, sweetheart?”
If something were really wrong, if something had happened to Colleen or the baby, I would’ve gotten a call from the doctor. Or an emergency room. So where could she have gone? Having lived in the city for the last six years of her life, she doesn’t own a car. And she doesn’t know anyone in Point Reina.
She has to be here.
I listen intently for any sound, anything that might give away where she might be, and then dart to the right. I have to make sure she hasn’t discovered what I’m keeping in those rooms. The doors leading to the screening room, billiards room, and gym are all locked. At the end of the long, dark hall, the door leading to the second master makes me stop. Perhaps it’s the way shadows slant over its ornate wood carvings, revealing angles and lines that strangely resemble a face. Or maybe it’s what I fear is waiting for me inside.
“Colleen?” I call out, my voice harsher than it’d been before. “Enough games. Where are you?”
I don’t want to go in there. Nights hit the hardest, and I won’t be able to take it. How would she have gotten in, anyway? The room at the end of the hall is always locked, and there are only two keys. One is always on me. Last summer, right after Joanna left, I found myself spending more time in that room than my own. It was easiest to keep the key on me at all times. I suppose it’s still a habit to shove it into my pocket each morning. The other key is with Samara, so she can keep the space fresh. She wouldn’t have…
“Colleen!”
Storming down the hall, I pull the key from my pocket and reach for the lock. I pause, listening. I know what lies beyond the door, what dark secrets the past holds, and if Colleen’s in there, I know what I have to do. Fear cements my feet to the floor.
I can’t do this. I can’t face her.
“Michael?” she calls from somewhere on the other side of the house. “Is that you?”
I pocket the key with a ragged, relieved breath and race down the hall, over the bridge stretching across the living room, and into the safety of the west wing.
“Colleen? Where are you?”
“Getting out of the bath,” she calls back. I hear water sloshing.
I turn the corner and stride into the master. The bed’s made, and she’s lit candles on the bedside tables. She hasn’t been in the other rooms. She hasn’t seen anything to upset her.
“I couldn’t find you,” I say, unbuttoning my top button and slinging off my tie. “I was getting worried. I must’ve called your name half a dozen times.”
“I had my headphones in. Didn’t hear a thing.” Water drips, and then her footfalls echo through the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a second.”
Shrugging out of my jacket, I step into the closet. Colleen’s unpacked her boxes. Unloaded her purses, shoes, and clothes, and reorganized them on the right side of the space. Joanna’s things were there last year. Her endless stac
ks of heels were exactly where Colleen’s few shoes are now. Her coats were in the back, clothes in the front, organized by length and color. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time. Only difference is the sheer volume of clothes Joanna possessed. Even with every outfit Colleen owns, the closet still looks barren. Joanna moved her stuff out of our bedroom and into her own private space last May, when things started to go sour between us, yet I remember her wardrobe filling the closet like it was yesterday.
Maybe it’s too soon, too fast. Maybe Colleen and I should have slowed down. Maybe I should have made sure I was over Joanna before inviting another woman into our home. I shouldn’t be looking at Colleen’s wardrobe and thinking of Joanna.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Does every woman choose the right over the left side? Who gives a damn, anyway? It’s only clothes.
Colleen is not Joanna.
I think about the gorgeous woman stepping out of the bath in the next room. Suddenly I can’t wait to get her into my arms.
“How was your day?” I ask, finally feeling normal again. But when I turn, Colleen is standing in the doorway, and I don’t remember what I’d asked. Light from the bathroom spills around her dark hair, her narrow shoulders, and—God help me—the blood freezes in my veins. Colleen’s wearing her robe. The one I bought Joanna for our first Christmas together. It’s cashmere, white as snow, with the emblem of a blood-red rose etched over the right breast.
For one horrifying moment, I think…no.
I shake my head fiercely as I struggle to piece together my thoughts.
“What’s the matter?” Colleen smoothes wet hair back from her face, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Something in my chest shifts, and my mouth goes dry as the Sahara. “Just not used to seeing you here.” I cross the room and kiss her on the cheek. Her skin is still damp. “Where’d you find this?”
I reach out to touch the fabric of the robe, to brush it against my fingers, but pull back my hand at the last second.
“I spent a lot of time going through boxes today,” she replies, tightening the robe around her, “and Samara was a huge help. When I mentioned I was beat, she said I should take a bath, and it sounded like a wonderful idea. Right before she left she brought me this. She said it was reserved for guests. Wasn’t that nice?”
Reserved for guests.
I’ll have to talk to Samara about her gesture, and her lie, later.
Colleen retreats into the bathroom, and I follow, tugged along by the cord of torturous memory.
She gazes up at me in the mirror as I lean against the towel rack to steady myself. “Michael—what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” The robe. “I’m sorry, I’m not—”
“Is it the closet? I was worried about how you’d react. Samara said you take the left, so I thought my stuff could go on the right, but if not…”
“Oh, that. Yeah, Coll, it’s fine.”
She spreads lotion over her face in tiny circles, and I feel like I’ve dreamed this before. “After talking with Rachael, I—”
“You met Rachael?” I ask.
“She came by this morning.” She swipes her hand over the fogged mirror, leaving two streaks wide enough to reveal her face. “Michael, are you sure everything’s all right?”
Her reflection blurs as water drops scatter down the mirror, and I swear Joanna is staring back at me. I wish I could forget her. Wish I could forget the finger-smudge marks Colleen just made over the mirror, too. In the morning, Samara will have to wipe everything down.
“Michael?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I swallow hard. “Zoned out for a second. What’d Rachael have to say?”
“That she thinks the world of you.”
I’m her husband’s boss. She’s not going to tell the new woman in my life that I’m a monster. Even if it could be the truth. “Rachael likes everybody.”
She looks up at me in the reflection as she runs a brush through her hair. “She said you’re a thoughtful husband.”
“I hope you didn’t waste your morning gossiping about me the whole time. I think you two might have a lot in common.”
“Really?” She pouts her lips and applies a glossy touch of lip balm. “Like what?”
“Travis and I both work at the company.” In the mirror, she levels a stare at me that says I shouldn’t be finished talking, so I continue. “Rachael’s career-oriented, just like you were before we made the decision for you to stay here. She’s health-conscious and attends those sweaty yoga classes, or whatever they are.”
She giggles at that, lowering my defenses.
“Don’t laugh. You know you used to go to those things too. You used to tell me all about them.” I steal behind her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. The scent of her hair is familiar too. It’s soft and subtle, teasing my senses with something long forgotten. “I’ll never understand why anyone would want to work out in a sauna.”
“It’s good for you,” she says, leaning back against me. “Detoxifies your muscles. Relieves stress.”
“I know another way you can relieve stress.”
I turn her around to face me. She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand as I wedge her knees gently between my legs. She tips her head back and smiles, and it’s times like this that she takes my breath away.
“What do you say we get you out of this robe and into bed? I’d love to show you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“Sounds perfect.” She turns back to the vanity and opens her bag. “Let me do a few more things first. I want tonight to be special.”
“All right,” I say with a wink. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
In the bedroom, I strip down to my boxers and pull back the covers of the bed. The rush of the wind whipping through the grove across the street is strangely hypnotic. Like white noise. Outside, the temperature is dropping fast. It’ll be bone-chillingly cold tonight, I can feel it. Another storm is sweeping through.
“Okay,” she says, behind me. “I’m ready.”
I turn. She’s still wearing Joanna’s robe, and she’s drawn her silky black hair over both shoulders. From the way the cashmere clings to her body, I can see the faintest pooch of her belly, and a zinging feeling of happiness streaks through me. I know she’s bare beneath the cashmere. Maybe when Colleen’s in my arms, I’ll be able to close my eyes and forget Joanna existed at all.
She approaches me with a smile, but when I reach out for her, a familiar scent strikes me. It’s not the scent of her shampoo. It’s something else. Something intimate. Colleen is swathed in it.
“Are you wearing something?” I ask, hands trembling as I tug her against me. “Did you try on a new perfume?”
She gazes up at me, blinking slowly. “It’s Joy. By Jean Patou. I absolutely love the scent.”
Joy was Joanna’s favorite fragrance—I’d buy it for her every year for her birthday. Over six hundred dollars for a single ounce. Damn Samara if she gave Colleen that, too. She’ll be perusing the classifieds by noon tomorrow.
“Nice.” I force a flat tone. Nonchalant. “Where’d you get it?”
“I found it tucked in the back corner of the vanity,” she says, untying the robe to expose her naked body.
But I can’t focus on her curves, or the gleam of the bedside lamps bathing her skin in a golden glow. Because I’d cleaned out the vanity months ago. She’s lying. Where could Colleen have found Joanna’s perfume?
“Did you know ten thousand jasmine flowers and something like twenty-eight dozen roses are used to make one ounce?” She presses her breasts against my chest. “I looked it up.”
Closing my eyes, I draw her against me tighter and stroke my hands up and down her back. The robe is soft in my fingers—the luxurious texture is the
reason I bought it for her—and her scent is just the way I remember. Flowery and musky, so sweet it makes me dizzy.
With a hiss, I shove Colleen out of my arms.
I didn’t buy the robe for her, but for Joanna. Colleen stands before me, arms hanging limp at her sides, her lips parted.
How easy it’d been to forget, to think about Joanna, to wish even for a moment that she were the one in my arms. Colleen’s expression fades from happiness to confusion as she backs away from me, cinching the robe’s belt around her waist.
“What the hell’s gotten into you? If you don’t want to sleep with me tonight, that’s fine, but you don’t have to push me away. I was just trying to—”
Damn it. “Colleen, that’s not it.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I’m throwing myself at you, and there’s disgust in your eyes right now. Disgust, Michael. That’s not exactly the emotion I was hoping to see tonight.”
“Colleen…”
“Don’t,” she bites out. I think she’s crying. And now she won’t even look at me. “Today has been the longest day I can remember. I just want it to be over.”
When she slips into bed beside me minutes later, she faces the opposite direction. She has to say something or I’m not going to get a minute of sleep tonight.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask finally, keeping my voice low.
She sighs. “Is that all you think they’re worth?”
RACHAEL
My phone buzzes against the bedside table, dragging me from the deepest sleep I’ve had in, God, I don’t know how long. Fumbling, I put on my glasses, hold the phone over my face, and read a series of texts from Lora that I must’ve missed while I was out.
OMG, Rachael, wake up.
I heard it’s a woman. Wake up!!
Sitting upright and swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rub the sleep out of my eyes and struggle to piece together what she’s talking about. Lora regularly starts texts with OMG. She’s probably about to spoil the ending to The Walking Dead.
In Her Shadow Page 5