I wonder if he can see the guilt on my face so I bend my head to rinse. I take the towel he holds out to me and wipe my mouth.
“Are you going to fix the lock?” I ask.
“No.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Should I?” It’s a rhetorical question. “Do you trust me, Isabelle?”
I don’t answer.
“I didn’t think so,” he says after a moment. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Matty’s little blanket. I look at it, my heart pounding. He can’t know it’s Matty’s. How could he?
I slowly turn my gaze up to his. His eyes narrow but he doesn’t speak.
“Come,” he says, tucking the blanket back into his pocket.
I let him lead me out of my bathroom and through the door to his bedroom where he undresses me carefully looking me over as he does. I see the furrow between his eyebrows, the intensity in his gaze.
“I can do this,” I say once I’m standing in my underwear.
His gaze shifts to my breasts which are already fuller, more tender. He sets his giant hand against my stomach. It spans the whole of it.
I think about what he’s done with those hands. Who he’s hurt. How he’s threatened to cut off the hands of any man who touches me. Would he hurt Julia if he knew what she gave me? Would he hurt her if he knew one of the men Carlton hired to protect her shoved me like he did? Would he cut off their hands?
When I look back up at him, he’s studying me intently.
What a pair we make.
Enemies. Lovers. Secret keepers.
He picks up Christian’s T-shirt and tugs it over my head. Spinning me around, my back is pulled into his front, and his hand moves possessively over my stomach once more.
He pushes my hair back from my ear, kisses my cheek, my neck. He brings his mouth to my ear. “You lied to me,” he whispers.
I shudder. When I try to pull away, to turn to face him, he doesn’t let me.
“You and I have many enemies, Isabelle. And they’re ruthless. You give them an advantage when you lie to me.”
I turn my head enough to look at his face. “Will you hurt me when the baby is born?”
He shakes his head.
“Will you take him or her from me?”
“Don’t be her fool.”
“She said you threatened Matty.” His face is unreadable. “Is it true?”
“I won’t hurt a child. You have to ask me that?” He releases me and I sit down. My legs feel wobbly. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing. Just that,” I lie again. Second time tonight. It’s getting easier.
“Right. Maybe I’ll ask her myself,” he says.
“You scared her.”
“Did I? If she was scared of me, how did she pull her trick tonight?”
I open my mouth, close it. He’s right about that. Why would she come to the theater? Bring Matty? How did she even know I’d be there? Maybe I mentioned it a long time ago? Maybe Paul told her. I don’t know.
“She’s fucking with you, Isabelle. With us,” he says.
“Us?”
“And it’s working.” He takes Matty’s blanket out of his pocket. “Maybe I’ll return this. Remind her to stay the fuck away from my family.”
He takes a step toward the door, and I jump to my feet. My brain barely registering his use of the word family. I grab his arm with both of my hands. “You can’t hurt them. They’re my family. Please!”
He looks down at where I’m holding onto him, my hands curled like claws around his bicep. He faces me, tugging both of my hands behind me, forcing my chest to jut up and into his.
“I don’t hurt children.”
“What about women?” I ask.
He stops at that. “Have I hurt you?”
I falter.
“I could have. Maybe I should have.” He walks me back to the bed. “But have I hurt you, Isabelle?”
I shake my head.
He nods as if my answer means something. He pulls me to his side, draws the blankets back. “Get in bed.”
His phone buzzes and he releases me to read the message. I sit again. Draw my knees up to my chest. When he looks up from his phone his expression has changed, a crease of worry between his eyebrows.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s been a long night,” he says and tucks the blankets over me.
“What are you going to do?” I ask when he moves away.
He turns, studies me. “Not visit your cousin if that will help you sleep.”
I exhale in relief.
He sees it and I can tell it irritates him. He comes back to me, touches my cheek with the knuckles of one hand, then cups the back of my head. His fingers intertwine with my hair and he rubs my skull. He could do it to hurt but he’s not. He’s taking care.
Kid gloves. It’s what Julia had said.
“You just worry about one thing, Isabelle. Just one thing.” I swallow and he brings his mouth to my cheek, kisses it, then whispers: “Whatever you do, do not betray me.”
I can’t sleep. I’m not sure if it’s my conversations with both Jericho and Julia or the fact that with the anniversary coming, I’m anxious about the dream. I don’t have it often, just a few times a year. The last time was in bed with Jericho and I don’t want a repeat. But I know the pattern. My mind seems to ramp up the frequency in the weeks leading up to that night.
Jericho left over an hour ago. He took his little sports car. I wish I could get ahold of Julia, although I believe him when he says he’s not going to see her. I don’t know why but I do. Still, I should warn her that he knows she was there. I go into my bathroom, open the drawer where I’d dropped the pills. If he knew what she gave me, what would he do to her? He would hurt her. I’m sure of it.
I should flush them now. Get rid of them. Keep her safe. I have no intention of using them. But for some reason I don’t. Instead, I tuck them into a zipped pocket in my violin case and head back to the bedroom. I dress in a pair of jeans, a warm wool sweater, and sneakers. I make my way down the stairs to the kitchen where I open the drawer I’ve seen a flashlight in. I take it out, check the batteries, then leave through the kitchen door.
If I wasn’t pregnant, would Jericho feel as possessive when it comes to me? Would he be so careful?
I think of his non-answer when I asked him if he’d take the baby from me. Or maybe that silence is the answer.
Once I’ve cleared the patio and the pool area and am almost in the woods, I switch on the flashlight. A cool wind blows tonight, and the sky is clear for a change. I draw the sleeves of my sweater down to my hands and hurry toward the chapel. I’m grateful for the sneakers on my feet. I know what to expect in these woods.
It’s not Jericho’s actions that have me out here on this midnight stroll. It’s Julia’s words. You should read their history. Your future is written in it.
I will read them tonight. I don’t know why I haven’t yet. I’d forgotten about the book on the altar of the small chapel.
The air is still and cold when I reach the graveyard. I glance around. Part of me wants to go back to the house. Get back into his bed. Feel safe even if that safety is false at worst, temporary at best.