At home I could smell that vanilla and ylang-ylang perfume wafting from his bedroom. I assumed he retrieved the bottle from the trash and spritzed it on his sheets as a way of tormenting himself with reminders ofher. Jealousy ate away at me.
I loathe the idea of competing with a dead woman.
Cian hates Fiona. But given some of his behaviors, I began to wonder how much he also still loves her. There’s a fine line between hate and love, isn’t there?
Yes, she betrayed him—tried to kill him—but I suspected that put Fiona on some kind of twisted pedestal. He’s clearly not over his ex. Though I can’t figure out if he continues to pine for her ghost, wrapped up in his guilt for murdering her, or if she so deeply damaged him that he’s traumatized for life.
I come back to the same question over and over; why wasn’t he like this the first year of our marriage? He was wonderfulthen. But there’s been this slow decline into what I can only callmadness.
Why? What’s changed?
I glance over to where he’s dozing in the car ride home. The poor man hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in forever. Too long. Sleep deprivation is more dangerous than many people realize. The mind can start playing tricks on you. Is that what’s happening to him?
Opening my purse, I take the Shamrock pendant from where I keep it in the inside pocket. As soon as Cian told me it belonged to Fiona I removed it, and haven’t worn it since.
I offered it back to Cian, but he cringed away from the thing like it was a poisonous snake. If we hadn’t been on a jet, I’m sure he would have chucked it out the window.
I rub my thumb over the jewelry. I suspect it’s a piece of a larger puzzle. Too much of a coincidence to be anything other than sinister.
If Fiona were alive, I’d think she was trying to infiltrate our lives. To leave pieces of their past in various places, all for Cian to find, just to haunt him.
But she’s dead. And I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits.
The car pulls up to the house. Although I hate to do it, I nudge Cian awake. “We’re home.”
He grunts in response.
Wolfe opens the car door for me, and I slide out, followed by my husband. As I climb the front stairs, my gaze slides back to Wolfe. He’s the one who found the necklace. He has also been in Cian’s life since before Fiona. Which means he lived through that entire situation. He knows what she was like, had access to things like her perfume and jewelry.
Does Wolfe have a reason to never let Cian forget about Fiona? Did he intentionally plant that pendant on me, knowingat some point I’d wear it and Cian would instantly recognize it? Perhaps. Though I don’t understand his motive.
He catches me looking at him and scowls. Ah. Maybe he’s set on destroying our marriage. He doesn’t like me, but perhaps I underestimated just how much.
As soon as we enter the house, the stench of vanilla and ylang-ylang assaults my nose. I used to like that scent. Now I can’t tolerate it.
Spinning around, I block Cian from stepping through the doorway. “We’re not sleeping here tonight.”
He pauses on the step. “We aren’t? Why?”
“Because the place reeks. I’m going to call in a cleaning crew and get this entire house done from top to bottom. Will you book us into the Four Seasons?”
“Yeah.” Cian secures our lodging arrangements while I make sure all of our luggage stays in the trunk.
Wolfe seems disgruntled by the change in plan, but he’s never happy, so I’m unconcerned. Though I closely watch him as we get back into the car and he drives us to our new destination. Suspicion coils around my chest.
We check into our hotel room, and have our things brought up. I order room service as we haven’t had a proper meal in a few hours and Cian looks like he’s about to pass out. Even so, he won’t settle down and allow himself to sleep. I suppose his nightmares are so bad that he’d rather avoid them. But this can’t go on forever.
I fetch the little pillbox I keep in my purse for emergencies. There’s a bit of everything in there from gentle Aspirin, to sleeping pills, to prescription strength pain meds. Taking out two sleeping pills, I offer them to Cian with a glass of water.
“What are these for?” He warily eyes them.
“They’ll help you sleep. Take them. Now.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to sleep. Can’t do it anymore.”
“You need sleep,” I insist. I’m beyond worried about him. “It will be dreamless, I promise.”
That makes him reconsider. Reaching out, he plucks the pills from my palm and downs them with a mouthful of water, then settles into bed.
