Blaire
Sunday 4.35pm
Hot tears are stinging at my eyes as I watch him walk out of the door. I don’t know whether to run after him and tell him I’m sorry or to stay where I am and silently lament I just hurt him.
I’m still not even sure of what just happened. One minute he was devouring me, completely obsessed by bringing me pleasure, the next he was talking about, what exactly? Having a relationship?
I stare up at the ornate detailing on the ceiling and try to unscramble my thoughts.
Does he want a relationship? Is that what he was saying? He wouldn’t make the same mistakes if we were in a relationship?
I groan and slap a hand to my face. Did I just accidentally misunderstand him and reject him?
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter to the empty room.
I do not want things to end like this. But I can’t make him any promises either. Kent wouldn’t think twice about making things difficult for me.
If he finds out I spent the weekend with Luther, even if we were separated, I don’t even want to think about what he’d try to pull.
I stay where I am, trying to figure out if Luther was even serious until the shadows grow longer and I start to shiver.
I grab my dress and underwear and hastily pull them on, wondering how on earth I seemed to have offended him so deeply.
Is it possible he was really expecting this to continue? Even after I told him about my divorce not being final?
I pull my slingbacks on and creep out into the hallway, hoping to hear some sound of him.
In a horrendous moment of panic, I find my breathing starting to increase as I try to tamper down my anxiety.
He could be anywhere. And if I pissed him off, he may not resurface until the ferry docks tomorrow morning.
I don’t need my watch to tell me that it’s early evening. I cross the hallway and head into the kitchen, hoping and praying he’ll be in there making himself some dinner.
But it’s as eerily quiet as the rest of the castle. Trying to keep the panic at bay is becoming increasingly difficult as I hurry from room to room, checking the empty castle for signs he’s still here.
Tears are burning at my eyes as I chastise myself for being so pathetic. I’m a grown woman. I should be able to reason this away. I should be able to handle being by myself without turning into a co-dependant basket case.
With a hideous jolt of self-realization, I see how easy it was for Kent to worm his way into my life.
I was so desperate for someone to keep me safe, to stave off the anxiety, I accepted his proposal without fully stopping to consider I was marrying him so I’d never be alone.
Is that why I was so eager to sleep with Luther?
I stop directly in front of the front door and stare through the glass in the door. I wrench my neck, trying to see the camera, but I can’t see through the tears blurring my eyes.
I need to take ownership of this. I went after him. I let myself believe this was going to be okay.
I let myself believe this was about lust. But it’s not. It went past lust the second I told him why I was afraid.
But that thought leads to another thought. One I’m not sure I want to consider right now.
Did I tell him the truth because I cared for him? Or was it because I didn’t think I’d see him again?
Either way, I need to find him and at least try to talk to him before the ferry arrives tomorrow.
Trouble is, in a place this big, if he doesn’t want to be found, that will be damn near impossible.
***
Luther
I’m officially out of the assigned jobs, so to keep my hands busy, and to keep from thinking about her, I go ahead and start cleaning out the storage space at the back of the third floor.
I pour all my effort into tearing the paper off the walls, filling the time, filling the space between us as much as I can.
A piece of drywall comes off in my hands and I cough as dust and flakes of mortar spill into the air.
I grab my flashlight and check inside to make sure the wiring is sound and grimace as I catch sight of the grey insulation.
I jerk my hand back, hold my breath and back away. I close the door and release my breath, my hand sliding to my pocket.
Jake is not going to like this. Not one bit. I dial and as usual, he picks up right on the first ring.
“Problem?”
I smirk at the wall. “You might have asbestos.”
He curses down the line. “Where?”
I carry on walking towards my room. I need to get my gear out. “Used as insulation on the third floor. Backroom.”
I snatch up my bag as he continues to curse. “What were you doing back there? That was next month’s job.”
I sling my pack over my shoulder and head downstairs, trying to think of what to say. “I was ahead of schedule.”
He grunts. “You didn’t tell the writer about any of the problems right?”
I frown as I reach the second floor. “Why would I do that?”
He breathes down the phone. “Yeah. Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to. This is the worst possible time. Mary’s gone and booked the place out for a wedding next week.”
I drop my bag and lean against the wall. “It needs to be tested.”
“I know that,” he snaps.
I can almost hear his desperation. He has everything riding on this. And I just keep heaping on the bad news.
“Look. Just keep this to yourself, okay? I’ll let Mary know after the wedding.”
I know I should argue harder. If it is asbestos, it’s a health hazard. But my argument dies when I think about all the things I’ve done this weekend without his knowledge or his okay.
I need to tidy the two bedrooms Blaire and I messed up before he gets here. That means stripping the bed, washing and drying them before he and Mary arrive tomorrow.
I’d feel guiltier if I wasn’t half convinced he’s trying to hide something from me and from his wife.
Something I’m sure has to do with the boathouse. I can’t afford to get caught up in something illegal.
“Sure. I’ll leave it to you to tell her.”
He takes a breath. “I don’t want any more surprises.”
My jaw works as I stare at a new crack on the wall. “Whatever you say.”
He ends the call without a word leaving me wondering if this will be the last weekend I spend on the island.
Because if he looks on the security tape, a surprise is exactly what he’ll get.
***
Blaire
Sunday 6.16pm
After hours of searching, I finally find him back in the pool house, where this mess all started from one scorching kiss.
He’s bending over the water, a dipstick in his hand as he scoops the water out and tests it.
He’s so focused on what he’s doing he doesn’t notice me until I’m right in front of him.
His eyes narrow as if he’s annoyed I finally found him. I know he wants to leave this hanging, but I’ll be damned if I let him leave this unresolved.
“I need to explain,” I begin.
He rises to his feet and shrugs. “Nothing to explain.”
My frustration only grows as he packs up his tools and looks ready to walk out the side door.
I grab his arm and he scowls at me. “Don’t do this.”
My fingers slip from his skin. “Do what? Try to figure out why you’re so incredibly frustrating?”
He doesn’t react, so I step closer, feeling my heart start to jump against my ribs. “Were you planning on avoiding me until the ferry shows up? Then what? We’d keep pretending we don’t know each other?”
His posture grows tenser. “I wasn’t planning on going back on the morning ferry with you.”
A stone drops to my stomach. “Oh.”
He shifts his weight to one foot. “I figured it was better to stay out of sight until you’d gone. I thought that would be easier for you.”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to that. It would be easier for me. Easier than having to tell Mary we had sex. A lot of sex.
But is easier what I really want? I stare at him, taking in the set to his shoulders, the intensity in his eyes, and can’t help but think about the tortured man lurking beneath the rough exterior.
Is the possibility of losing the house really worth hurting him even more than I appear to have done already?
My conscience is tickling at me as he meets my gaze. Every emotion under the sun is brewing in those eyes.
“What if I don’t want it easy?”
His eyebrow lifts and a faint smile twitches at his lips. “Not following.”
I know I’m taking a chance, and I know it’ll hurt like hell if I’m wrong, but I can’t just pretend this meant nothing to me.
I take a shuddering breath and step back so my spine is pressed against the wall. I can’t look at him, so I stare at my feet. “Is that so hard to believe? That I like your company enough to want to keep seeing you?”
He doesn’t say anything, but he’s not leaving either which I half expected him to have done by now. I sneak a look up at him, heart in my throat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
His voice comes out ragged. “Mary was right. You are sweet. Too sweet for a screw up like me.”
Heat creeps over my cheeks, a jolt of annoyance forming as my throat tightens. “What are you saying? You want to just forget this weekend happened?”
His jaw works before he crosses his arms. “I don’t want to forget it happened. But I can’t go down this road right now. I know where it leads and I won’t do that do you.”
My hands start to tremble as molten lava floods my veins. “What the hell are you talking about?”
His gaze remains steely. “Nothing you could understand. That’s why it’s better we just let this die a natural death.”
I’m so angry, so irritated at his lack of commitment I spew the first words that form on my tongue. “You’re a coward.”
He flinches and I know I struck a nerve when his lip curls. “Call me what you like. This is where we end.”
He stomps past me and this time, I’m so angry, I don’t bother to chase after him.
I gave him a chance and he blew it. As far as I’m concerned, this weekend was a pleasant mistake, I will not be repeating.
No longer hungry, I trudge out the door and hurry up the stairs. Now in a foul mood, I toss my clothes into my suitcase, and even though it’s ridiculously early, I take a sleeping pill and climb into bed.
I toss and turn for a few minutes before I give up and switch the light back on. I pull my laptop across my legs, plump up the pillows behind me and decide to boost my word count.
I refuse to let this weekend be a complete waste of time. Even if Luther proved to be an insufferable bastard, at least I can give my characters a happy ending.
I type frantically, not bothering to look over what I’ve written and don’t stop until my eyelids are drooping and my hands are aching.
With a snort of disgust at myself for getting so invested in Luther after only two days, I close my laptop and let myself relax back against the pillows.
My eyes flutter, my body twitches and with the light still on, I fall into a disjointed sleep.
Somewhere between a dream about Luther swimming in the pool and waking, I hear a piercing scream.
Still fumbling to find wakefulness, I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to figure out the origin of the noise.
When I think I hear the sound of feet moving upstairs, I throw the covers off myself and stalk across the cool bedroom floor.
Still barefooted, I open my door a crack and look upwards to see if the sound of Luther yelling is coming from above me.
I hear nothing but my own heart for a minute before I hear Luther’s raised voice coming not from above me but from the end of the hall.
I creep out of my room and cautiously walk along the hallway, keeping my hand on the stone as a guide.
The floorboards creak under my feet, and I freeze, heart pounding as I try to listen for signs Luther heard me.
When nothing moves, I keep walking until I’ve reached the door and press my ear against it.
I can make out muttering as if Luther is talking to himself. I strain in the dark, afraid to move but afraid he’ll harm himself if I leave him to his night terrors.
Hot fear blazes through me when his voice shatters the silence. “Let her fucking go!”
With a shuddering breath, I wrap my trembling fingers around the door handle and unlike the first night I heard him scream, I push the door open and gingerly step inside.