by Dani Collins
She locked herself inside, then splashed cold water onto her burning eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRAVIS TOOK ZERO satisfaction in having pierced her shell. There had been such hurt in her for a moment, the kind of betrayed shock that came after a sucker punch, he had thought she was walking out on him and his heart had lurched. He’d been ready to physically stop her.
Even though letting her go would be the healthier choice for both of them. He was hitting below the belt, but there’d been something in her flippant remark about paying him off with sex that had struck a raw spot. Her accusation of his treating their marriage like a transaction and having buyer’s remorse was stuck in his craw, too.
Was that how he had viewed it?
He certainly hadn’t looked on marriage as a sacred vow. His parents had divorced. It was something people did. That had allowed him to see a viable exit strategy even as he was proposing. She wasn’t wrong about that.
I bruised your ego by walking out before you told me to leave.
He hadn’t been ready, that was true. He had still wanted her—still did, if the way his blood had leaped at her talk of trading sex was anything to go by. Copping to that would give her the upper hand, though, and she already had too much of his attention.
One lover? Really? Impossible.
She had said earlier she wasn’t promiscuous. Okay, he was willing to believe she was fastidious, but to want him to believe she’d only been with him? Lying about that was worse than all the rest, almost as if she knew it was his Achilles’ heel.
He couldn’t let himself believe anything she said, but in all their sparring today, nothing had landed so hard on him as the way she kept insisting she hadn’t been with other men. If it was actually true—
It couldn’t be. It would leave him reeling. And she had overturned his life enough.
His phone rang, vibrating through his hard grip when he’d forgotten he was even holding it. It was his father. The rumors had reached him via a friend who’d seen something online. Travis promised to explain once they were in Charleston. No escape from this charade now.
The reality of pretending to be enamored with his ex-wife began to hit him. Better to manage the PR with her under his nose, however, than let her loose to ruin herself, maybe even him, all over again.
One lover.
Why did he want to believe that so badly?
The elevator pinged as his driver delivered her medication. Gwyn came down the stairs as he accepted it and followed him back to the kitchen.
“I shouldn’t have had the coffee,” Gwyn said with a yawn. “Vito is fast asleep, but I’m wide awake so thought I’d start dinner. I left a dress for Imogen in your room. Is she still here?”
“In the powder room.” He glanced down the hall, heard the water running. He moved to check her prescription and shook out a couple of pills to give her when she came out.
“Is she staying for dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Did you talk to Henry?” Gwyn pulled vegetables from the fridge.
“Yes.”
She paused to send him an exasperated look. “You were so angry with me for not speaking up when everything was happening with the bank. You know I want to help if you need something, right?”
“Cooking dinner is always appreciated.”
She rolled her eyes, moving around his kitchen with familiarity.
This was one of the reasons he invited them to sleep here instead of a hotel. She provided some of the only home-cooked meals he ever ate.
Imogen had been a good cook, he recalled. That had been why he preferred to stay in. That and who wanted to get dressed again after sex? Today was probably the first time since they’d married that he had walked into an apartment with her and not stripped them naked in a matter of seconds.
Gwyn started garlic sizzling along with basil and oregano, saying, “We could stay an extra day. I could take her shopping if you like.”
He had been suspicious of Gwyn and her mother when his father had moved them into his home. He’d since learned that beneath Gwyn’s stunning exterior was a heart of pure gold. Her longing for family ran so deep, and her determination to stitch one together was so dogged, she had somehow pressed him into forming ties with her husband and children. He had enormous affection for her.
Which was why he didn’t want her to get hurt.
“Don’t get attached,” he said in gentle warning. “This is damage control. It’s not going to last.”
Her optimistic expression fell into concerned lines. “But I want this for you.”
He shrugged off her picture-perfect life. “I was never cut out for marriage and kids.”
She dismissed that with a snort. “Vito would have said the same thing four years ago. We started as damage control.”
“Vito didn’t know what he was dealing with. Imogen doesn’t possess your lovable nature.”
Gwyn flushed and grinned at the compliment, but her smile fell away into embarrassed regret as she looked past him.
He turned to see Imogen had emerged from the hallway, expression stiff after hearing what he’d just said.
* * *
I can’t do this, Imogen thought as she put on the sweater dress Gwyn had left for her. It hung off her like a sack.
It wasn’t just how frumpy she looked. It was symbolic of how she didn’t fit into Travis’s world at all.
She had spent virtually her whole life trying to belong where she didn’t. An interloper in her own family, the wrong crowd of friends, her father’s choice of degree and a husband ashamed of their marriage. She couldn’t go downstairs to eat with his family and pretend she was a good wife. One with a heart.
She was so very disheartened by all of this that she pushed the dress off her shoulders so it fell to the floor, then crawled into the bed. Travis’s bed. She honestly didn’t care what he would think of her being so proprietary. What was he going to do? See it as a boring, extremely unimaginative attempt at seduction and revile her for it?
No need to sing another chorus of that, husband darling.
Curling into a ball, she brought the blankets up to her chin and fought tears as she tried to think. She had to figure out how to get back on her feet. Pull up her socks. Put things back to rights so she could get out of here, but it was all so horribly uphill.
She honestly didn’t think she was that bad a person, just someone who had made some really dumb mistakes out of blind optimism. That wasn’t the sort of character flaw that should leave her in such a ditch. It seemed really unfair.
It shouldn’t be this hard to...
...sneak into Juliana’s room.
She was so hungry. Her belly growled like a monster, but Daddy had locked her door, swearing really loud and angry, telling her to stay there this time. But she wanted out. She wanted to ask Juliana to bring her some bread. Or braid her hair. That always made her feel better. She was so sad. So lonely. All she had done was run up the stairs. She knew she wasn’t supposed to run in the house, but he had told her to hurry and she had forgotten her hair band. He hated when her hair fell onto her face. Said it made her look like a stray.
Mama was saying things downstairs, making him shout even more. Mama’s voice was soft, like she was crying, but Daddy’s voice came through the floor like thunder, shaking Imogen’s bed: “I told you!” and “Never should have had her.”
He didn’t want her and she didn’t know why. The tears she’d been holding back began to seep through her closed eyes to wet her lashes. She couldn’t help it. She pushed her face into the pillow so he wouldn’t hear her sob. If he came to the door and heard her crying, she had to stay in longer. She could only come out if she was good.
Please come, Juliana. Please.
Like a miracle, the mattress shifted next to her. A soft “Shh” sounded near her ear as warm arms engulfed he
r. But these arms weren’t her sister’s soft, skinny arms. They were hot, muscled arms that enveloped her in a way that felt even safer.
“Travis,” she whispered.
For a moment, she thought she was waking from a different bad dream. One where she and Travis had had an awful fight and she’d gone back to her father. They were still married after all. His skin branded her torso and thighs as she slithered close and melted against him, deeply relieved and instantly growing sensual, wanting to feel his body with all of hers. He smelled amazing and made her feel so cherished. His hand caressed down her spine, stirring her blood.
He was aroused, all of him stiffening as she slid her hand down his abdomen.
His muscles tensed and his hands shifted to press her away. “Don’t.”
Reality crashed onto her like an anvil dropping onto a hapless cartoon character.
With an anguished, mortified gasp, she rolled away and fought out of the tangled blankets. Her eyes released a fresh sheen of tears, frustrated, angry ones that choked up her chest and made her whole body shudder in confused reaction. She was half aroused, half traumatized by the betrayal of waking up into a nightmare.
Throwing her legs off the edge of the bed, she sat up, head pounding with a sudden rush of blood. She cradled her skull in two hands, elbows digging into her thighs, and consciously dragged her breaths into a slower cadence, grappling to face harsh reality all over again.
She was grown up and not even the married Imogen. She was the divorced, abandoned, impoverished one.
“You still have those?” He touched her back. “You’re shaking.”
She shrugged him off and used the edge of the sheet to wipe her cheeks. Then she used her forearm to hide her breasts in the dark while she stood and searched through the shadows for her hospital clothes.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m hungry.” It was true, but she needed away from him so she could regroup. The dream had only happened a couple of times while they’d been married, but he had held her and stroked her then, soothing her and making love to her, encouraging her to bond with him in ways she couldn’t risk again.
Not that he was offering, practically pushing her away like she was toxic.
This arrangement was going to be excruciating.
She hurriedly dressed and he followed her downstairs wearing jeans and nothing else. She averted her eyes from the smooth planes of his chest, the dark stubble coming in on his jaw.
The light over the stove was on, casting the kitchen in a soft glow. As she took yogurt from the fridge, he brought a box of muesli out of the pantry.
She sprinkled some over the yogurt in the bowl and took it to the table.
He brought over a glass of water and a capsule from her prescription. She’d had one before going upstairs to change, but had fallen asleep and missed the one she should have taken after dinner.
“Do you want toast? I can warm the leftovers.”
“This is fine.”
He touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek.
She pulled away, emotions so raw, even a gentle caress against her skin was liable to bruise all the way to her soul.
“I’m checking for fever.”
“I’m fine.” She lifted her hair off her neck where it was still damp with sweat from her dream.
He stayed beside her, fingertips going into his front pockets. “I suppose you still won’t tell me what those are about?”
“They’re just something I fake to earn your sympathy. Don’t fall for it.”
He swore under his breath, walking away then, standing to look out on the covered pool, blanketed with snow. His silhouette was heartbreakingly strong and beautiful against the glow.
His voice was marginally less confrontational as he asked, “Have you ever talked to anyone about them?”
“Why?”
“So they might stop.”
“I’ll sleep down here so I don’t wake you.”
“That’s not the point.” He swung around. “You sound like you’re in pain. You wake up with your heart pounding. You can’t enjoy that.”
She only took another bite and chewed, making herself swallow.
“Maybe if you talked about it, your mind wouldn’t create monsters while you sleep.”
“It’s a memory.”
A beat of surprise, then he asked very carefully, “Of a monster?”
“I wasn’t molested. Don’t freak out.” She tipped the bowl and scraped yogurt toward the bottom side. “It’s a replay of a no-good, rotten day when I was a kid.” One of many, actually. “But sometimes, if I don’t wake up right away, Juliana comes to visit me. So it’s worth it to me to let it happen.”
“Juliana is your sister?” He sounded almost gentle. “The one who passed away?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Because I didn’t want to.” She chased the last bite and ate it. “I liked when you felt sorry for me and snuggled me. It felt nice. And I was afraid you might go to my father about it if I told you.”
“Why?”
She threw her pill into her mouth and drank all the water, discovering she was super thirsty. She took her dirty dishes to the sink and poured herself more water, turning to lean against the sink and gaze across the miles of space between them.
Dare she pry open the darkest closet in her heart and show him the ugliest skeleton? Her dignity was long gone and that was all she had ever wanted to protect. Her father wasn’t here to make it worse.
“Keep in mind I was twenty when you and I married. I’ve grown up a lot since then. I’ve had four years to realize Dad was the wrong horse to give a rat’s behind about, but back then, I was still holding out hope I had a chance with him. I wasn’t ready to cut the pulsating, infected cord that bound me to him.”
“What kind of chance?” She couldn’t see his frown, but she heard it in his voice.
“That he would love me.” She took a sip to clear the constriction that began to squeeze her throat as she said it aloud for the first time. She had always known it, but now it was real. Acknowledged. Fact.
“Imogen—” his tone said, “Silly girl” “—lots of teenagers fall out with their parents.”
“He hated me, Travis. Hated me.”
“Why?” He still had that overly patient cast to his voice, like she was being dramatic or something.
“Ask him,” she suggested with a scrape of humorless laughter in her throat. “I asked him once if my mother had had an affair. I thought maybe I was some other man’s kid and that’s why he couldn’t accept me. He said, no, he just didn’t want me.”
“He said that? Those words? To your face?”
“He did. My parents’ marriage was a business merger and he only agreed to Mom having Juliana because he needed an heir, but he didn’t want another one. Mom wanted Juliana to have a sibling and wanted another baby for herself. She even tried the argument about an heir and a spare. He said no, but she stopped her pills and got pregnant anyway. He had taken to my sister. Mom thought he would warm up to me once I arrived. He didn’t. I think hating me so openly was his way of punishing her for going against his wishes.”
“This is the father you spent all my money bailing out?”
“You’re entitled to your outrage.” She tried pouring more water on the fire in her throat, but it stayed scorched and agonized. “I’m sure Mom is rotating like a rotisserie chicken in her grave over it.”
“Why would you—?”
“Try to make my father love me? Because I was his child. He should have loved me. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work? But he didn’t. Why, I don’t know. Why didn’t you love me? Because I’m bad? Unlovable?”
“Imogen.” He said it like an imprecation and his hand came up.
“Don’t f
eel bad about saying that.” She waved off any nudge of conscience he might be experiencing over what she’d heard him say to Gwyn. “Maybe I’m not lovable. If so, it’s his DNA that did that to me. He didn’t know how to be anything better than he was and neither do I. I tried to be like Juliana. She was so good and sweet. He loved her. Everyone did. I did. You would have.”
She looked for more to eat in the refrigerator. Some of Toni’s leftover apple and cheese sat on a plate with plastic wrap. She took that out and looked for the bread.
“Was he an alcoholic or something?”
“No, just a bitter, cruel bastard. He used to lock me in my room without dinner to get me out of his sight. If I talked too loud or had raindrops on my clothes or got a better mark in spelling than Juliana, he would point at the stairs.”
She carefully arranged the cheese and apples on one slice of bread, eating the chunk that didn’t fit.
“I was smarter than her. A lot smarter. She struggled to read and sometimes I did her homework for her. I think that was part of his animosity. He liked being superior to everyone around him. I was always coming back with a joke or asking for more information. If he didn’t know the answer or I got a laugh, he thought I was trying to make him look stupid.”
“You should have told me.”
“Why? What would you have done? Told him to love me? I knew when Mom and Juliana died that it was a lost cause. I just wasn’t ready to admit it.”
She pushed the heel of her hand down on the sandwich so it was thin as paper and about as appetizing. Her heart felt equally mashed to nothing. A nauseating ache had sat in her chest her whole life as she’d tried to figure out why she was such a disappointment.
“Want to know what he said that day, after the police came to the house?”
“Probably not,” he said, grim and low.
She concentrated on cutting the crusts from her sandwich so she wouldn’t have to lift her gaze. She was so ashamed of the memory, still so utterly devastated, that she didn’t know where she got the courage to recollect it, but it was part of this ghost that needed exorcism.
“He was already angry. He had had to pick me up from my dance lesson because Mom didn’t show up. She had slid off the road, into the river with Juliana. The police found them hours later. I was supposed to be in my room, of course, but when I heard someone at the door, I snuck out to see if it was them. I was at the top of the stairs as they explained what happened. Dad thanked them and closed the door. When he saw me, he said, ‘The runt is the one who is supposed to drown.’”