Smitten didn’t mean forever—but it was a good place to be right now. I needed her smitten with me. That would mean shoring up support from her friend, but also from her mother. I texted Millie, asking her for insight into Mrs. Barlow as I stood on the stairs landing.
She responded as I hit the bottom step and I read the note, a smile curving, then growing.
Ida Jane’s mom loves Hallmark movies, puppies, and is a huge fan of expensive jewelry.
I snorted. So were most women.
She’s very protective of her kids and is rigid in her beliefs.
Hmm, those traits were less helpful to me, but if I could come up with a way to combine dogs, romance, and rings, I should stand a chance.
I thought best while I worked out, so I double-timed down the steps past my living room and into the basement. Well, not a true basement, because houses in this part of the world didn’t have those. It was a submerged room that had been built into the small hill created by dirt work. Because of its location, it stayed cooler than the rest of the house—the perfect spot for my home gym.
I turned on my preferred workout music, “The Marriage of Figaro” by Mozart, then chuckled as I realized what the damn title represented.Whatever. This symphony was a brilliant piece of complex music, and just what I needed to get my mind off the sassy blond upstairs.
After too many repeats of the song because of an insane number of triceps extensions and running five miles on my treadmill, I climbed the steps on exhausted legs, still unsure how to win over Ida Jane and garner her mother’s approval.
The house was quiet and neat. Just as it always was. If I didn’t know Ida Jane was upstairs, I’d…wait. Maybe she wasn’t there.
Worst-case scenarios flitted through my mind, so I crept up toward her bedroom. I cracked the door and peeked inside. She lay on her side, body curled tight, even though she still shivered. Walking to the linen closet nearby, I pulled out the thickest blanket I had and spread it over her with care, wishing I could tuck it around her, but she stopped shivering and released a small, contented sigh.
Her phone rattled on the bedside table, lighting up.
Why the hell hadn’t she powered it down? At least put it on Do Not Disturb. This woman. I scowled as I grabbed it, intending to do just that—until I caught the first lines of the text. I fumbled with the phone wanting to read more than a few words. A new message appeared, and I switched her phone to silent.
I stared at the unreadable message for a long moment before I pulled out my phone and texted Millie the problem. After a few more back-and-forth messages she sent me Ida Jane’s passcode.
I sucked in a breath when her phone unlocked, and Dillon’s messages popped up. He’d sent her a picture of her face, probably from an image he had of them together. He’d crossed out her eyes and drown the world BITCH over the top in a thick, angry letters.
The next message read:
You were a selfish, terrible girlfriend and a worse fuck. Of course I found someone better. All you’re good at is watching other people’s kids. Look at the career you chose. You’re a glorified babysitter. And I would never touch you again if you were the last woman alive. That’s how bad a lay you were.
I rolled my eyes at his lack of creativity, but at the same time, I worried my lip. I scrolled through her phone, seeing if he’d sent her any others.
Some of the messages heaped Ida Jane with compliments and “I’m-sorrys”. Clearly, he’d changed tactics when the apologies hadn’t worked.
I made a screen shot of the current texts and forwarded them to my number and Millie’s because I’d told her I’d keep her in the loop. I let Millie know I planned to have my attorney see what he could do—Ida Jane already had that short-term restraining order, but these messages seemed to escalate the potential for more violence.
As gently as possible, I set her phone back on the nightstand, face down. Ida Jane may not want to marry me, but I was her best choice. Heronlyoption, really, with enough resources to ensure her safety.
* * *
Ida Jane
Because I woke early enough,I called Millie using my laptop’s program.
She answered a moment later. “Idge! How are you—oh, my Jesus. Dillon didthat?”
I pursed my lips and winced, lifting my hand to my cheek. “Sort of.”
“Hehityou?” Her voice was low, with a dangerous edge. “Maxim said he grabbed you and scared you. I didn’t realize he’dattackedyou.”
My lower lip quivered as I nodded. Until this moment, I hadn’t let myself fall apart. Much as I liked Keelie and Maxim, I didn’t know them—not like I knew Millie. She was my champion, just as I was hers. But she was so far away, and I needed her.
“Screw this project and my potential promotion. I need to come home.” Millie half rose from her seat, no doubt planning to drive straight to the airport. “I’ll be on the next flight—”
“Dillon didn’t hit me. My bruised faced happened because I tried to get away from him—he never hit me, but he hurt me.” I showed her my arm, which looked much like my face.
