“Go back to bed,” he suddenly demanded. “You look like you need some sleep.”
She frowned at him. Yeah, he’d just insulted her, but it was the truth.
She didn’t look well.
He paused by the door and glanced back. “Do you want out?”
“What?” she whispered.
“Of here, from this marriage?” he asked.
She straightened her shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. I’m fine.”
Right.
So either she wasn’t being honest with him or he’d read her wrong.
And he never read people wrong.
Angie staredat the pile of books on her bedside table in shock. She walked forward slowly.
How had these gotten here?
Who had put them here?
It wouldn’t be Fergus. Her husband, and she used the term loosely, didn’t care what she did as long as she was here and “available” to him.
Angie pushed that thought and those memories to one side. She didn’t want to open up that can of worms. The only way she was managing to get through this fucked up life of hers was by compartmentalizing.
When Fergus was hurting her, she had to go into her head. To pretend that it wasn’t happening.
She’d go to her happy place.
All her life she’d dreamed of a place . . . an island where the sun shone bright and the sand was warm. Where the sea glistened and you could swim straight off the shore with the turtles.
Okay, so she was obsessed with whales, but she didn’t want to swim with them. Although she would love to see one someday.
So this couldn’t have been Fergus.
And it wouldn’t be anyone who worked for him. They wouldn’t dare to give her anything. To make her life any more bearable.
Could it be . . .
No.
Walking closer, she picked up the top book. It was the latest release that she’d been dying to read.
This was so bizarre. No one ever gave her anything. At least not without wanting something in return.
Why would anyone do this for her?
“I hope those titles are acceptable,” a quiet voice said from behind her, making her jump and turn with a small scream. “I asked the woman in the bookstore what the most popular romance books were. She nearly swooned in delight when I said I would take them all. Not sure if it was the money or because I told her I was getting them as a gift for my wife.”
What . . . what was happening right now?
Who was this man? She’d never seen him before in her life. So why was he sitting in her bedroom?
Had he broken in here?
