“If I can’t have you, then I’ll have to move on with someone else.”
I whispered, “I know.”
“You mentioned that you would be fine with it.”
I looked away.
“Is that true, Ivy?”
Of course I wouldn’t be fine with it. But I would be a shitty wife to you. Always suspecting you of cheating. Never trusting that you really love me. It would be chaotic.
“Ivy?”
I looked up at him. Sadness built in my chest.
“I don’t want to move on with some other woman. I want you.” He put on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and walked over to me. “I want you to be my wife. The mother of my kids. The woman that I grow old with.”
I tried to gulp down fear, but still it remained lodged in my throat.
He pressed his lips together and studied my face. “Talk to me.”
I squared my shoulders. “I. . .need time to. . .think.”
“That’s always better than no.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “But, tomorrow night, I won’t accept that answer.”
I frowned. Unlike any other Christmas, he was bold and unapologetic. His gaze bored into me, unraveling all my thoughts.
“Goodnight, Ivy. I love you.” He turned around and left.
Once again, I stared at the closed door, needing him to return. Flashes of my mother’s dead body dangled in front of me.
Get out of my head.
I rubbed my eyes and that vision of her remained. I shook my head and the view became clearer. Saint wasn’t my dad, and I wasn’t my mother. But it was hard to hold onto that truth. And even worse, it was hard to not see my face being held tight by that rope and my body being suspended in death.
What do I do? I’m too scared to say yes and too full of grief to say no. Why can’t I be as normal as Holly?
My friend fell into love with no worry of consequences. She was carefree and hopeful. Loving and accepting. She would get her happy ending because she raced for it.
And what about me?
I considered calling my therapist but knew she probably wouldn’t answer. It was Christmas Eve. Although I hated the holidays, many enjoyed them. She would probably be with family and loved ones.
What do I do?
Chapter 13
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I told myself that the moon’s glow and even the Northern Lights were keeping me up. But I knew it was my thoughts messing with me. Over and over visions of last night’s dreams played out like a bad horror movie. The people that I dared to love died over and over. The only constants were Holly and Saint.
By the middle of the night, I climbed out of bed and decided to take a warm bath to soothe my thoughts. Fucking Saint had exhilarated me. I wanted more. I had enough energy for several more rounds of his cock thrusting and pumping. But he wouldn’t have it, due to his new policy of stipulations.
I have to go to sleep. A hot bath will get me there.
I started the water, poured liquid soap into the tub, and assessed it. There were buttons on the side that had an image of a chair with hot or cold written. That was when I noticed the white backrest at the end of the tub. I assumed the buttons would control the temperature of the backrest. Then, I spotted jets on the inside of the tub to make bubbles.
This is what I need. A nice relaxing bath.
As the tub filled, I relaxed and took off my clothes. Thick trails of steam rose out of the bubbling water. Even with the chill in the air, I knew the bath would feel like heaven.
Sometimes a bath was all I needed to figure out the craziest things. I’d come up with major design collections from sitting in the tub. I’d even decided on my college from soaking in the water.
Let’s hope this helps with Saint. I have to figure out a way to compromise with him. I can’t. . .lose him. . .not completely.
I dipped my toes into the water. The sudden sensation of heat prickled at my toe. I stepped all the way in. The water engulfed my whole leg. A sigh of pleasure left me. I climbed all the way in and sank within the warm liquid. Layers of shimmering bubbles floated on the surface. Steam rose around me.
“Yes.” I leaned against the backrest, let out a long breath, and closed my eyes. “God, I needed this.”
There was a soothing nature to water. I’d read an article that water could relax us in so many ways. Seeing moving water triggered a response in humans’ brains that induced a flood of neurochemicals—ones that increased blood flow to the brain and heart. The sound of the waves crashing could even alter the brain’s wave patterns and put a person in a meditative state. And just being near water supposedly reduced anxiety, increased happiness, and lowered the heart rate. Perhaps water had that effect on humans because we needed it for our survival. The liquid made up seventy percent of our body. Due to that, there was a deep biological connection between our brains and water.
Exactly what I needed.
All tension left my shoulders.
I relaxed in the water and let my negative emotions float off with the bubbles.
I must have drifted off to sleep in the tub because an odd sound filled the air—one that couldn’t be real. Music played. It sounded like a music box tune uncoiling on copper springs. I opened my eyes and the whole bathroom was dark.
Wait! What happened to the light?
A haunting green glow flickered along the doorway to the bedroom. And that music continued. It sounded like violins. And then children’s laughter rode the notes. Then the children spoke. I couldn’t make out any of the words. It was the mumblings of hushed notes.
What the hell is going on?
I rose from the bath and tried to grab the towel next to me. My hand went through it. I screamed and jumped back.
“No.” I shook my head and looked down at my body. I wore those same white pajamas. “Not again. This can’t be happening again.”
I looked back to the tub. My physical body was still in the water. My eyes were cold. A peaceful expression covered my face. Bubbles surrounded me like a white blanket.
“No. No. No.” I backed up. “This is not happening again. It’s not fucking happening again!”
A sweet male voice sounded from my bedroom. “Ivy, come.”
“What the fuck?”
“It’s time for your lesson.”
“Another lesson. That can’t be right.” I paced back and forth in the bathroom, refusing to go to where the voice was. “Another dream. Mom said in the first dream that I would get three ghosts. And it’s. . .happening. How? I figured this was just all bad dreams, but—”
“Ivy.”
I froze.
These aren’t dreams. These aren’t dreams.
“Ivy.”
Shaking, I stepped forward, noticing the odd glow of my feet. I held my hands in front of me. This time, they held a copper glow.
I entered my room. Lit candles covered the entire floor. Small, shadowed children danced along the wall, pirouetting, leaping, and twirling.
I widened my eyes and gaped at a huge man in front of me.
“There we go.” With outstretched arms, he stood in the center of the candles, wearing a bright green robe. White fur outlined the sleeves and some of the front. A black belt tied it all together. A crown of flowers and evergreen branches covered his head. He had black dreadlocks. Some of them were bunched up and braided on the side.