Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1)

by James, Victoria L.

  “Don’t you say what I think you’re about to say.”

  “Let her go, Iz.”

  “Stop it.”

  Our eyes meet again as he drops his face to one side and smiles sarcastically back at me. “Paris left you and you’re still letting it define who you are. You’re still holding yourself back from letting go completely in case she disapproves of any of the choices you make while she runs around the world, totally oblivious to you or your memory, and you let her. You let her control you. Then you stand there and look at me like I’m the bad guy.”

  I blink rapidly and my shoulders hunch together as I try to hold myself even tighter than I already am. There’s an anger rising in me. I can feel it there, swirling in my blood, but it’s been diluted by confusion and more importantly, reality. I want to argue with what he’s just said, but every time I move my mouth to speak, no words form on my tongue. No argument I have seems to make any sense and eventually, all I can do is pull further into myself, raise my chin back up to look at him weakly and wait.

  “You can’t go on like this. I can’t go on like this,” he says quietly as he slowly begins to close the gap between us and stalks towards me.

  “Just-”

  “Sshh,” he soothes softly as he cups one side of my face in his palm. The moment he touches me with such tenderness, I lose all my fight. My eyes close, and all I can do is lean into his hand, breathe in his comforting scent and exhale slowly through my slightly parted lips. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you if you just give yourself over to me fully. No restrictions. No restraints. No past coming to bite you on the arse every two minutes. No Paris standing in the way of our happiness. No true friend would leave you behind like this. They couldn’t, Iz.”

  “You can’t speak about her like that,” I whisper weakly. “You just can’t.”

  “I won’t let her ruin you. I won’t let her ruin us.”

  “Please,” I beg a little too desperately, my voice cracking and my face scrunching tighter together as though I’m in physical pain.

  “I’m happy to never have to whisper her name again if you don’t want me to.”

  The thought of never speaking about my sister again threatens to send me into a raging fit of panic. I can’t seem to take in enough oxygen to stop myself from feeling so lightheaded. I’m more confused than I’ve ever felt in my life. I don’t want to forget her; I couldn’t even if I tried, but part of what Jack is saying is true. I’m frozen in time, despite trying to convince myself that I’m really living. I have no idea where she is, but I know she isn’t here and she hasn’t once tried to contact me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need to quit focusing on what once was and start focusing on what I can become.

  My eyes flicker open once again as I carefully begin to unfold my arms from around my chest and drop them to my side. The sagging of my shoulders and the quiet defeat in my gaze as I search his face tells him everything he needs to know, but just in case he needs to hear it, I take a small, steadying breath and force out the words I’m scared to hear myself speak.

  “You win.”

  His thumb brushes the apple of my cheek. “I don’t want to win you. I want you to give yourself to me.”

  “Tell me how I do that and I will. I thought I had already. I’m trying, but everything I do is wrong.”

  Bending at the knee, he ducks his head so our eyes are in line with one another and grabs both of my hips to pull me closer against him. His hands feel like they’re covering me like a blanket as he tries to comfort me with his touch, lightly tracing his finger nails up my back, down the sides of my waist, across my stomach and back again. “Just be you, but lose the past,” he mouths seductively as he stares into my eyes like he’s trying to communicate with the very depths of my soul. “Lose it all and focus on us. I’ll give you everything you want, but you have to give me all of you, too – all of you. Not just your body, not just your heart, but your mind, too. Every waking thought. Ditch the baggage, darling. Don’t let it weigh us down.”

  I’m not sure what forces me to agree, but the second I feel my head begin to nod in agreement, I feel his arms wrap tighter around my waist and my feet leave the ground as he spins me around like he’s just single-handedly won the World Cup.

  Despite having plans to go to dinner, we stay in bed the whole night through. I lose myself in every part of him. Every time my lips meet his skin, another doubt drifts away. Every time we make love, I feel a determination grow inside of me - one that allows me to smile as I look back into his eyes to reassure him that from now on, he is what I want.

  No matter what happens over the next ten days, no matter how many times I falter because of my ridiculous insecurities, or argue with myself over what other people would say if they were here, I know one thing is for sure…

  I’m going to marry Jack. I’m going to rebel against my past, and I’m going to focus on my future. He’s everything I need now. I’m handing him my heart on a fine china plate. All I can do is pray to God that should he ever choose to break it, he does it as gently as he possibly can.

  Nineteen

  30th October, 2004

  Everything about the entire day passed me by in a complete blur.

  I'd woken up that morning with a weird feeling in my stomach. I was about to get married. The man that had pulled me out of bed had been the one person I'd come to depend on to light up my life like no-one else had ever done before – at least not since Paris had left. And she'd been gone so long; I’d somehow managed to convince myself she was never coming back. I was resigned to a huge part of my heart remaining broken for the rest of my life.

  By some miracle, Jack had managed to fix the rest of that vital piece of my survival. I couldn't thank him enough for making me feel alive again. The only thing I could think to do to show him how grateful I felt was marry him. I selfishly never planned on letting him go anyway.

  As he’d guided me around the apartment in a complete whirl of excitement, I'd had to drag my thoughts away from my missing best friend and really try to focus on him. From the look on his face, he craved this more than anything, and I'm not too proud to admit that feeling so wanted was becoming as addictive as an actual drug to me.

  Before I realised what was happening, a woman I'd never met before was in my apartment doing my hair and make-up and wrapping me from head to toe in fancy bridal wear. All of which was the exact opposite of what I would have chosen to get married in, had I been in control of the day in any way.

  My dress was white and gold. Gold! I had small flowers in my hair and shoes that crippled my feet whenever I tried to walk, but I never complained once as Jack eyed me with that winning smile on his face. He looked happy, really happy. He deserved that more than anyone; I had convinced myself of it.

  We'd taken a black cab down to the town hall like we had been going for a night out to a local pub. Jack had not been able to stop touching me the whole way there, but his eyes never met mine once. Not once. They were focused on the outside world as though this was his last breath of freedom before he served a lifetime behind bars. The instant change from inside to outside the apartment should have worried me, but I was too focused on the butterflies fluttering round in my own stomach to question him at all.

  All I could think was 'What would Paris say to me marrying this man?’ and that single thought had started to annoy me more than the ridiculously tight choker around my neck, the one that looked more like a dog collar than a piece of bridal jewellery. My hand kept tugging it and pulling it away, up until Jack politely asked me to stop fidgeting so much and control myself.

  Control. Right. I was in control… Just like she was.

  Paris hadn't worried about me when she left my life without so much as a goodbye, so why did her opinion still matter to me so much now? The demon versus the angel on both my shoulders were in constant battle with each other the whole way there and, even as we made our way inside the building to get married, with two complete strangers in tow, all I could th
ink about was her.

  He saw it, too. Jack saw the look behind my eyes the whole way through the ceremony, even though I tried to hide it behind nervous giggles, tears of happiness rather than fear and too much physical contact. My hands had clung to his as every word was spoken clearly and precisely. I figured if I could just keep my eyes on his, see straight into his soul like I kept convincing myself I eventually would, the outside world would disappear the way it had done since he came crashing into mine.

  But it didn't. She never left my thoughts, and as the registrar turned to us and pronounced us man and wife, for the first time since I met Jack Parker, just forty-two days previous, he looked mad as hell.

  It was in that moment, as my smile had faltered under his intense gaze and my eyes flickered nervously around the room, I knew there was a side to Jack Parker that I’d never seen before. That one single thought scared me more than I could ever begin to describe.

  I swear, in that moment, I heard Paris scream my name in total despair.

  *******

  The earlier part of the day is playing on an endless loop in my mind like an old fashioned movie. The pictures are clear, but the words falling out of the mouths of the people involved go unheard.

  I'm sitting on the edge of the bed of the B&B he has arranged for us to stay in. My poofy dress is bunched up around me and my legs hang limp, the same way my head does. Jack's pacing the floor in front of me, one hand tucked in his trouser pocket whilst the other rests on his hips.

  I feel like a school child about to get reprimanded by the head teacher. I'm a ghost of what I always imagined I would be on my wedding day. Not that I ever expected to get married at all, but every young girl is allowed to dream of that day at least once during childhood.

  The images of my haunted childhood suddenly seem to float through my mind as a reminder of the environment I grew up in. I'm sat how my mother used to sit whenever my father was mad. My chin is tucked down and I'm gripping my hands together to stop them from shaking. I don't know how to describe the emotions that I'm feeling. I'm not scared of Jack hurting me. I'm not scared of anything physical.

  Only his words.

  Only ever his words.

  I part my lips to speak, but nothing comes out. An old defiance rises in my chest and I refuse to sit still any longer. If my voice isn't willing to help me out, I'm going to have to rely on my body to do some work for me. Shuffling the dress out of my way and pressing my hands into the mattress, I slide off the bed and make my way over to the vanity table. I just want out of everything already. This wasn't how it was meant to be. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

  Fiddling with the bracelets on my wrist with a shaky hand, I straighten my shoulders and wait for him to stop wearing out the carpet. It doesn't take long to feel his fingers wrap around my elbow as he tries to turn me around to face him.

  “What are you doing?” he asks a little too frantically, his eyes darting back and forth between me and the jewellery.

  “This is what is called undressing, Jack.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is it called undressing?”

  “Isabella.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “Then stop being such a smart arse and just answer me,” he says, his voice straining to stay under control.

  “Because… I-I don't feel like wearing all this stuff anymore. We're married, aren't we?” I snap, snatching my arm back from his claws. “You got what you wanted”

  “I don't know what has gotten into you, but your behaviour today has been off the fucking wall crazy,” he growls.

  His tone makes me flinch, but I pray to God he doesn't see it as I turn back to face him, narrow my eyes and feign conviction in what I say.

  “Do not speak to me like that, Jack. I won’t stand for it. Don't ever call me crazy,” I warn him through gritted teeth.

  “Too close to the truth for you, Iz?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Anytime anyone says anything even slightly negative towards you, up come the hackles and out pop the claws. Defence is your first move of attack in every situation. You don't even realise you're doing it. Your eyes go fucking crazy wild. You're like a child that throws temper tantrums over not having a bag of sweets when they have a thousand new toys at their feet. You're spoilt.”

  “Spoilt?” I whisper.

  “Don't even try to act innocent. It's your way or the highway, right? Everyone has to work around you, beg for you to love them. Look at me! I've been working my arse off for over a month trying to make you happy and for what?”

  “I never asked you to do anything.”

  Reaching up and harshly tugging on his tie, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head in obvious disappointment. “Of course you didn't.”

  “I… don't…”

  “And before you even start, quit with the fucking stuttering. You're nothing but a mind-fuck, Izzy. You want the world to curtsy whenever you walk into a room. Pretending you don't just makes it even worse.”

  My mouth opens to suck in a shaky breath even though I feel like someone has just punched me straight in the stomach “Is that what you think of me?”

  “I'm not sure what I think of you anymore.”

  “Anymore…” I scoff quietly as I slowly throw a hand in the air and look around. “You make it sound like you've known me your whole life. Forty-two days. Forty-two days we've known each other.”

  His jaw tenses immediately, his muscles flexing back and forth as he stares back at me with nothing but a look of control on his face. “And you chose today to show me your true colours.”

  Every muscle in my body sags in defeat. My arms fall limp by my side. My gaze drops the same way my mouth does. The beginning of yet another end feels imminent, and I don't know what the hell to do or say.

  He can't even look at me as he spins on his heels and starts to march back around the bed. My eyes follow him, but my feet don't. Yet with every step he takes that gets closer to the door, my heart starts to hammer even harder in my chest; that suffocating, strangling feeling starts to creep into my throat. I can't watch another person leave. I can't let him be angry with me.

  “Jack,” I croak. “Please don't le-”

  “I'm just going for a shower, Izzy. For Christ’s sake, I'm not leaving. What's done is done. Just let me breathe for one minute.”

  “I'm sorry, okay? I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean to ruin anything. I just…” I can't finish my sentence. I know anything else I say to him will only infuriate him more.

  Stopping in his tracks, Jack reaches up to hold the bathroom door frame. He doesn't speak for what seems like such a long time, and the tension that hangs in the air with the silence is excruciating. He doesn't even look back at me. The moment his chin drops to his chest, I know I've lost him for now. Maybe even for good.

  “What are you sorry for?” he eventually whispers under his breath.

  My fingers gather the skirt of the dress tight in my hands and the rustling noise it creates as I try to move forward sounds like a siren crying out in the all too awkward quiet.

  “For hurting you… If that's what I've done.”

  His head shakes lazily from side to side and I watch as the sarcastic smile creeps onto one side of his face.

  “If that's what you've done? You have no idea, do you?”

  I lick my lips nervously to try and create some form of moisture and movement. “I know I was somewhere else back there. I was just nervous.”

  “Just get into bed, Iz,” he breathes quietly.

  “No. I want to talk about this. Let me make it right.”

  “You should get into bed.”

  “Will you join me when you've showered?”

  “I have nowhere else to go, do I?”

  “I love you,” I rush out in desperation. It's so misplaced and wrong for me to say it in this moment, but I need him to know. I need to say it even if he thinks it's the last thing he wants to hear.

  Peeking out
above his arm, I see the look on his face for the first time and my heart seems to fall into my feet. I could take seeing disappointment and I could definitely handle seeing anger. I could overcome seeing hurt as long as I knew I could be the one to make it better for him.

  The one look I'm not prepared for, however, is emptiness.

  But that's all that's in his eyes as we hold each other's gaze, and I feel the tears begin to well. There's nothing there – nothing at all. Not even a flicker of him wanting to hold me in his arms and tell me everything will be okay. All the times he's touched me in our short relationship, I never once imagined that I would see him look back at me the way he is doing now.

  The first fissure of a break starts to tear in my heart as I stand there before him. With one last ditched attempt to salvage anything about this day, and with an overwhelming need to know how we got from cloud nine to ground zero so quickly, I hitch up my dress and take a shaky step closer to him. My voice is barely audible when I ask him the one question I've been dreading asking him since the day he first asked me to marry him.

  “Do you love me?

  Dropping his arm down by his side, his stare falls to the floor as he starts to slowly unbutton his shirt. I can't tear my eyes away from his mouth, and with every second that passes without his lips moving to reassure me, more desperation and despair starts to eat away at my skin. Everything hurts so badly already. My feet feel like lead and my body is ablaze with fear and panic.

  “Do you… love me?” I repeat slowly as my lungs seem to crush under the weight of the agony I'm suddenly in.

  His head rolls back and his eyes close peacefully as he inhales. “Go to bed, Isabella.”

  My fingers reach out to grasp nothing at all, before I quickly pull them back and hold them tight in the grip of my other hand.

  “I'll be out in a minute.”

  The sound of the door slamming quietly behind him makes my shoulders jump.