“Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” At my frown, she uttered another laugh. “It’s your first time, you haven’t tasted any of our dishes yet and you want to meet the chef?” She ran an assessing gaze over my face. “You’re too handsome to be a food critic.”
I laughed at her assumption. “What can I say? I’m an optimistic man?”
“Unfortunately, she isn’t one to meet the guests.”
“She?”
“The chef”
A female chef. Nice. Might be easier to sway. “Even if I’m willing to try everything on the menu?” I pushed.
Her eyes widened. “Everything?” I nodded before her body shook with laughter. “That’s a lot of food.”
“Maybe I’m keen to see how good your chef is?”
She offered me a placating smile. “Let me see what I can do. Have a look in the meanwhile.” She gestured to the black leather covered menu in front of me before walking away.
Curious, I opened the menu and although not extensive, I was impressed with the choices. A sudden burst of laughter had me lifting my head. I glanced toward the group of five ladies chatting behind the counter that separated the bar and service area from the dining tables. Judging by the level of noise and clinking champagne glasses, they were celebrating.
“Where’s—”
“Finishing off her set up,” one of the ladies responded before Tia could finish.
“That woman’s going to be the death of me.” Tia set her glass down with a snort, strode to the swing door that probably led to the kitchen, and held it open. “Babe.” She shouted. “Get your butt out here, now.” I grinned, liking her sass. She went back to the group and I wondered which one of them was the chef. The door opened a second later, and a woman stepped out.
I continued watching as she fidgeted with her belt, thick, dark hair shielding her face. Then she lifted her head. “What the—” my gasp was so potent, it had me shooting up from my seat.
Raw emotion slammed through me, forcing a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table to keep me upright. Oblivious to my shock, she smiled at her friends. Every inch of my body quivered under the strain. Bile surged upward, roiling my stomach as nausea clenched my throat. My heart pounded and I could feel beads of sweat forming in places I’d only ever felt during brutal gym workouts. Another second and our gazes collided.
“Krish,” a familiar name I hadn’t uttered in a long time, blew through my lips in a soft moan, yet loud enough to drown the deafening boom of my heart and stuttering breath. Paralyzed, I stared, my gaze possessed by her every move—every detail of her. A ball of thick anguish rolled through my body, congealing in my throat, choking me. I struggled to breathe. My thoughts jumped from one to the other—a jumbled mess. I tried to slow them down, to make sense of what I was seeing. I failed. Was the room spinning? I had the sudden urge to drop to my knees as a blurry fuzz invaded my sight. Jesus, was I blacking out?
Without thinking, I took a hurried step forward. Filled with unstable nerves, I stumbled and my thighs hit the table in front of me hard, rattling the wine glasses and silverware. They all turned at the noise, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her. Her eyes drifted over me in a quick appraisal, her smile morphing into a frown. I waited for that spark of recognition. Nothing. Long, dark lashes fluttered downward, hiding those luminous grays and cresting my disappointment.
“Fuck,” I cursed under my shuddering breath. I had to get out of there before they noticed my trembling body. My gaze riveted on her, it took conscious effort to move, each step more laden than the last. Bumping into another table, my arm shot out, catching the wine glass before it rolled off the table. “Fuck,” I cursed, as frustration and shock raced to take first place over my frantic emotions. Stumbling out the doors I made it to the car without further embarrassing myself—without giving in to that persistent urge to sink to the floor and understand the illogical vision I’d just seen.
Leaning my palms on the roof to steady myself, I closed my eyes and blew out a slow, shaky breath. Did I overact?Of course, not, I immediately counted. It’s not every day your wife, or rather your dead wife turned up breathing air and smiling. One look into her eyes stole my breath and then a sudden wave of despair crashed over me. My shocked brain on repeat, how? How could my dead wife be alive?How?The word bounced on an echo through my brain.
Only when the car roared through the dockyard gates and traffic evened out into a light stream, did I question my baffled brain. Impossible. I repeated the word like a protective mantra. I didn’t believe in ghosts and I sure as fuck didn’t believe in the doppelganger shit I’d often heard my aunt, Tamara, go on about. Why the fuck had she not recognized me? Yes, seven years was a long time between people, but we were never just people, we were married, we loved one another, she was my soul mate, fuck, I thought I was hers.
I made the usual two-hour trip back home at a record-breaking speed. Yet, I was nowhere near to an answer when I pulled the car to a halt outside my home. The urge to move evaded me and left me staring out the windshield, stunned and disorientated. I had no idea how long I sat there, my fingers drumming a haphazard beat on the wheel until the main door opened.
Rayden stood there, his brow creased in question. “What’s up?”
I climbed out of the vehicle and as I mounted the front stairs, my seven-year-old kids, Neha and Nicky, came bounding out the door. Without thinking, I knelt and grabbed them both in a desperate hug—thankful that reality, once again, made sense. I hugged them tight until they both squirmed.
“You’re killing me, daddy.” Neha giggled.
I loosened my hold and leaned back, running a gentle gaze over their curious expressions. Even though they were twins, I found it strange how much Nicky looked like his mother—he had her dimples when he smiled—the knowledge stole my breath, every time. “I love you both so much.” I palmed their cheeks with each hand.
“We love you too, daddy,” they replied in unison. It never failed to amaze me just how in sync their answers always were.
When they turned and entered the house, I straightened and grasped my cousin’s outstretched hand in a quick shake. “Why the fuck do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Rayden smirked.
Cupping my nape, I stared at him unsure if I should tell him or not.Fuck it.“Because I think I might have.”
His brow shot up. “You’re fucking with me?” He laughed then sobered when he caught the dismal shake of my head. “You’re serious?”
“I need a drink, stat.” Rayden followed me into the house and only when I downed the three fingers of whiskey, did I look at my cousin. “Jesus, Ray, I have no idea what the fuck I saw, but I swear she’s the twin image of Krisha.”
