The mere recollection brought that gut-punching ache back in a blink. How could someone so beautiful possess such a deceptive bone in her body? Since leaving the villa, James had been tempted to give up his bias, see past the offense, and chalk it up to some sort of brain cramp on Camila’s part—as if she’d simply forgotten that she had, in fact, turned in an application after all. But that would make him a fool.
Still, he’d resorted to stalking her on social media. Reading articles from her food blog. Scrolling past pictures of pretty food with descriptions that gave him much-needed doses of that addictive passion he loved so much.
It was easy to hear her voice in his mind as he read. And while he knew he’d pay the price for it later—he always did—James gave in to those moments just the same. The connection made him feel closer to her. Closer to himself again too. During his time with Camila, James had caught a glimpse of the man he was meant to become. But already the image was starting to fade, morph back into the workaholic he’d turned into since Winston’s death.
A deep ache settled over his left temple. James came to a stand. Better his head than his heart. The idea caused a dark chuckle to sound in his throat. His heartwashurting. In ways he’d never known. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him. Loss was loss, right? And he’d lost before. His own blood.
He wanted to numb it. To turn the drink he’d grab on the way home into half a dozen drinks instead. James had never been one to rely on alcohol to dull the pain, especially in light of Winston’s substance abuse, but the temptation was gaining merit. What was the harm in shutting his pain out for just one night?
That very question ran through his head as he and Stephanie climbed into the back of the car.
“Thanks, Leonard,” he said with a nod before his driver closed the door.
The nightlife beyond the tinted windows welcomed James with a promise. Neon street signs, busy sidewalks, and headlights from passing cars. There was a life outside of the nightmare he was stuck in. He just needed to reach out and take it.
“Did you see the numbers from the Bronson deal?” Stephanie asked.
The question made him realize they hadn’t spoken since getting in the car.
“Yeah,” he said. “Looking good.”
“Good? Incredible is more like it. Unbeatable. I’ve got to hand it to you—you really turned that one around. I’m impressed.”
He nodded. “Thank you.” He glanced out the window as they pulled up to a light. A set of double doors, bright against the night, caught his attention. He wasn’t sure why; the street was crowded with shoppers and passersby alike. But as his gaze settled on just one spot behind those doors, a woman came into view. A very beautiful woman who looked a whole lot like Camila. Caramel colored skin, long brown hair, and that curvy figure.
A bolt of lightning shot through his chest as he pulled away from the seat and brought his face close to the window. Itwasher. That was Camila. A near-absent glance above the doors as they proceeded into the intersection said she was at a kitchen supplies shop. Another indicator that it was, in fact, her.
It felt as if that horrendous thunderstorm—the storm that raged on the day he’d said he loved her—was back in full force. Stuck in the confines of his chest. He gulped hard, rubbed his palms over his slacks, and fought the intense and growing urge to have Leonard pull over and let him out.
Camila was right there. She was actually just yards from him. And he was sitting in some stupid limo driving on by like a moron? It brought back the question he wanted to ask Stephanie.
“When I was at the villa, before Adel sent me the application,” James started, “you sent me something to me about Camila’s past. What was it?”
A green glow illuminated Stephanie’s face as they passed a bright neon sign. “You never read it?”
James shook his head.
Stephanie dropped her gaze to her lap, ran a finger along the tips of her long, red fingernails. “Does it matter anymore?” she asked without looking up.
Even as shadows moved over her face, James saw the hurt in her eyes. Heard it in her voice. “Yes,” he answered. “It matters to me.”
Stephanie leaned forward, snatched her phone from her bright red bag, and tapped at the screen. “It’s better for you to read it for yourself. I’ll resend it.”
A second later his phone buzzed with the text.
Stephanie shifted in her seat until her body faced the door. Her earrings dangled in her silhouette, the tear-shaped planes catching reflections of headlights as they passed.
Sensing she was giving him a moment to himself, James tapped the screen to bring up the attachment she’d sent him. He watched as it pulled up an old newspaper printout.Man Murders Wife Then Turns Gun on Self.
His brow furrowed as he looked over it. Stephanie must have sent him the wrong one by accident. Or perhaps the relevant article was beneath this one.
But then a detail jumped out at him.The pair’s young daughter, just three years old, had been staying with her grandparents during the incident. An official on the scene said that might have been the child’s saving grace.
James checked the date on the article as it started to sink in; the math was spot on.
His stomach sank. A shallow thud echoed in his ears. One massive clank after the next as chills crawled up his arms.
He tore through the remainder of the piece as the words grew blurry, the devastation within him growing even still.
