Tears stung her closed eyes and a huge wave of sadness rushed over her. Sometimes, memories of that time were so strong, Bella could have sworn she could reach back through time and grab them, hold them tight enough in her hands to make them real, to make them current. Sometimes she thought she could hold them tight enough to step back through time and be a part of that magic all over again.
Noctem Illustraret, he’d say, and then he’d switch the lights on, so they sparkled through the formal lounge area, like tiny candles in a forest of fir trees.
* * *
The tree was enormous and it had weighed a tonne to lug into the lounge, but he’d managed, all with the fantasy in mind of his wife watching him and admiring him and wanting him, thinking of him as some kind of real life hero.
Instead, he brought the tree through the door of the house only to find her curled up on one of the sofas, fast asleep.
Bella was beautiful. Objectively speaking, she had the kind of looks that were universally appreciated. And yet, she was so much more than that. She was enigmatic and thoughtful, quiet and watchful. She was brave and strong and in sleep, she was so still and soft, she was like an angel.
He stood above her, watching her, and the walls were back, wrapping around him, pressing to all his sides, making his gut squeeze painfully because how could he be doing this?
She had no idea about his history with her mother.
But it was a history that had no meaning – it was a history that had no part to play in his future. That fate had brought Bella to him, had brought them together with this baby, had nothing to do with how he’d felt for Kat.
Nor how Kate had felt for him.
That was ancient, never-acted-upon history.
It was an irrelevancy.
With his trademark, stock-in-trade determination, he pushed Kat from his mind. That was a bridge he would cross only when absolutely necessary.
For now, there was Bella, and their family, to be considered.
He stepped away from her quietly, leaving her sleeping, the tree propped against a wall as he went upstairs, then upstairs again, to the attic that ran halfway along the top of the house. One half was reserved for an indoor tennis court, swimming pool and gym, with stunning views of the island and the sea beyond.
The attic was well-ordered; he’d had the housekeeping staff sort it, after his mother had died. Many of her personal items were stored here. Vitalo ignored them assiduously, moving to the back of the space, where he recalled the Christmas decorations being kept.
He didn’t find them, at first. They’d been moved, replaced with boxes of books and family photo albums, which he also avoided. He found what he was looking for after about twenty minutes of riffling, and when he returned to the lounge room downstairs, Bella’s eyes were fluttering open.
“You’re back,” she said, the words still thick with sleep. She smiled at him, a smile of such honesty and openness that a sharp spike pushed into his gut, because he was pretty damned sure he didn’t deserve her to look at him like that.
But then, he looked closer, and saw that her mascara had run, forming a little line down her cheek.
“Bella? You’ve been crying?”
Her eyes widened, and his stomach rolled.
“Is something wrong?” Panic flooded him – the walls moved inwards.
“I was just reminiscing,” she said, shrugging, sitting upright. “Thinking about Christmases past,” she said, her smile apologetic. “I’m sorry. I think it’s pregnancy hormones making me so reflective.”
His relief was entirely self-interested. “Of course.”
“Anyway.” She looked away, self-conscious in a way that made him want to hold her and kiss away any lingering doubts. He didn’t. Guilt remained in his chest, holding him back.
“You got a tree?” she asked, her eyes settling on the enormous one he’d chosen. “And it’s perfect.” She wiped at her face, then stood, a smile spreading across her lips that was beautiful and captivating. She moved towards the tree, running her fingertips over its branches. It was still wet from the storm. “And you’re still soaking,” she murmured, looking back at him.
Was he? He hadn’t realized.
“Why didn’t you get changed?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I seem to have lost my senses lately,” he teased, moving to the tree, pulling it away from the wall. “Where would you like it, Mrs Katrakis?”
“Where did your mom used to put it?”
Unexpectedly, emotions fired inside of him, emotions he would have said were too rich and childlike for him to experience. “Through there.” He nodded towards a less formal sitting room.
“Would it be okay to put it there, then?” She asked, her eyes showing sympathy and sensitivity that made those same emotions stronger. “We don’t have to. Only it seems like your traditions should be honoured, even as we make our own…”
Her sweetness was like vanilla and honey and caramel, all mixed together.
“Of course,” his response was gruff. “If you would like.”
He lifted the tree, and carried it away from her, grateful he had a few moments to rally himself, to return to normal. “Here.” He nodded to a point in front of floor to ceiling windows, framing a spectacular view of the ocean beyond. “There’s a bucket over there,” he said, pointing to a deep, golden pot his mother had always used to brace the tree.
“This one?” She moved to it and lifted it easily.
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” She placed it in the center of the window and he lifted the tree, centering it and supporting it against the window frame.
“I’ll go get some rocks, for balance. Why don’t you have a look through the decorations. I can’t even remember what she had, now.”
Bella’s face lit up, as though a thousand little lights were dancing behind her eyes. She disappeared into the lounge, and as he stocked rocks into the base of the basket, to stop the tree from toppling over, she spread the decorations out, arranging them by colour and set.
On the last trip, he stilled as he past, and memories fractured his momentum, for a moment. “She used to love those ones,” he said, pointing to a row of soldiers. “She used to read me The Nutcracker Suite, and she’d point to the tree, telling me that the soldiers had all come to rest here.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said, lifting one up and studying it. “She would have been a great match for my dad.”
Something about the way she said it had him pausing for a moment, studying her face, wondering if she meant anything more by the statement.
“They’d have probably left the tree up, all year round,” he said.
“Probably.” She smiled, but the smile was quick, just a flicker, and a stone dropped inside of him. She lifted her eyes to his, then looked away again, and somehow, he knew. He knew she was wanting to ask him something, with no idea exactly how.
And though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, he found himself prompting her. “What is it?”
She bit down on her lower lip thoughtfully, and then shook her head. “Did you spend much time with them? My parents, I mean?”
“Some time,” he answered, hiding the fact he was being cagey by moving to the tree and placing the stones into the bucket, topping it up. He lifted the tree then, straightening it in the rocks, so it was a picture-perfect Christmas tree.
“And did you think they were…”
“Yes?” He turned to face her, with the sensation that an axe was about to drop.
“It’s silly. Don’t worry about it.”
“What?” he asked, wanting to get it over with.
“Were they happy? Did they seem happy to you?”
Guilt lashed his spine. “It’s always hard to know, with someone else’s marriage.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, distracted. “I guess you’re right.”
His heart groaned in his chest. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”
She moved towards him, lifting one of the
soldier decorations and hooking it over a branch. “Dad always did the lights first,” she said, after a long beat had passed. “Do you have lights?”
“In the box, somewhere,” he frowned.
She moved towards it, leaning over and pulling out a tangled chord. Her fingers moved over it, working at the knots without any success, so he went to her, pulling it from her fingers, his eyes running over her face.
“When my dad was in hospital,” she said, as he began to work out one of the knots in the lights. “He was on a lot of medication.”
“I remember,” he nodded, but it was an understatement. He didn’t just remember. The sight of his friend and mentor as he had been, at the end, was burned into Vitalo’s mind.
“You went to see him in hospital?”
“Several times.”
She blinked. “How strange that I never saw you there.”
“I went at night.” He’d needed to avoid Kat. At the time, he’d wanted nothing more than to comfort her. He’d hated seeing her pain. He’d hated knowing that he could whisk her away from this life, from Andrew, from grief and death and loss. He’d hated knowing how tempted he was.
“Sometimes, he would talk. And it wouldn’t always make a lot of sense. I think sometimes he remembered things but not always as they were.”
“Such as?” Vitalo prompted, but his breath was locked in his chest, and he would have done almost anything to end the conversation.
“One time, when he was pretty out of it, admittedly,” she laughed and shook her head, but it was with an ethereal sadness. “He said something about mom leaving him. He wasn’t talking to me,” she hastened to add. “It was more like he was making a list of what he needed to do. If he survived.” Her voice broke. “He was talking about where we’d live. Sophia and me, and him. He was talking about betrayal. He became agitated. Angry.”
Vitalo had no idea how he managed to stay standing. Inside, his chest was pummeling and his blood was raging and nausea rose inside of him at what Bella was describing.
“It took me a while to work out what he’d meant. I was only young. But he’d been so upset, and the way he’d spoken hadn’t made any sense, so I kept thinking about it, and finally I realized what he’d been saying. Dad thought mom was cheating on him. That she was leaving him. Or maybe he was going to leave her. And if you were friends with them, I wondered if maybe you knew… if it was true… or just his disorientation. A result of the painkillers.”
Vitalo’s chest felt like it had been cleaved in two. He stared at her, and felt her hope and wanted to indulge it. He wanted to give her what she was asking him for. “So far as I know,” he said, the words graveled, “your mother never had an affair.”
Bella’s eyes showed anguish. “But would you have known? Would he have told you?”
“I believe so.” His eyes ran over her face and he smiled, wishing it were as simple as he’d made it sound. “I know your father loved your mother very much.”
“I know he did,” Bella nodded, and slowly, a smile spread over her face. “You have no idea how strange it is to think I’ve been wrong all these years, worrying over something dad probably didn’t even mean to think, let alone say aloud.”
“Did he… say why he thought that?”
“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, then picked up another decoration from the box, holding it in her hand. “Mom had asked for a divorce. Before he got sick. Or so he rambled.” She smiled, dismissing the claim out of hand.
His heart beat faster. Kat had asked for a divorce? Had that been for him? For Vitalo?
“But it must have been a dream. A nightmare, for daddy.”
“Your mother was with him at the end,” Vitalo said. “I saw her grief.”
“I know.” She hooked the decoration on the tree, then turned to face him. “Let’s get those lights up.”
He nodded, handing them to her, watching as she meticulously weaved them in and out of the branches, making sure there was a nice coverage around the tree, and while she worked, his mind ran over everything she’d said, trying to make sense of it, needing to understand, wishing he could go back to that time and speak to Andrew. Wishing he could have been more emphatic with Kat.
He saw now that telling Kat he couldn’t be with her because of Andrew had been the wrong approach. He should have explained what he’d known all along: that the fantasy of forbidden love was drawing them both in. Sure, he’d been infatuated with her. He’d thought he loved her. But he knew now that wasn’t the case; and she didn’t love him, either.
They’d become trapped in a strange, obsessive cycle – and if Andrew had learned the truth, then Vitalo would regret that for the rest of his life. He had wanted to spare his friend that pain; he had wanted to repay Andrew’s kindness with loyalty and instead, he’d ruined his last few months of life.
“How does that look?” She turned to face him, and her smile was expectant, and happiness pierced his guilt, because the past was in the past, and this woman was his future.
His eyes dropped to her stomach, that was only ever-so-slightly thicker than when they’d first met, and his heart swelled, because the mistakes that tormented him were in the past, and his future was all ahead of him. A future that was going to be everything Bella deserved.
“Perfect.” And despite his good intentions, his determination not to ravage her at every opportunity he had, he swept her into his arms, staring down at her face. “It looks perfect.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes flew wide, like saucers, as she stared up at him. “I meant the tree,” she said, teasingly, but the words lacked humour – they were enveloped by anticipation.
“I didn’t.” And he kissed her with all of his body, and every promise he’d made to himself was in that kiss, wrapping around her, filling her up, telling her that this future of theirs would be bright and perfect in every way.
Hey Arrie,
I’ve got a thing in the States next weekend. You around? I thought we could spend a few days in Aspen. Dinner, skiing, snowman-building? Miss you. Xx
Bella read the WhatsApp from her sister, a smile on her face, and a pang in the region of her heart.
Two weeks after marrying Vitalo and she was pretty sure they were living on borrowed time.
She padded into the bathroom, but all thoughts of what she’d been about to say flew from her mind at the sight of her husband naked, in the shower, his body wet and shimmering all over, his dark hair like a pelt against his head. His head was bent forward, his expression bore a mask of deep concentration, and something else. Something darker.
Worry.
She frowned, but even as she watched, he lifted his head and pierced her with his steely, dark gaze, and held a hand out to her wordlessly.
Her heart in her throat, Bella moved towards the shower, stripping out of her night gown as she went, stepping into the warm water and his arms, plastering her body to his without saying anything.
He lifted her off the ground easily, so her feet were off the tiles, and he kissed her before replacing her.
“You were lost in thought,” she said after a moment, and he nodded, but there was something glittering in his eyes. Determination.
“Yes.”
“Something wrong?”
“I have to go to Athens,” he said, after a moment. “It cannot be avoided.”
“Is that all?” She asked, relieved then to discover it was something so simple. “It looked far more serious.”
“It is.”
“Why?”
“I realized I don’t want to go.”
Bella pulled a face. “Why not?”
“Or rather, I realized that I don’t want to leave you.” He lifted his hands, cupping her face, looking at her with a kind of wonderment that robbed her of breath. “Not even for the day and night it will be.”
Her heart rabbited inside her chest, and pleasure bubbled through her. Relief, too, because he spoke of a dependency that was consuming her, a dependency she had worried she might be alo
ne in experiencing.
“I’ve become addicted to you,” he said simply, brushing his lips over hers before reaching behind her and grabbing a loofah from the hook. He poured shower gel onto it, then began to sponge her shoulders, moving with care and purpose as he went.
“Have you?” She smiled as he moved the loofah lower, over her breasts, circling them, all of his attention focused on their rounded curves. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Why?”
“It’s nice to know I’m not alone.” His eyes lifted to hers, and sparks flashed between them. The sponge went lower, over her stomach, rounded now – visual proof of what had happened between them, and then lower still, between her legs.
She moaned as he used it to spread her limbs and then dropped the loofah to the ground, his hand taking its place, finding her most sensitive cluster of nerve endings and running over them, his eyes watching as she gasped for air.
“You’re addicted to me, too?” He asked, the question drawled, but also, loaded with need – a need to hear her say it again, to know they were both consumed by this madness.
“Isn’t that obvious?”
Agreement and understanding bounced from him to her and then he bent down, falling to his knees, and before she knew what he intended, his mouth was moving over her sex, and sensations robbed her of the ability to think, far less speak. She took a step backwards, so she was supported by the strength of the tiled wall, and he held her legs apart while he drove her towards the edge of sanity, towards the doors of heaven, and she cried his name out when she fell apart, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
And afterwards, she was glad she had managed to stop herself from saying what had been running around and around in her head. She was glad she hadn’t said that she loved him, even when she was pretty sure she did. Even when she suspected addiction and need were all bound up in something much bigger, much more permanent and both terrifying and exhilarating at once.
But she said the words to herself, knowing they were true, and that one day, she’d probably say them to him – and just hope he said them back.
The Evermore Series II: Books 4, 5 and 6 Page 9