Losing Grace (Falling Away #2)

by Allie Little

  He threads large, warm fingers through mine. “Didn’t want me to know what? Who is this guy, Grace? I’ll fix this for you, I promise.”

  I remove my hand, immediately regretting it. “I don’t know that you can, Riley.” I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t think anybody can fix this.”

  “But why, Grace? Tell me why.”

  I hesitate only to breathe. Pausing, knowing that verbalising makes it real and once it’s out there I can never take it back.

  “Because he’s my husband.”

  10

  Riley

  Husband? What the …?

  I collect my chaotic thoughts. “That’s it, Grace. You’re staying with me. You’ll take time off from Swimmer and we’ll get away, up to the Bay. Until this blows over and we work out how best to deal with it.”

  She surrenders, the fight vanished. “But what about Gemma? She can’t stay here by herself. It’s too dangerous.”

  “She can stay with us, too.”

  “I don’t like the thought of her being here alone. Not after this.”

  She takes in the turmoil. Belongings strewn from one side of the room to the other. Paintings ripped from walls. Chairs upturned and upholstery savaged.

  “I’m not going to push you to talk if you don’t want to, but when you’re ready you’re going to tell me what all this is about.”

  Pure panic flashes across her face. She nods apprehensively, slowly, realising in this moment that allowing me into her life and letting her guard down might be a good thing.

  “Why don’t you pack a few things while I call Gem?” I suggest, reaching for my phone.

  She wraps her cardigan snugly around her body. “Okay, I won’t be long.” Before disappearing into the bedroom, she turns back. “But only Gem, okay? No-one else, especially not the police. Promise me?”

  Despite my better judgement, I reluctantly agree.

  Grace reappears ten minutes later, holding a suitcase in one hand. She sets the bag down near the front door as if preparing to face the world, giving a cautious, appreciative smile.

  “Has anything been taken? Check your valuables. It could be a coincidence – perhaps you’ve simply been broken into and it wasn’t your husband?”

  “Nothing’s been taken. I checked my jewellery, and there’s nothing else of value except my iPad and laptop, both of which are still here.” She exhales heavily. “I have no doubt this was Daniel.”

  Hearing his name sends me slightly crazy inside. Taking her away, escaping to the anonymity of the Bay, is the only option. For as long as it takes. She might even like it. The lazy pace of life at the beach, the cafés and waterside parks. Swimmer would survive without her, and Grace could have a nice, restorative break.

  Anxiety pools in her vivid blue eyes. “What did Gemma say? Is she coming with us?”

  “She’ll meet us this evening after work. She’ll arrive around eight.”

  Relief washes through her, knowing Gemma won’t be alone in the apartment. “Can we go?” she asks, pleading. “I need to call Gran, though. I don’t want her worrying. If she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll worry herself sick.”

  “Call her from the car.” I grab for her suitcase, pulling her into the foyer.

  Down at the car I throw her bag in the boot. I scan the carpark, checking Daniel isn’t lurking in the shadows, then sink into the seat beside Grace who remains oddly silent.

  I kick over the engine and throw it into reverse, backing from the car space underneath the apartment. My head wants to interrogate; obtain answers. I have questions. A lot of them. But my heart knows she’s spooked, wondering what he’ll do next. “We’re going to work this out together, Grace. I promise.”

  “I hope so. It’s just … I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of anything. I’m not sure of anything, Riley.”

  The M1 freeway is fast. No hold-ups anywhere from Sydney to the Nelson Bay exit. A clear winter’s twilight hangs over the horizon, the bay pink, warmer somehow with the salt-winds welcoming us home. Thirty minutes later we pull into the basement car park, buzzing through security. We haven’t spoken much but the silence was comfortable.

  Grace pushes from the car, taking in her small-town surrounds. “This is where you live? In a seaside resort?”

  The obvious inconsistency makes me chuckle. “Up in the penthouse, top floor. Been here four years now.”

  She raises one eyebrow. “Shoal Bay. Penthouse apartment. Odd combination, Riley. I wouldn’t have picked this scenario for you.”

  Shrugging an acknowledgment, I heave her bag from the open boot. “I like the peace and it’s where I’m most at home. I’m close enough to Sydney for Swimmer, close to Nelson Bay to keep an eye on Café Blue, and far enough away from … everything else.” Including my father.

  “I get that. You’re lucky to have found a place to call home.”

  I recognise her need for this. She hasn’t lived at Gemma’s long and perhaps feels dislocated. And alongside the awful shock of today, she must be reeling. “You can stay with me for as long as you need to. As long as you need it, you’ll have a roof over your head.”

  “Thanks, Riley,” she says appreciatively. “And I’m sorry about before. I wasn’t very nice and you didn’t deserve it.”

  “Nothing to apologise for,” I say, brushing it off. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

  Following her to the elevator, the tight jeans and sweater falling around the curve of her hips are both hard to miss. Living with her wasn’t going to be easy. Not easy at all.

  “P?” she queries, catching me gazing at her behind. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it.

  “Yep,” I say nonchalantly, the doors of the elevator enclosing us in the confined space. She looks at me, her captivating blue eyes beneath those long dark lashes, and here in the confines of the elevator I struggle to breathe. She literally tugs air straight from my lungs.

  The elevator doors slide back, Grace moving quickly inside the penthouse to admire the view. “Oh my goodness, it’s gorgeous,” she gasps, taking it in from north to south. “I can see why you live here. It couldn’t be more beautiful.”

  She steps onto the veranda, closer to the spectacular vista opening up before her. The lights of Hawks Nest are twinkling across the bay, and Yacaaba Headland is silhouetted against the most beautiful backdrop of muted mauve.

  “Gosh, I could stay here forever,” she murmurs softly, probably to herself.

  “I wish you would.”

  Turning suddenly, Grace frowns. Shakes herself from the trance and moves away. “It’s getting cold, Riley. We should go inside.”

  A nip of wintery air bites my face. “I’ll make us a fire.”

  Her eyes light and she rubs her hands together. “Sounds lovely. It’s a perfect evening for a fire.”

  “There’s wine in the fridge. How about you pour us a couple of glasses while I get the fire going?”

  “Perfect again,” she says, turning for the kitchen. “You read my mind. An open fire and a glass of wine is exactly what I need.”

  “I thought so.” I throw firelighters into the hearth. “Glasses are in the top cupboard to the left.”

  She orientates herself, opening a frosted glass door and grabbing two glasses from the shelf.

  “Are you hungry? I’ll order in,” I offer, stoking the flames to life.

  “Starving,” she says, pouring white wine expertly into two gleaming glasses. She holds the expertise of silver service, an elegance I admire.

  Thirty minutes later by the warmth of the crackling fire, we tuck into a couple of Indian curries and rice. She relaxes, laughs a little, and it’s a relief to see that big, wide smile. She talks about family, of losing her parents in a freak car accident, and of the pain that settled in her heart for so many years. She speaks of her Gran, the love and durability of their bond as strong as parent to child. Of Gran being her only family, and how she’d raised her l
ike a daughter since the age of fourteen.

  Beneath Grace’s frailty, I see enduring strength, sustained over so many years. And while she speaks of her loss, I see her need for love, and for family, and the reason she married so incredibly young.

  “I was only twenty when I married. I was way too young. But you see, I only had my Gran. I lost my parents at fourteen, and desperately needed a family of my own. Dan offered that to me. He gave me security. A home. Even love. I know he loved me, Riley. He loved me more than anything once, in the beginning. Maybe he still does, and that’s why he can’t let go. But I can’t love him back. Not anymore.”

  “How long ago did you leave him?”

  “About three months ago, but I didn’t do it very well. I snuck off, in the middle of the night.”

  “But, why? Why couldn’t you tell him you were leaving? Surely that would have been a better way to approach it, wouldn’t you think?”

  She sighs forlornly, shrugging both shoulders. “Not in this case. He wouldn’t have let me go.”

  “But that’s ridiculous, Grace. If a relationship’s over and has run its course, surely he could sense that? No point in the two of you being miserable.”

  “It was more than that. More than that for me, anyhow. I played a game of artifice for nearly two years straight, in the hope of … appeasing him.”

  “What do you mean, appeasing?”

  She tugs at the ends of her hair, straightening thick dark locks over her shoulders. “He was controlling. He controlled every aspect of my life in the end, right down to leaving my job. I wasn’t allowed to work. He didn’t approve. I was supposed to be holed up at home, playing the dutiful housewife. I was never going to be happy in that role. It just wasn’t for me.”

  The sorrow filling her face makes my heart fucking ache. The pain in those eyes, so close to the surface. When she speaks of her pain, I feel it too.

  “He was very jealous and didn’t like me working at Sprig, because he believed I’d attract unwanted attention from the patrons. Thought I’d be leered at by lecherous men. Ridiculous, right?” She takes a sip of wine.

  I consider perhaps he had a point, but know first-hand you can’t tether a bird in flight. And such a beautiful bird, just unfolding her wings to fly. “Yeah, ridiculous.”

  “So, right down to the clothes I could wear, how much money I could spend. Who I was allowed to spend time with. Our home became my prison. I was trapped, in my own beautiful penitentiary. Miserable and alone. And so, so fearful of how I’d get away. If I could ever get away.”

  My heart melts at such a personal revelation. Grace, who’d held me at arm’s length since the day we met, is here in my apartment drinking wine by the glowing embers of the fire, allowing a glimpse into a life she’d carefully concealed.

  “Thanks for confiding. It couldn’t have been easy.”

  “You’re easy to talk to. I feel I can tell you anything, like you’ll listen and hear me. I haven’t experienced that in a while.”

  I breathe in, taking stock. “I want you to know something, Grace. This is your safe space. I will always listen to you. I will always be here if you need me, even if it’s just to talk. I want you to know that.”

  A tiny smile tugs the edges of her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers, firelight dancing across her cheeks. Without thought I reach across and stroke my thumb across her cheek, feeling the softness of her peach-hued skin.

  Her eyes lift to meet mine, a luminosity glowing across her skin. She reaches to her face and holds her hand over mine, the burning blaze in her eyes saying one thing only.

  That she wants me.

  11

  Grace

  Riley reaches across and runs his thumb over my cheek, holding my gaze like he owns me. In the past I’d turned to no-one, not even Gem. But here I was, settled by the fire, exposing my heart to a man I barely knew and who truly seemed to care.

  He holds out an arm, his t-shirt riding over his bicep revealing more of the black-winged tattoo I’d peeked at only days ago. A Celtic bird, stylistic and inky black, its wings wrapped protectively around his arm.

  “What’s this?” I run a hand lightly across it. “It’s very striking.”

  “This?” He proudly tugs the t-shirt up, revealing his muscled form. “This is my eagle. It represents freedom and independence. Got inked a few years back when I decided I’d make my own way in the world, without my family.”

  “It’s a beautiful bird. Full of strength.”

  “That was the idea.” He lowers the shirt-sleeve and curls his arm around my shoulders and we sit on the rug in front of the fire, cushions piled everywhere, pillowing us against the sofa. He squeezes me in closer, our bodies fitting perfectly together.

  “So, you’re okay after today?”

  “Much better actually, thanks entirely to you.”

  “Tomorrow, we should report the break-in to the police. Even though he’s your husband, they should be informed. His behaviour isn’t normal. He needs to be stopped.”

  “You won’t convince me, Riley,” I say, drawing back. “I can’t do it. You still don’t understand. It’ll make him angry.”

  “He can be as angry as he likes behind bars. What he’s doing is wrong, Grace. You must see that?”

  I avert my eyes, leaning back against him. “I’ll think about it, but I can’t make any promises.”

  “That’s all I’m asking, Grace. That you think about it … and then call the police. Or I’ll do it for you.”

  I sigh, smiling at him. “You don’t give up, do you? Not that I’m complaining. It’s endearing.”

  “When it comes to you Grace, I will never give up.”

  His determined words wash over me. The way he looks at me, here by the smouldering fire. His beautiful face and muscled arms, cuddling me in close.

  He grazes a finger over my cheek, running it slowly down my neck. Emotionally exposed, I sit here with Riley, without knowing what I’m doing or how I got here, just knowing I like it.

  Whilst also knowing that I shouldn’t.

  Because liking him could be dangerous.

  “Can I kiss you, Grace?” he asks politely. “I’m finding it difficult sitting here with you so close.” He runs a finger down my arm, stopping at my hand. He takes it into his own. “I’m trying very hard to control myself.”

  “Riley,” I start, wondering how to tell him I’m broken. My wings are crushed and I’m too far gone. I can’t allow him to burrow his way in and take root in my heart, because I know eventually, one day, it will undoubtedly hurt.

  He frowns a little, furrowing his brow. “He can’t hurt you now. Not anymore.”

  Oh, the ease with which he reassures my heart. With Riley, I feel comfortable, like I’ve known him forever. Like somehow, he knows me.

  I look up, caught in the powerful depth of those eyes. He takes my face in both hands and I’m lost in his touch. Before I know it, he shifts closer, leans in, his mouth reaching for mine. Softly, sweetly, he kisses me. Like nothing I’ve felt before, and suddenly I don’t care if this is too fast, or I let the walls crumble down. This man here is all I can think about. In this moment, he’s all I want.

  His tongue mingles lightly with mine. Gently at first, then he deepens the kiss, pulling me in so I’m nestled against his broad chest. “Grace,” he breathes. “You taste really good.”

  “Pinot Gris?” I joke, lost in the moment.

  “Deliciously fruity. With a smattering of Indian spice.”

  His mouth crushes mine once more, before scattering a plethora of kisses down my neck, over my throat, and then lower, his hand pulling at the hem of my sweater.

  Suddenly the buzzer for the elevator breaks the heat-filled moment. Once, twice, three times.

  Riley looks over at the elevator doors, rolling his eyes. “Fabulous timing.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t care,” he answers, dragging me in. “They can wait or they can go away.”

  The buzzer rings ag
ain, several times in succession, impatiently.

  “Oh, fuck. That’ll be Gemma.”

  Shit, Gemma. I’d totally forgotten in my foggy, cloudy, I’m kissing Riley moment, that Gemma was arriving this evening, straight from work at Bookish and Bean. And she was right on time for 8pm.

  He courses a hand through his thick, dark hair, cursing under his breath. “I better let her in.” He lifts himself from the floor, straightens his clothes to look respectable, heads across to the elevator to press the intercom. “Gem?”

  “Hey, Riley. It’s me.”

  “Come on up.” Clearly frustrated, he wanders casually across the room and helps me from the floor. “So rudely interrupted,” he says, a glint in his eye. “This isn’t over, Grace. Not by a long shot.” He plants a soft kiss on my lips.

  I straighten my clothes and move to the sofa, arranging myself comfortably, waiting for Gem to appear. She does so moments later, breezing through the elevator doors in high spirits.

  “Guys,” she says excitedly, taking in her surrounds. “I made it!”

  Riley and I remain silent, attempting to fix our slightly dishevelled appearances.

  “Have you two been …?” A grin washes over her face and she tips her head back and laughs. “You have! It’s written all over your freshly-kissed faces. Gosh, I’m sorry I interrupted. You must hate me!”

  Riley smirks, not appearing to care we’d been caught. “I don’t kiss and tell, Gemma Washington. Take your bag up to one of the spare rooms and then come down and we’ll watch a movie. All three of us.” He raises one eyebrow, a sardonic grin settling on his lips.

  As soon as she makes her way upstairs, Riley strides over and gathers me in his arms. He kisses me firmly. “Later.”

  “Later,” I whisper back.

  Five minutes later Gemma reappears, dressed in black track pants and a grey sweatshirt. She pulls her long hair roughly into a loose ponytail, disappearing momentarily into the kitchen.

  “Don’t mind me, guys. Just take up where you left off. Far be it for me to cramp your style. What are we watching, anyhow?” She pours a wine and returns to the lounge room, setting her wine glass on the coffee table and plopping onto the sofa opposite with a defined flounce.