Chapter Forty
We talk.
We order pizza, french fries, and sparkling water. And we talk some more. Well, mostly I talk.
Excluding the hostage, conning, and stealing bit, I tell her all about Jaxon. The times we’ve spent together, the things we talk about, his thoughtful moments, his closed-off moments, his muddling moments. I even tell her how much I don’t know about him.
She listens.
And by the time I’m done, I feel light and refreshed. It’s freeing to be able to talk to someone I love and trust about all the confusing things I’m feeling. Instead of judgment, her eyes show understanding. And it’s exactly what I need at the moment.
“It’s new, Timber,” she tells me. “And if he’s anything like my husband, you’re going to have to learn to be patient. He’ll open up, but gradually. In my honest opinion, that’s the best way going forward—allowing him to reveal bits and pieces of himself to you at his own pace. Where’s the fun in knowing someone all at once? You’ll get bored, fast.”
I consider that and nod.
“Look at it this way,” she says. “Each time he gives you a piece of himself, it’s an act of investment, a sign that he’s staying. Sometimes, people fall in love too fast, give too much of themselves too fast, trust too fast…and so, it ends too fast. Just relax, give only as much as he gives. Don’t rush, don’t push. Trust the pace.”
“Easier said than done,” I murmur.
“That said, always trust your instincts, your gut. If it tells you to back off, then back the hell off. No hesitation. Run.”
I snicker. “Usually, it’s my instincts and my brain that call the shots. They’ve saved my butt countless times. Over the past few weeks, however, it’s my heart that’s been in control.”
Her eyes widen in alarm, as if I just told her the sun is exploding and she’s all out of time. “No.” She points a stern finger at me. “Never listen to your heart. Your heart is a moron.”
And I can’t help it, I bust out laughing. “Bloody ace! That’s exactly what I said!”
We both fall back into the cushions, our bodies wracked with laughter.
A gaggle of girls close to our corner that has been snapping pictures of us every now again, partying rowdily, and blocking most of our view to the happenings on the rooftop seem to be calling it a night. They all link hands and lead each other out.
I’m still in fits of giggles when our view that’s been blocked all night finally becomes clear. Just beyond the benches the group had been occupying is a four-seater cabana with draping sheer curtains.
Sitting there all cozy and relaxed is Jaxon.
His hand is caressing the long, toned leg of a woman I’ve never seen before.
She’s gorgeous. Bobbed black hair. Big tits pressed up against his arm. Pouty lips inches from his. French-tipped nails on his cheek.
Everything fades. The music, Ma’s laughter, the whipping wind, the buzz of chatter… It all fades.
And all I see is pain and heartache in the form of two people cozied up to one another, touching, caressing, flirting.
It’s not supposed to hurt, but it does.
“Timber?” Ma’s worried voice punches through my tortured haze. “Are you hearing me? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
My mouth opens, but I can’t find the words to assure her I’m fine.
Maybe because I’m not fine.
All I can do is stare.
At them.
Ma follows my gaze. “Oh my God.”
My heart cracks from her whispered words.
It’s like when a newborn falls off the bed, but the newborn doesn’t cry, because in those first few seconds it doesn’t know it’s hurt. Until the mum rushes in and scoops it up and begins to make a fuss. Then the newborn cries. Because the mum’s fright tells the newborn that it’s hurt. She tells it, “Shh,” and “Hush,” and “I’m so, so sorry.” And it knows. It knows that something terrible just happened.
And so, the newborn howls.
“My God, Timber, is that…?” She looks at me, to the scene again, and then back to me. “Is that him?”
“It’s—” I force myself to look away, away from the crime scene, to her. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Pardon me?” Her head snaps back, the fierce protectiveness coming out. “It’s not what it looks like?”
“You don’t understand.” I need to calm her down before she gets all riled and loses the plot. She’s ugly when pissed. “He’s working.”
“What do you mean, working?” Befuddlement clouds her face. “Wait. He’s a gigolo?”
“No, he’s not a bloody prostitute.” I rub my forehead. I stand. I pick up my jacket.
She stands, too. Comes close. “Look, I don’t care if you tell me or not, but whatever it is, you’re obviously not okay with it. If that scene is hurting me, then it has to be hurting you. This can’t be healthy, Timber.”
As another gale of wind whips around us, I shove my arms into my coat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about it. And I can’t be here.”
“You’re leaving?”
I throw my arms around my sister in a reassuring hug. “I promise you, I’m fine. I just need to be anywhere but here right now. I’ll ring you tomorrow, yeah?”
When I make to pull away, she holds me tight, wanting to object. After a long pause, she gives a reluctant sigh. “If I don’t hear from you in twelve to twenty-four hours, I’ll gather a search party and scour this filthy city until I find you, you hear me?”
I laugh, despite myself.
As I start to leave, I brake and whirl to point a warning finger at her. “Do not lay into him when I’m gone.”
She scowls and mutters under her breath, “Dammit.”
I sink my teeth punitively hard into my bottom lip and tell myself not to look at them, not to torture myself further. To just keep my head down, my eyes averted, and my feet moving.
I try, I really do. Because as painful as it is to see, I know he’s just working. I know he’s not intentionally cheating on me. I know this is what he does for a living.
Yet, no matter how much I tell my heart this truth, it doesn’t refrain from cracking.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
I look.
Just as I’m passing their cabana, my feet slow, my head lifts, and my heart shatters. Both her long legs are now thrown over his thigh, and he’s gazing down at her like she’s the only woman in the world. One hand caresses her waist, settles at her hip, and squeezes. She melts into him. I know the reaction all too well. I’ve been on the receiving end of that touch many, many times.
Suddenly, as if he senses me, he looks up. Sees me standing there. Staring. Hurting.
Except…he doesn’t look surprised to see me.
Did he know I was up here, all along? I was, after all, sitting with the Saskia Day. Everyone was peeking and taking pictures. How could he not know I was here?
If so, why did he stay? Why make me see this?
There’s no recognition in his eyes as he watches me. I could be a complete stranger, just another rooftop patron with voyeuristic tastes.
Without so much as a hint of acknowledgment, he cups the woman’s face, nips at her lip, and crushes his mouth to hers. He gropes her, pulls her against his body.
It’s all the incentive my feet need to take me the hell out of there.
I wish my heart would stop hurting. I wish my eyes would stop burning. It’s all so bloody annoying. An inconvenience. I cannot cry. There’s nothing to cry about.
It’s just. Business.
As two cackling women step off the lift, I dive in and furiously punch the lobby button. Just as the doors are about to shut, a black thigh-high boot pokes through the narrow gap, forcing the doors to slide open again.
I glance up as the owner of the killer thigh-highs walks in.
Nadine.
Oh, great. She’s here, too.
Why am I not surprised?
A short, black turtleneck dress complements her thigh-highs. Her hair’s gelled back in a tight ponytail, her makeup is well done, and she looks—and I say this begrudgingly—absolutely flawless. If I actually liked her, I’d ask to take a selfie with her.
The doors seal shut.
Done ogling her like a horny dyke, I look firmly to the floor.
Nadine is mean. She loathes me. She pokes at me every chance she gets, especially after she found out Jaxon and I were official. So, whatever her reason for following me onto this lift, it can’t be good. And I don’t have it in me right now to go at it with her.
“You’re not running home to cry, are you?”
I don’t answer.
“Pathetic.” She makes a derisive noise. “That’s who he is. That’s what he does. What did you think—that he was just gonna give up what makes him him and start playing house with you?” She tsks. “Stupid, stupid little girl.”
I flick my gaze up to the floor number. I want to be out of here. I’m trapped in hell with the devil’s bride.
“I heard you went with them on the Spain job,” she continues. “Which means you’ve witnessed firsthand just how involved they get. You’ve seen firsthand that there are no boundaries. They do anything to get the job done.”
She turns to check herself in the mirrors, pouts her lips, smooths over her eyebrows, tugs up the hem of her dress. “If you weren’t there, it would’ve been Jaxon in that room, not Col. After tonight, each time he disappears for a job you’ll be wondering, is he kissing someone? Is he having sex with someone? Is he being blown by someone? Chances are, the answer is yes.”
Argh! This woman makes me furious!
I’m a woman of words. Lots of words. I always have words. Too many of them, sometimes. But I find no words to hang her with. Tonight I have none. For her, I have none. For Jaxon, I have none. I’m just done. Empty. Drained.
Always trust your instincts. Your gut. If it tells you to back off, then back the hell off. No hesitation. Run.
Ma’s words ring loud and clear in my head. And I trust her. I trust her.
And slowly, the voice of my heart begins to fade, fade, fade, until I can hear it no more, until it loses its control over me.
“Look,” Nadine says with a tired sigh, checking the floor number. Three more floors to go. “I don’t like you. Jaxon’s all over you, and I’m bizarrely in love with him, so no, I can’t like you. But childish hatred and jealousy aside, I’ll be sincerely honest.”
Oh, God. Here it comes.
“This thing you’ve got going with him won’t work out. You waited twenty-two years to give your virginity to the wrong man. You don’t know him like I do. He’ll ruin you. Just as he’s ruined me. I gave him my heart, and all he did was play with it. He has no feelings. He’s a robot. A liar. A manipulator. An illusionist.” She snorts. “Sadly, I’m all of those things, too. And that’s why I’m hoping you’ll take my advice and go.”
The lift comes to a stop and the doors open. Without a word, I walk right out, leaving her to drown in her own gall and misery.
Jaxon is a liar. He is a manipulator. He is an illusionist.
But while I, too, once thought he was a robot, I now know what she doesn’t—Jaxon King has a heart.
He has feelings.
He’s a vegan because of his fierce compassion for animals. I’ve listened to him go on for hours about animal cruelty. I’ve seen him donate large sums of money to animal shelters. I’ve seen him touch and pet caged animals.
This is the same man who bought thousands of white roses to make my first sexual experience memorable. The same man who was nervous about taking my virginity because he was terrified he would hurt me.
I’ve witnessed him laugh with abandon. I’ve witnessed him green with jealousy. I’ve witnessed him soft with compassion.
I’ve witnessed his humanity.
Nadine’s wrong. No one really knows Jaxon. Not completely, no. But maybe, just maybe, I know him a little better than she does.