I hold onto her, watching her. She’s calling for her brother.
“You’re having a dream, Isabelle. A bad dream. You’re safe.”
She watches me as I speak, eyes coming into focus on my face, then around me, taking in the surroundings. Her body goes limp as she remembers.
“Let me go.”
I nod. Slowly release her. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She looks away, wipes her eyes. She pushes the blanket off her legs.
“Where are you going?”
“My room.”
When she moves to stand, I set a hand on her arm to stop her. “You need a glass of water.”
“I’m fine. Let me go.” She won’t look at me.
I get up. “Stay,” I tell her and go into the bathroom to get her a glass of water.
Remarkably when I return, she’s still sitting there. Her eyes are red and she’s trying to hide the fact she was crying.
“Here,” I say, holding out the water.
She takes it, drinks one sip and hands it back. I set it aside.
“Can I go now?” she asks not quite looking at me.
“You’ll sleep in my bed tonight.”
She glares up at me. “I thought you weren’t interested in sleep.”
Ah. She has a good memory. I smile. “Lie down.”
She does, careful to lie on her side. She lays her cheek on her hands and closes her eyes.
I tuck the blanket around her and climb in on my side, setting one arm over her waist hoping to anchor her.
“Is it the night of the break in?” I ask a few moments later.
“I don’t remember.”
Lie.
“Do you have it often?” I ask after a minute. “The nightmare?”
“Please don’t pretend to care.” She tries to tug free, but I draw her closer.
“Do you?”
“Why? Are you worried it’ll disrupt your sleep cycle?”
“I know how terrifying it can be to feel helpless in sleep.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“I’m sure proximity to you brought it on so if you’re really concerned—”
“Right.” I shake my head. “Goodnight, Isabelle. If you need me—”
“I won’t.”
“Right.”
Isabelle is still sleeping when I wake the next morning. Her back is to me, the silhouette of her soft and curving, her hands still tucked beneath her cheek, hair a long, black river spilling over the pillow, the blanket covering her hip, long legs exposed and beautiful.
I don’t move just yet. I take her in. Then I study the tattoo. My work. My mark on her. Santiago’s design. He’s very good. The twin dragons face one another, mouths open, locked in battle and embracing at once. It’s in their eyes, that connection. Their powerful bodies split and spiral her spine erasing the scar, the devil’s tail dipping into the curve of her lower back and disappearing into the cleft of her ass.
Fuck.
I’m hard at the sight of it. At the thought of her last night. Of how she looked on her knees, ass offered to me. How she felt, how warm and wet and tight she was.
Fuck.
But then later, that nightmare, her thrashing about. I make a mental note to find out more details of that night. Learn if the police report left anything out.
But now is not the time. I have things to do, and they don’t involve fucking my wife. Not until after.
She doesn’t stir as I slip out of the bed but even after my shower, she hasn’t moved. Her body must be exhausted after what it was made to endure, not to mention her mind. Her emotions.
I watch her as I dress, study her face in sleep. Soft and relaxed, eyelashes thick and heavy, lips parted just a little, her breathing deep. I scribble a note for her on a piece of paper and leave it on the nightstand. I go downstairs and find Angelique eating breakfast with my mother.
“Daddy,” she says with a big smile on her face when she sees me.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I tell her realizing last night I never kissed her goodnight. Neither did Isabelle. Broke her promise. Broke my own. Not a night has gone by that I haven’t kissed my daughter goodnight when I’ve been home.
I walk toward her, kiss her forehead when she turns her face up to mine.
“Where is Belle?” she asks sweetly.
I’m irritated at her nickname of Isabelle but remind myself she’s a little girl infatuated by the idea of the princesses in her storybooks. That’s all. “She’s still sleeping. She’s tired after yesterday.”
“Can I wake her up after breakfast?”
I glance to my mother. “After your lessons, all right? We should give Isabelle time to sleep but you can spend time with her this afternoon.”
Angelique’s shoulders slump. “I don’t need lessons. Not with mean Mrs. Strand,” she says under her breath.
“Now, that’s not nice,” my mother says.
“I want Belle to teach me music,” Angelique says.
“What?” I ask.
“It looks so pretty in her notebooks, daddy. And she’s going to play her violin for me.”
“Is she?”
Angelique nods. “Can she teach me?”
“We’ll see.”
She sighs. She already knows what those words mean but now I’m curious what Isabelle has told my daughter.
“Are you going to work?” she asks me. I often wonder what she thinks it is I do. And if other five-year-olds are so attentive. But she’s not like other five-year-olds I remind myself. Her life is so very different from theirs.
“I have a few meetings.”
“Will you teach me how to swim later? You said you would.”
I did that afternoon I’d found Isabelle and her in the water and lost my shit. “Yes,” I say. “When I’m home.”
“Really?”
“Really. I promise.”
She smiles wide and picks up her stuffed bear to pretend feed him a spoonful of cereal.
I pick up a mug and fill it with coffee.
“Zeke up?” I ask my mom.
“He’s in his office.”
“You two have a good morning,” I tell them before kissing the top of Angelique’s head and walking out of the dining room toward Zeke’s office. I knock on the door, and he calls out for me to enter.
“Morning, brother,” he says, looking me over.
“Good morning,” I say, closing the door.
He leans back in his seat and studies me. “How is she?”
Am I irritated he asks about her? Maybe. “Asleep.”
Tension is high as I sip my coffee and we study each other.
“You know I don’t want Angelique anywhere near IVI,” I tell him.
“But you are a part of IVI. She is a part of it whether you like it or not. Did you really think to keep the wedding a secret from her?”
I take a deep breath in and move to sit down in one of the chairs across his desk. I set my coffee down.
“I don’t know what the fuck I thought,” I admit. I shake my head. “Maybe it was too soon to bring her home.”
“No, not too soon. If anything, you’re five years too late. She should have been here from the start. But she’s here now. And she’s safe, brother. You need to start loosening your grip. You can’t control everything.”