Chapter 1
Isabella
I didn’t know what to do with him anymore. The love in our marriage seemed to have run its course, and every day I wished things would return to the way they once were. He had changed, and not for the better. I didn’t think he had gone astray, but if he had, it would be over.
I trusted him just as he did me. I knew that I still loved him. How was I to know if he felt the same? Ignoring me seemed to be his favorite pastime. My very presence tended to irritate him. Sometimes I found myself daydreaming, wishing he would be more like the men in the novels I read alone on the beachfront.
He never asked how I was doing or how my day went when I got home from work. The only things he was concerned with were his phone and computer, which he hid and password protected religiously. My friends told me the things they’d heard about him over the last year, but I refused to believe them. He was there for me when I had nothing, and I would not abandon him based on silly rumors. After all, they were just rumors. That was what I would tell myself, but the time for blatant denial was over. I had to put truth to this gossip.
Something had to be wrong when your husband hadn’t touched you in over a year. Did he still love me? The coldness of his embrace, the shallowness of his words whenever he spoke the phrase I love you haunted my nerves to the point where I wanted to explode if I didn’t get answers. What could he be doing all day when he didn’t answer my calls? He didn’t even bother to bring me lunch at the office anymore.
He always claimed the scent of other women on his clothes was from his personal-training hobby and the number of female clients he had. I knew it was bullshit. I needed to stop being so damn naïve and face the facts. I thought about hiring a private investigator, but what would it say of me? Maybe I was too damn insecure. What kind of woman would it make me if I hired someone to tail him?
If the situation was that awful, then I should just leave. But with what cause? I didn’t want to end our marriage on the premise of rumor and suspicion. If he still loved me, then I had to know—the truth. Perhaps it was just the wine talking. Maybe I was drunk again, allowing self-doubt to get the better of me. I needed to take my mind of this and focus on something else.
The beach was clear and refreshing this time of day. Mesmerized by the dying sunlight, I didn’t notice when something washed up on the shore. I looked down at my feet and saw a bottle with a thin piece of paper inside. Another letter. For the last few weeks, I’d been collecting these letters. They were never addressed to me, so I was hoarding these things without knowing who they belonged to or who they were meant for.
What kind of a hopeless romantic would put a letter in a bottle on the beach for anyone to find? And why was it always I who found them? That didn’t matter now. I’d open it and read it just like the others. They gave me hope that love was not lost. I picked up the bottle and removed the letter. It was a little damp, but the words were still readable all the same.
“Isabella Kam-Williams, I hope this reaches you . . .”
My brow curled and my jaw dropped. I was taken aback. Did I just read my name?
“. . . I love you more than anything . . .”
I couldn’t keep reading. It—it wasn’t possible. This letter, unlike the others, had my name written on it. How could it have my name on it? Maybe it was my husband trying to trigger the romance back into our marriage. My curiosity had to be sated so I continued to read.
Dear Isabella Kam-Williams,
I hope this reaches you. For months, I have watched you, hoping you would notice me watching you. You don’t know me, but I know you, and hopefully, soon we will know each other very well. I sincerely hope my other letters have found you. I just wanted to let you know you are the honey that marinates my thoughts each morning before my breakfast.
Observing you sit in your chair on the beach sipping your wine, thinking your thoughts, every day makes my very being shine with a light brighter than that of the sun. Even though I don’t know you well enough to say this, I love you more than anything. I’ve followed your progress and successful business acumen in the fashion and cosmetic industries, coupled with your unflinching loyalty to your employees and your respectful, kind treatment of everyone you encounter.
Your kind heart and ambitious nature deserve so much more. You deserve real love, a love that would shake the sky and ravage the mountaintops, raining down peace and romanticism not seen since the dawn of Victorian poetry. I hope soon—one day very soon—the barriers that hold us apart will crumble like the Berlin Wall to make way for a real love told about in the romance stories you read each day.
This is the first time I have dared to include your name in my letters, as I promised myself I would never interfere with the affairs of a married couple. However, the things I have seen, I have heard, forced me to express what I feel for you. Please don’t think a home-wrecker or me vain for I will keep my distance until you find out the truth. Until then I will leave you with this: Love—a word that is meaningless unless the person who says it truly means it. One cannot force love; it must be felt, and both parties must desire it. That undying, gratifying sensation that we call love will befall you someday. I hope that when the day comes, I will be the one to earn it from you. So long—for now, Isabella Kam.
These letters couldn’t be from my husband. He would never write such kind words. Now I had to find out whom these were from. He was penetrating my heart without me even knowing who he was. I had to find out, and soon.