I feel sick from the stress.
Nausea rolls in my stomach, and my head is throbbing like a drum, and through it all, she stays. She tucks me into bed later, and her presence is like an anchor as she sits on the edge, stroking my hair slowly. The sheets feel cool under me, and her voice is soft.
"You're safe now, Jules. You’re safe. I’m here.”
I believe her and, slowly, the tension eases in her care. I’m grateful for her, grateful for Blake and this family and with this warmth amidst the strange chill in my body, sleep eventually pulls me under.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
BLAKE
The drive back from the hospital feels endless, with the Bentley's tires droning on the dark Hamptons roads. I made Frances happy, that’s for sure, but my mind replays the events of the night, and it doesn’t seem real. The nightmare ride to the hospital following Frances’s ambulance, the way Carolyn’s body froze mid-air, knife still clutched in her hand before she fell forward and became still forever, pulling her off Juliet with my heart in my mouth, her confession, the clean-up guy slinging Carolyn’s body bag over his shoulder as if it was a bag of potatoes.
The significance of what we did feels like a heavy stone inside my chest. I’m not happy for Juliet to become Carolyn. I see a myriad of problems ahead, and yet it is too late to do otherwise. But I know that there is no other person I want other than Juliet, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy. The deep love I have for her trumps everything else. Nothing is too much trouble or too difficult if it is for her. Somehow, we will figure it out.
The estate gates swing open, and I drive in. The mansion stands dark except for a few lights in the windows. My shoulders are tense from the hours I spent at Frances's bedside and talking to her doctors, but now that I’m sure she is better, I’m really glad to be back and make sure Juliet is fine.
As I walk into the foyer, I see lights in the kitchen and head over. Has Juliet not gone to bed yet? A woman is at the breakfast table reading a book and sipping tea, but it is not Juliet. I stop short when she raises her head. I recognize her instantly. She’s the artist that Juliet commissioned for Dora’s gift.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, as if my first thought is to wonder if she is part of Carolyn’s elaborate plan.
She jumps to her feet and comes over to me. “I’m Emma,” she introduces herself. “I’m Juliet's best friend. She was in a state, and I came over to help her relax a bit.”
The fear and anxiety are instant. “Where is she? Is she okay?” I ask with a frown.
“She’s okay. She’s asleep upstairs. I was waiting for you to come back before I left.”
“Thank you for coming so late,” I say, grateful.
“No worries,” she replies.
“You don’t have to go. You’re welcome to stay for the night in one of the guest rooms.”
“Thank you for the offer. That’s very nice of you. Don’t worry. We won’t stay long. I’m sure she’ll be well enough that I can take her back home with me tomorrow.”
“No,” I say harshly, then modulate my tone. “Don’t take her away if she doesn’t want to leave. I think she’ll need all the support she can get. Other than my family, I think you might be the only other family she has. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, as long as she needs."
Relief flickers in her expression, and then a small smile breaks through. Her hand reaches out then to shake mine. “I’m glad she found you, Blake. You’re a good man.”
Then we bid each other goodnight.
I head upstairs then, and pause at Juliet’s bedroom door. Quietly opening the door, I watch for a little while as she sleeps, safe and sound. She looks pale but beautiful. Like a Princess from a fairytale.
I kiss her then, unable to resist. My lips brush her temple, and I whisper low and soft to her.
"Rest," I say, and she seems to nod in response.
Closing the door, I make for my daughter’s room. I phoned earlier, and Dora said she had put her to bed. I open the door and see her sleeping and feel a rush of love. From now on, you won’t ever again have to deal with a wicked stepmother. I kiss her gently and leave.
I head to my room afterwards and get into the shower. Water pounds on my back, washing away the night's grime—the blood specks on my cuff, the sweat from the drive. It’s all over, the danger is gone forever, but my mind races because nothing seems solved or certain. I can’t help the tension in my muscles and the feeling of anxiety in my gut.
I think about sleeping alone, but I truly cannot bear to be separated from Juliet. Not tonight. Not when I came so close to losing her. If I had not arrived at that very moment. If I had been even five minutes later. My head feels like it will explode just thinking about it. I tell myself she needs me. I firmly believe this, and I want to assure her that I will be there, and so I go back to her room.
I slide into bed beside her, and her body instinctively curls into mine. A few moments later she finds me in her sleep and rests her head on my chest. In response, my arm goes around herto hold her tight. Eventually, her breath evens out once again, slowly against my skin.
But I stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
I killed a human being today. I killed my wife. The gunshot still rings in my ears.
