Chapter 16

Abby

I went outside, walking quickly through the gardens to the edge behind a bush so that I was hidden from view of the backyard. Everything inside of me seemed to sting—of course he only wanted me for sex. Cohen Ashton was a man without feelings, without love in his heart. I didn’t know why I’d been convinced that he’d softened for me, allowed butterflies to form in my stomach every time I was around him. I cursed myself for being so weak and stupid, the knot in my throat threatening to rise.

I looked out over the garden as I thought about my mother and her love for Paul. The letters I’d found between them had been so vivid, so intimate. It made the heavy feeling in my chest grow even tighter knowing that I had never found that love, not even with James. I had given up checking my email and tried not to think about him for days. And Cohen—Cohen was another story. It made me angry to think about him, especially after how tenderly he’d looked at me the night before.

I heard footsteps and turned around to see him coming through the garden. He paused when he saw me, meeting my eye.

“Abby,” he said.

“What do you want?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I refused to show Cohen any emotion, so I forced myself to give him a dull, meaningless look, as if I didn’t care.

“Listen,” he said as he approached me. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t mean it,” I snapped, shrinking away from him when he knelt down in front of me. He sighed.

“Abby,” he said. “Every time I see you, my heart stops. Every time I look at you, I ache all over. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“I get it,” I said coldly. “Sex. You want sex. And I was stupid enough to give it to you.”

“That wasn’t a mistake,” he said.

“You said yourself it was.”

“I was wrong. Stupid. No. Touching you is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

I stared at him without responding and he ran his hand through his hair, looking sheepish, slightly embarrassed. A small smile played over my lips when I saw how uncomfortable he was—nothing like the cold, hard Cohen Ashton who had hired me.

“I have to be honest with you, Abby,” he said. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

“About what?” I asked him. He studied my face for a moment, my eyes and my lips. Then he leaned in and took my mouth in a soft kiss. I didn’t respond, but did part my lips for him, allowed him to suck on the lower one and trace it with his tongue. My breath was gone, lost in desire as I sat frozen on the bench with my eyes closed.

“The emails,” he said. “James.”

My eyelids snapped open, widening as I looked at him.

“What?” I asked.

“James. The man you’ve been emailing is me,” he said. “And you’re Gabriella.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise and shock.

“What?” I asked again, unable to wrap my head around the words.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” he said. “I didn’t know who you were before I hired you. By the time I did, it was too late.”

“You’re James,” I said. “The man I’ve been emailing.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes burning and earnest on mine.

“Oh,” I said to him, blushing. “So you know all about Paul, about my mother—”

“Yes, and it’s fine,” he said quickly.

“It’s fine,” I repeated. He nodded.

“Listen, Gabriella—Abby—if you want to leave, I get it. I do. You can leave and I’ll never—I won’t email you. I won’t go after you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I said. He took my hand, brought my knuckles to his lips.

“Say it’s OK,” he said softly. “Say you’ll stay.”

“I need to go upstairs and check on Paul,” I said, standing up. My mind was racing, moving so fast that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“Abby—”

“Cohen, I need to think about this. I need some time to think about this.”

“That man you’ve been talking to—that’s me,” he said. “I never lied to you, I—”

“You did lie. Leaving something like that out is lying,” I said. “You made me think that you were this cold, plastic man.”

He didn’t say anything, but stared up at me from where he was still kneeling on the ground.

“I have to go in,” I said to him. “I need to think.”

“OK,” he said in a gentle voice. “Go think.”

I left him there then, hurrying inside and into my room, where I closed the door behind me. I took a few deep breaths, trying to still my mind and my confusion. Then I hurried into Paul’s room, where he was sitting up. His eyes met mine, cloudy and out of focus.

“Abigail,” he said with a bright smile. “My love. You’re back.”

“It’s me, Paul. It’s Abby,” I said to him, approaching his bed. He was pale, and when I touched his cheek, it was clammy and damp.

“Abby. The nurse?” he asked. I nodded.

“You take such good care of me, Abby,” he said. “And Cohen.”

“I try,” I said to him with a smile. I stroked his hair back from his face.

“You do a good job,” he mumbled, looking away from me and out the window, staring at nothing.

“I’ll be back with your medicine, Paul,” I said with a sigh.

“OK,” he said in a vague, lost voice. I left the room then, heading toward the kitchen where I kept the mix for his medication. I nearly bumped into Cohen, who was standing on the other side of Paul’s door with Bella and Gregory. He stopped me with his hands, putting them on my shoulders to still my body so that I didn’t run into him. Even the spots where he touched me through the fabric seemed to burn as I pulled away, breaking contact with his eyes.

“I was just taking them in to see Paul,” Cohen said stiffly.

“Oh, no, he’s not—”

“Sorry, but I’m sure he’s fine,” said Gregory, waving me off. “Cohen has told us what a great nurse you are.”

“But—”

“I’ve been really looking forward to seeing my father again,” Gregory said, pretending to sound earnest, though all I could hear in his tone was poison. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

I didn’t say anything, knowing that there was no way to argue. I crossed my arms over my chest as they opened the door to Paul’s room, following them in warily. The old man’s eyes turned to us as we walked in the door, lighting on Cohen.

“Cohen,” he said with a smile, then turned his eyes to the others in confusion. “Who are they?”

“Dad,” said Gregory, going to Paul’s bed. Paul’s face wrinkled up in discomfort.

“Who are you?” he asked, then looked at me. “Abby, who is this?”

“This is—”

“Don’t you remember me, Dad?” Gregory asked. Paul shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Who are you?” he asked. He fidgeted in his bed, his body shifting uncomfortably in agitation. “What’s going on?”

“This is Bella Murray and Gregory Bell,” Cohen said. “Do you remember Gregory, Uncle Paul?”

Paul shook his head again. He looked almost frightened as he looked at the two. There was a smile on Bella’s face that almost made me shiver, so malevolent and dark.

“I don’t know these people,” Paul said, then louder. “I don’t know him.”

“I—”

“OK, it’s time to get out of here,” I said, putting my hand on Gregory’s shoulder and pressing him back from Paul’s bed. “Now.”

Gregory pulled away from me, giving me a defiant look.

“I want you out of this room,” I said, not cowering from him. “You’re upsetting him. Go.”

“Abby—”

“You too,” I said to Cohen, waving the three of them out of the room. “Right now. Let him rest.”

Cohen nodded, something like admiration in his eyes. He turned to Gregory and Bella, giving them a hard look.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly. Gregory opened his mouth to protest but Cohen nearly shoved him out of the room, leaving me alone with Paul. I turned to the old man, whose mouth had gone slack.

“Paul, are you OK?” I asked him softly.

“I don’t know,” he said, his eyelids fluttering closed. A few seconds later, he was asleep. I frowned, touching his cheek again, then left to get his medicine.