“James Moore,” she shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you? You have no backbone—you just do whatever I say. I ask you to f.u.c.k me, and you f.u.c.k me. I ask you to leave, and you leave. If I asked you to cut off your own balls, would you do that too?”
If James hears her, he doesn’t respond. She continues pacing the room, hating him for his weakness. He’s the reason I fought with Jackson, she thinks. He’s the reason we broke up. He did this to me just days before Jackson proposed, and now everything is ruined. I was saving myself for Jackson, and James took that away from me.
Waylen wakes to a loud booming sound. He rubs his burning eyes and shakes his head. His mouth is dry and cottony, and his head is pounding. He inhales and almost retches: his skin, clothes, and even breath smell like stale whiskey.
He looks out the window and sees fireworks exploding across the dark sky. He groans and rolls onto his side. He blinks and rubs his eyes in surprise—Leilani is lying next to him, smiling her shy but seductive smile.
“Leilani,” he whispers. “Come here.”
He reaches for her, but his hand moves through empty air and lands on the mattress. The sheets are cool and crisp—he’s alone in the bed. His heart throbs dully in his chest, and he staggers to his feet, looking for the whiskey bottle. I’m an idiot, he thinks. She’s never coming back. I’m never going to see her again.
He stumbles to the window and watches the fireworks flash red, silver, blue, and gold. He looks at his reflection in the window pain and groans. His face is pale and sweaty, and there are dark purple circles under his eyes. I look like an addict, he thinks. She’s my drug, and now I’m going through withdrawals.
He presses his forehead to the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes. The fireworks continue to boom overhead, and he walks across the room, looking for the button to call the servants. A male servant rushes into the room within seconds.
“It’s too noisy,” Waylen says.
“Yes, sir,” the servant says. “Someone is having some sort of celebration.”
“Well, make them stop,” Waylen snaps. “It’s bothering me.”
“But—” the servant objects.
“Just do it,” Waylen roars.
Waylen paces the room waiting for the noise to stop. He walks to the window and looks down at the grounds below. Small golden lights flicker and glow as fireflies fly over the lawn. Further from the mansion, bodyguards use a potent flashlight as they sweep a large net through the river.
Waylen calls for Robert and asks, “What are they doing?”
“There have been a lot of bottles and other rubbish in the river recently,” Robert says. “I asked some of the men to clean it up. I didn’t want any pollution on the property.”
Waylen waves his hand with annoyance and yanks the curtains shut. He sits down on the bed and rubs his aching temples. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one of the books on the nightstand. The cover looks bent, but he doesn’t remember damaging it. He squints and reads the title: What To Expect When Your Wife Is Expecting.
He grabs the book, and it falls open in his hand. Though the room is dark, he can see that the page is a list of tips for making your wife’s pregnancy more comfortable. The page is badly wrinkled, and the red ink he used to make notes is smeared.
He flicks on the bedside lamp to get a better look. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone cried while reading this, he thinks. He puts the book down and looks for How To Be A Good Husband, but he can’t find it anywhere. He calls Robert again and waits impatiently for the butler to return.
“Where’s my book?” he asks.
“Book?” Robert asks. “What book?”
“You know what book,” Waylen says with a scowl.
“Oh, that book,” Robert says. He shuffles his feet nervously and says, “A certain person took it from the house.”
Waylen blinks and says, “A certain person? You’re not making sense.”
“Sir, you told me not to say her name,” Robert says.
Waylen glares at Robert and sweeps the books off the nightstand and onto the floor. Why the hell would she take that book? He wonders. Is she going to give it to Andrew? Did she take it so she and Andrew can laugh at me?
“I thought I told you to burn all her things,” Waylen says.
“Sir, the books are yours, not hers,” Robert says, bending over to pick up the books.
Waylen jumps to his feet and rushes into the bathroom. He grabs the towels that Leilani touched, the bar of hand soap that she used, and the tube of toothpaste and throws them in the trash. He stumbles to the closet and looks through the hanging clothes.
There’s a white silk nightgown between two of his shirts. Waylen touches the nightgown, and for a moment, he sees Leilani wearing it. It clings to her curves as she walks toward him, reaching out for a hug. The silk is as soft as the skin on her thighs, and she calls out his name. He blinks and yanks the nightgown off its hanger.
“I thought I told you to get rid of all her stuff,” Waylen says.
With a deep sigh, Robert says, “Okay, the nightgown was an oversight. But the rest of these items aren’t hers. The towels and soaps and books are all yours.”
“But they remind me of her,” Waylen says. “Everything she ever touched or looked at reminds me of her. I look at a towel, and I see it wrapped around her body; I look at a chair, and I see her sitting in it; I look at a glass, and I see her throwing it at me.”
“We can’t completely redo the house,” Robert says gently. “I can change some of the furniture if you like, but it’s impossible to change everything.”
Waylen groans and puts his head in his hands. She’s in every corner of the house and every memory in his mind. Even the fireworks in the sky reminded him of her—dazzling and bright and fiery.
Robert clears his throat and says, “Maybe you need a distraction, sir. Mr. Oliver sent you an invitation. Why don’t you take a look and see what it’s all about?”
“An invitation to what?” Waylen asks.
“Mr. Oliver bought a new luxury yacht,” Robert says. “I think he’s having a party on it.”
Waylen looks curiously at Robert. Ever since the truce between the families, Jackson has stopped attacking Waylen, but the invitation seems weird. We’re not at war right now, but it’s not like we’re friends, Waylen thinks. Why the hell does he want me to see his yacht? What is planning?
“Do you know anything else about it?” Waylen asks.
“Well, I’ve heard that Mr. Clifford was also invited,” Robert says, looking down at his shoes. “I know your invitation said you’re allowed to bring a plus one. I imagine Mr. Clifford will be able to do the same.”
Waylen grits his teeth and glares at Robert. Is that why Jackson invited me? Waylen wonders. Does he want to torture me by making me spend time with Leilani? I can’t spend an evening watching her touch him and laugh at his jokes and whisper in his ear.
Robert clears his throat and asks, “So do you want to go?”
Leilani wraps the towel around her body and lets her long, dark hair hang down her back. Two uniformed servants walk behind her, staring boldly at her flawless skin and slim figure.
“I’d like some privacy now,” Leilani says. “I don’t like having people follow me.”
One of the servants nods and opens the door to the newly remodeled dressing room. She imagines it used to be Andrew’s, but the room is feminine now. The walls are covered in light wallpaper with a subtle floral pattern, and a soft shag carpet softens the hard marble floor.
One wall is devoted entirely to shoes—hundreds of pairs of heels, sandals, flats, and boots hang from racks on the wall. Another wall has rows and rows of designer dresses. The third wall has skirts, pants, and tops. Scarves, hats, belts, and other accessories dangle from the fourth wall. Almost everything still has a price tag attached.
Leilani looks through the dresses, trailing her fingertip over the luxurious fabrics. The servants told her that Andrew chose all of the clothing himself. She checks the sizes on the tags and sees that everything is exactly her size. Who knew that Andrew was such a good judge of the female figure? She thinks disgustedly. Then she remembers the way he accurately guessed her bra size in the lingerie store, and she shudders with disgust.
She chooses a long black dress with lace details on the bodice. The skirt of the dress brushes her ankles, but the top is sleeveless. She finds a Spanish style lace shawl and wraps it around her arms to hide the turquoise tattoo. The dreck has a high neckline, so she chooses a bold, statement necklace. Dozens of white diamonds glitter around a large oval diamond in the middle. She pairs the dress with a pair of red shoes and studies the outfit in front of a mirror.
She smiles with satisfaction and walks to the makeup table in the center of the room.
The table is surrounded by four fine-grained mirrors, and a crystal lamp flickers brightly in front of them. Leilani sits at the chair and sees her face reflected endlessly between the mirrors. She opens the drawers and finds rows of designer lipsticks, the trendiest eyeshadow pallets, and piles of eyeliner, blush, and mascara. Everything matches her skin color perfectly.
She sneers at her reflection and piles her hair into an elegant bun. She applies some mascara and swipes red lipstick across her lips and then walks down the stairs to the entryway. On her way, servants pause and stare open-mouthed. She scowls and keeps walking, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders.
The moment he sees her, Andrew jumps to his feet. He’s wearing a white shirt with a simple blue suit, and Leilani has to admit he looks handsome. His eyes sparkle, and he smiles crookedly at her. He walks across the room and stands by her side.
“We look incredible together,” he says, bending down to kiss her cheek. “Like the perfect couple.”
Leilani turns her head to dodge his kiss, but he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her toward him. She struggles, but he’s too strong for her. She sighs and glares at him as he looks her up and down. His eyes linger on the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.ts and the feminine curve of her waist.
“Felicity Winter, you look beautiful,” he murmurs. “I’m so glad you’re all mine.”
“Well, I’m filled with regret,” she replies. “I never wanted to be yours.”
He tightens his grip and pushes her up against the wall. He glances at her red lips, and his eyes filled with desire. His breathing quickens and gently lifts her chin with his finger. Leilani tries to turn her head, but he pinches her chin between his fingers and presses his body against hers.
She can feel the strength of his desire pressing against her thigh. I wish I hadn’t dressed so nicely, she thinks. I should have worn sweatpants or something ugly. But there wasn’t a single unflattering thing in that entire dressing room. Every single outfit was selected to show off at least one part of my body—this dress was the most conservative thing I could find.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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