Chapter 7

7

D AVID

I look out of the kitchen window and take her in as if to ensure she hasn't disappeared into the night mist.

The lights glow in the backyard like giant fireflies while she studies everything with awe in her eyes.

It's a pleasure to see her enraptured by what she sees, forgetting how fascinating she is.

I suspected she would like it, but I didn't expect this.

Her being so enthralled, her eyes brighter than the stars.

I pour two glasses of wine and walk to the patio.

I bought the house after the divorce on a whim.

I wish I could say it was a planned move, but I closed the deal without thinking about how much it would gain in value in time.

The thing was, I had little money when Samantha and I tied the knot. I had just come home from my last deployment before things started to unravel.

One thing led to another, and I ended up meeting this woman. The heir of a business empire, she thought her money and my ambition would be a good match.

She was also of the belief that money was the greatest motivator. I happened to agree, but I could never solely be motivated by money.

She knew nothing about my past, and I had no desire to share much with her. She belonged to a different world, and I was as messed up as they come.

I wanted to pull away from the broken man I was.

That version of myself who had believed in things that had ultimately proved flitting and unreliable at best and despicable and damaging at worst.

I'd had my heart broken and swore off deep feelings.

Strangely enough, Samantha had never been interested in the backstory, or curious to know more about my broken heart.

She never needed that part of me.

She was just a different kind of woman.

Had that stopped her from being jealous?

Not at all.

She regarded me like herproperty and thought I owed her everything.

She was half right.

While running her family company, I got a taste of doing business on a large scale, but everything happening after that had nothing to do with her or her connections.

She knew that too.

That's what had fueled her resentment before she hired the best lawyers and took me to the cleaners.

I paid more for Rain Morgan than I actually paid her when I had her on a retainer.

Samantha proved to be the harsh, calculated woman I'd always thought she'd be.

She tried to ruin my confidence in my ability to make money, so when the cash started to flow and accumulate in my bank accounts, I bought things.

Lived largely.

This house is one of those things.

It all happened on a bright September day.

One of the real estate agents I worked with convinced me to come here and take a look.

The house hadn't been on the market for long, and he was convinced it wouldn't last.

He gave me all the information and went for a hard sell before I flicked my hand and stopped him.

I knew I'd buy it before he started to talk.

It was a warm, sunny day with piles of golden leaves outside and a soft breeze that felt like a blessing when I walked into this place.

What charmed me the most was the light in the house and the glass sliding doors in the back adding even more brightness to the already well–lit place.

I liked everything about it, and there wasn't much to change. Many buyers look for places they can make their own.

I felt like this house had already been my place.

There were no grand plans for it.

I knew I couldn't live here, not full-time or part-time, because my work entailed a lot of traveling, so no way this place was for me at that point.

But I didn't want to rent it out either, and after a slight makeover, I lived in it for a few weeks that fall.

That was a nice time in my life.

I could afford to take time off from work, delegate some tasks, and temporarily live in this part of the world.

It was a warm fall that year with sunny days and a calm breeze.

I'd had food delivered throughout my stay and explored the area on my own. I went to the shops, sailed, and spent some time at the beach.

It was a nice epilogue after a few rough chapters in my life. The metaphorical sailing through life had finally become smooth and pleasant.

I no longer felt bad about anything. Not the story before Samantha, not my failed marriage, and not my contentious divorce.

The time for grieving had passed.

I was a wiser man and had everything under control.

I knew I had to do something I hadn't done before, so I reached out to Miranda.

It took some digging up and some investigative work, but I found her eventually.

Her surprise was only surpassed by mine.

She never thought she'd hear from me again. I never thought she'd talk to me again.

And then the bombshell came, and a new hole formed in my heart where I thought I'd already had a nice silky scar to show for my old pain.

LIZ

I can't get enough of my beautiful surroundings.

It's a little chilly, but nothing a glass of wine can't overcome.

He fixes our drinks in the kitchen while I lean back in the lounge chair with my hands tucked in my pockets and listen to the rustling of the trees.

Somewhere nearby, chimes join in with the warm clinking of metal. How beautiful this place must be in the morning. Or the summer. Or any season.

I bet the ocean is close too.

Maybe this is what Rain had in mind when she said she'd love to live by the beach.

Maybe she wasn't thinking about him.

Maybe she was thinking about James.

Not him.

David.

Can you imagine waking up with him? Having breakfast in bed? Drinking coffee? Making a trip to the beach?

‘Haha… No one lives like that,' the voice inside my head mumbles, a bit groggy.

Maybe she has a hangover from not talking to me these past few hours.

‘I didn't miss you at all,' I toss back at her, and she makes a face at me.

‘You seemingly need me more than ever. You're wagging your tail at him harder than a puppy about to get a snack.'

‘Stop it.'

‘You stop it.'

Footsteps ring not far from me.

"Are you cold?" David asks, setting his glass of wine on the small table and handing me mine before pulling a lounge chair close and sitting next to me.

He claims his drink.

"No. I'm good," I say with a smile, shushing the voice in my head.

We clink our glasses, our eyes connected.

"You seem impressed," he says, and I tame my smile while bringing my drink to my lips and taking a sip.

"It's a beautiful place. What's the story behind it?"

"There's not much of a story," he says, evading my eyes.

He takes a swig and looks in the distance.

"Too bad," I comment. "I see you living here."

"You do?" he asks, amused.

"Yes."

He shifts his eyes to me.

"I can't live here."

"I didn't say you could. All I'm saying is, this place represents you."

"What about the hotel rooms?"

"They're fine. Comfortable. Impersonal. Lavish to a fault. But that can't be a permanent arrangement."

"Who says I'm looking for one?"

I smile, feeling the prick of apprehension.

" Touché. "

Noticing the abrupt change in my expression, he takes my hand.

"I don't want you to get too serious about this conversation."

I retrieve my hand.

"Who says I'm getting serious about this conversation? I wasn't talking about me."

He studies me intently.

"I wasn't," I say. "We were talking about living arrangements in general. I mean, look at me, for instance. My place is temporary as well. I even thought the other day about how nice it would feel if it weren't a temporary arrangement. If it was my place and it didn't have that dilapidated feel about it like no one was ever home."

I smile, and he laughs like it's a good joke.

"There is nothing dilapidated about it."

"I didn't say it was. But it could have some soul in it. But you can't put that in a house without putting people in there too."

The fascination in his stare makes me feel a little spoiled.

"Am I right?"

"Yes. You're right," he agrees.

I take a couple of seconds to fiddle with my drink.

"So how come…?"

My voice trails off before I change my mind, give up on my idea, and gesture dismissively.

"Never mind," I say.

His stare lingers on me.

"I bought the house because it was a good deal, and it looked perfect as a getaway place," he says in response to my silence.

"Oh…"

I sip more wine.

"What did you get away from?"

He pushes a smile to his lips.

"What do you usually get away from?"

‘Your mother when you lie to her,' the voice in my head promptly offers.

I wave her off.

"I've never found myself in that kind of situation," I say.

A knowing smile tilts his lips as he brings his drink to his mouth.

"Never?"

"Nuh-huh."

He empties his glass.

‘Liar,' the voice in my head says.

I ignore her.

His smile fades as we move to more serious talk.

"I needed some time for myself, and this appeared to be a great place to live at that moment."

The conversation stalls for a second.

"Did it work?"

He shifts his focus to me, a questioning look on his face.

"You living here?" I ask.

A distant, pensive look slides over his face.

"It actually did," he says, the emotional disconnect growing between us.

We've always kept our connection confined to the terms of our agreement.

But now, that agreement seems to unravel.

Even though we have the opportunity to tear that wall down, he pulls away from it at a dizzying pace.

I can't hide my disappointment, and frankly, what do I have to lose if I probe him further?

I'm the first to break the silence.

"We'll never talk about your past, it seems. Or will we?" I ask.

I expect him to evade my eyes and watch his coldness grow. Perhaps notice a tinge of anger.

Instead of all that, he holds my eyes with a warm glint, a smidgen of regret and wistfulness in his gaze, and what I'd call a pinch of fondness.

He sets his glass to the side and relaxes in his seat.

"Probably not," he says.

I like his honesty.

It's better than some phony story.

A lie would be insulting, although I have been quite a liar myself as of late.

"I don't want to pry or anything. It's just that…"

I stall.

"Yes?"

‘See what you get for not minding your business…' the voice in my head mutters.

And she's right.

I make a small gesture.

"I'm sorry. We shouldn't discuss this," I say, hiding behind my glass while sipping the rest of my drink.

He gently cuffs my wrist while I set my empty glass down.

"Why do you want to know about my past?" he asks quietly, not threatening in any way.

I give him a smile, feverishly seeking a way out.

"Writers are curious folks."

A throaty laugh makes it to his lips.

"I'm not talking about writers in general. Why do you want to know?" he presses further, and I sense it's important to him to know more about my motives.

I slump back in my seat and tip my head to the side to take him in.

His hand holds mine, and I find it endearing.

Swiftly I realize there is no way out, so I decide to speak the truth.

"I want to know what makes you who you are today," I say, and his eyes hold a glint of surprise. "Your past is shrouded in mystery. No one knows much about it. Not even Rain had much knowledge of it when she wrote the book."

Bringing up her name dims the brightness in his eyes.

His stare becomes dull and unreadable, and I'm quick to throw an apology at him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to ruin your mood."

He takes a long breath, more uncomfortable by the moment, which pulls me out of my comfort zone, making me run my mouth again.

"She's my only point of reference. And, I know… I know. I shouldn't be interested in stuff like that because it's an old story and has no relevance to us. I mean, me… Oh, forget about it."

Annoyed and embarrassed, I yank my hand out of his grip and push out of my seat. I wish I didn't bring it up.

The evening started up so nicely, and I had to unearth this old story to find out what?

The man was married. He had an affair or more. The marriage didn't work out for either of them. He got a divorce. And here he is, living his life and not wanting to get into that serious stuff again.

What's so hard to understand?

"Sit," he says, looking up and tilting his chin toward the lounge chair.

"I don't have anything else to say," I argue, gesturing softly.

"I said sit, Elizabeth," he tosses at me again, a faint smile on his lips.

Reluctantly, I lower myself into the chair and watch him watching me.

"You have the right to ask questions," he begins. "It has nothing to do with what we are to each other."

A few seconds pass, and his eyes go vacant as he revisits some moments from the past.

"I can't tell you everything about my past. Maybe I will one day… I don't know. Maybe we'll never get to that point. If we do, you'll know everything about me. Honestly, I never thought I'd get with someone to the point where I'd even consider giving them the whole story. The only things I can talk about right now are the ones Rain tangentially mentioned in her book. I was married when I met her, and she had no idea. We didn't discuss that. Not in the beginning, anyway. My marriage had already become an attrition war, and its days were numbered."

He pauses, gauging my reaction.

I look at him, stiff, trying not to judge.

"At that point, my wife and I were fighting for money and business assets more than to protect our feelings. There were no warm feelings between us. She had blackmailed me and tried to make me change my mind. I wanted a divorce. She didn't. Nothing seemed to work with her. Not refusing to share the bed with her. Not living a double life. And then Rain Morgan came along. And she became the woman I had on retainer. She was more than the random hookup I had in the past. My ex must've known about the others. And she probably knew about her too. I don't know how much she knew or if she was interested in meeting Rain in real life and understanding what was going on between us. Oddly, meeting Rain in real life had finally pushed her over the edge."