Shadows of the Past Page 11

  “So you think we won’t care anymore?”

  “No, that’s not it. It’s more that we’ll see what’s next. Hindsight is 20/20. I think we’ll be able to look back and see everything, but no one wants to embrace pain. So we move forward, to whatever’s next. Death is a change, a transformation from one part of life to another.” He’s quiet for a moment. I feel his gaze on my face and I know he’s wondering whom I lost.

  "I wish I could believe that with the conviction you do. I feel faithless because I’m not sure of anything anymore." I wish I could believe my girls hadn't seen my actions after their death. I wish they weren't ashamed of me. I've done so many things trying to forget my pain.

  How can they understand that? They were babies.

  Oliver kisses the top of my head. "Hey, life is filled with heartbreaking stuff. I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, but I hear the remorse in your voice. I’ve been there, Kayla. I’ve beat myself up for things that I had no control over—"

  I cut him off. “I had control over this. I chose wrong. I was wrong. What I did—” I swallow back my words as I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Let’s just say that I’m not a good person.”

  “Kayla?” I don’t look at him, so Oliver bumps my shoulder. When I glance up from under my lashes, I feel raw—exposed. “I see who you are and there is no way you’re a bad person.”

  My heart pounds harder. I want to believe him. “How do you know that?”

  Oliver lifts a piece of hair from my temple and tucks it behind my ear. His hand drops to my shoulder and lingers for a beat.

  “Because I see you. That night at the pub, there was something about you. I think you noticed too—we both went through something horrible. You’re a kind, caring person. I see her lost under the surface, trying to find her way back out.”

  I speak without thinking about what comes next. I just say it. “It’s scary, trying to find my way back. I feel half alive at times. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like the part of me that makes me Kayla is lost inside, and my body is just going through the motions.”

  “Sometimes all we can do is breathe.”

  When he says that, I glance up at him. My heart beats harder when I realize we understand each other more than I would have thought. “I’ve said that same thing on days when things are horrible—just breathe and the rest will come—the thing is, the rest never came.”

  “Give it time.” He places his hand on my shoulder and smiles at me. “And in the meantime, if you need a release for your urges, I’m here.” He grins as he teases.

  "Yeah, I'll do that," I say, laughing along with him. I have to stop to yawn, and Oliver's eyes soften.

  He disentangles himself from me, standing and running a hand through his hair. "Do you think you can sleep now? Or should I search for more attack birds?"

  "I think I'm fine." I start to get up, to see him out, but he stops me.

  "No, stay there. I can find my room." He grins, taking any sting out of the words and I nod. Oliver walks over to the door, opening it just before he says, "Sweet dreams, American Girl."

  He leaves before I can return the sentiment, closing the door softly behind him, and I collapse back into my pillows. His cologne lingers on the sheets, and I fall asleep to the scent of him.

  CHAPTER 22

  When my eyes open, it's morning. I feel rested for the first time in years. I either need to buy myself luxury castle pillows or a bottle of Oliver's cologne. Or both. Despite the evil bird, last night may have been my best night of sleep ever. Just the memory of how terrified I was of that tiny little beast makes my face flame red.

  I roll over, plant my face in the pillow and groan. Oh God. I went to Oliver for help. My knight in shining armor... who I desperately want to roll around with in between the sheets.

  Today is going to be super awkward. When I lift my head, I notice the time and leap out of bed. It's getting late. I'm surprised he hasn't knocked on the door yet.

  I take the quickest bath possible, and then dig through the bag of things I brought with me, trying to find something to wear. Just as I finish swiping lip-gloss across my mouth, there's a knock on the door.

  “Hey, Ollie,” I smirk, remembering how playful he was last night. Much like me, he looks casual in a navy blue sweater and dark wash jeans. He smiles at me, his gaze traveling from the top of my head—where my hair is in a messy bun—down to my brown suede boots.

  "Morning, Ornithophobic Girl."

  “Ortha-what-now?” I glance over at him as I pick up my ring and slip it on my finger.

  “It means you’re afraid of our fine feathered friends.”

  I smile broadly. “Ah, you mean the flying rat that tried to kill me last night.”

  “Case in point. I believe the score is two for Oliver and zero for Kayla.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and throw my hip out.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “One for saving you from a beast of undetermined origin, and two for saving you from a bird.”

  I wave a hand at him and walk over to the door, grabbing my keycard. “You’re insane. That was one save, not two.”

  He follows me out and we stop as I pull the door shut. We’re on the tiny landing and he’s so close. The corner of Oliver’s mouth tips up.

  “I think not. Saving a woman from a poltergeist is worth more than one point. I could have died. I didn’t even have a stick!”

  I laugh and duck past him.

  “I wouldn’t advertise that.”

  “Oh, dear God, not this again.” Oliver laughs behind me as we head down the stairs.

  Thoughts of the night I met him rush back, making me hyper-aware of how close he is to me. Distance. Add some distance.

  Ducking my head so he can't see me blush, I race in front of him, taking the stairs two at a time once we’re on the main staircase. Oliver has to lengthen his own strides to keep up with me and just as I reach the bottom step his hand curls around my bicep, gently pulling me to a stop.

  Oliver clears his throat, one eyebrow raised and I turn quickly to face the other direction so he doesn't see the feelings I'm sure are clear in my eyes. He takes my hand and changes the subject, providing me a chance to compose myself.

  “What’s up with you this morning?” He looks down at me with those sexy blue eyes and I want to melt in his arms, hug him, cry, and maybe lick his chest.

  The thought shocks me and my spine straightens. I blink rapidly like someone dumped ice down my back. “Nothing.” My voice comes out way too high-pitched and breathy.

  “Uh huh.” He looks at me, and for a second I feel like everything will be all right. There’s something about Oliver that makes me feel protected and peaceful. I haven’t smiled so much in years, and the laughter has been amazing. I don’t want to ruin it, but the pull I feel toward him is growing stronger, and it’s not the sexual kind of tugging like on the first night. Yes, he’s hot, but it’s more than that. He’s a hot body and a kind heart.

  For a second I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. We’ve come so close together and his hand is still on my wrist, when he says, "Fancy a bit of shopping?"

  I blink and step back, “What?”

  “Shopping,” he tips his head toward the side like there’s a shop on the other side of the wall. “My treat. What do you say?”

  "Am I a girl?"

  Oliver opens his mouth, no doubt already armed with some witty remark. “Don’t!”

  “But you walked right into it!”

  I wave a finger in his face and smile, hard. “Leave it alone, Ollie.”

  He makes a face. “You exasperate me at times.”

  I lean in and peck him on the cheek. Before I can back away, he’s suddenly serious and his hands are on my arms.

  “What was that for?”

  “For coming into my room to battle a banshee in the middle of the night.” I walk away, heading toward the breakfast room. When I glance over my shoulder, Oliv
er is standing still with his hand on his cheek, covering my kiss like it’ll float away.

  CHAPTER 23

  Several hours later, we've perused an open market filled with treasures unlike any of the farmer's markets my mom took Shannon and me through on Long Island.

  Endless bins of fresh fruits are manned by burly farmers in crisp, clean aprons, each yelling, “Buy your fruits here! Two pound per flat!"

  We pass butchers, their products freshly cut and displayed out in the open, no sneeze-guards to be found, and people queued up eight deep to buy their meat for the week. It’s weird how differently people live on this side of the world. Americans like to preserve everything and wrap it in plastic. It’s like eating formaldehyde.

  “Look here,” Oliver pulls me over to a stand with different cheeses. They have some samples displayed on wood trays and a few are on a piece of slate with ice underneath.

  “Try this, it’s really good—if you like cheese.” Oliver points to a light yellow, dryish looking cheese that resembles pale cheddar.

  I smirk. “I love cheese, but my favorite isn’t very, well, honestly, it’s a cheap cheese, Oliver.”

  He watches me, trying not to laugh. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at me from under those dark lashes.

  “And this favorite of all the cheeses in the world, well, it wouldn’t be American cheese, by chance?”

  I burst out laughing. “I’m uncultured and the idea of eating fermented food is disgust—” I don’t get to finish talking because Oliver shoves the chunk of cheese in my mouth.

  My eyes widen and I chew once, then twice. The panicked look on my face fades as a buttery smoothness turns to heaven in my mouth. I close my eyes and moan. “That is so good.”

  “Well, we need to buy some of that.” He asks the woman how much and pays her before she puts the cheese in a little mesh sack and hands it to us.

  “Seriously? We’re walking around with cheese all day?”

  “I’m never putting this down. Did you see your face? This is magic cheese.”

  “Why?”

  He turns and hooks his arm in mine, and whispers in my ear, “I thought you noticed, love—instant orgasm.” I slap his arm and pull away, laughing. “I’m going to keep a hunk of this in my pants at all times.”

  I tease, “Don’t get me started on what you should have in your pants.”

  “Cheese, obviously.” He smirks at me before leading me to see more of the market.

  Mixed in between the food stalls, other merchants sell antique jewelry, books, and touristy clothing. I purchase a royal blue pashmina and loop it around my neck the way I've seen other women wear them in London.

  When we've finished with the open stalls, we window-shop the surrounding stores. We pass quaint bakeries, quirky coffee shops, and a variety of pubs and restaurants including the Indian food restaurant we dined at last night. I pause at a salon built inside what looks like a little greenhouse.

  Unconsciously, I reach up to feel the bulk of hair I carelessly pulled on top of my head this morning, imagining doing something different to it. I haven't even trimmed my hair in the four years I've been in Europe. Truthfully, I haven't done anything to it since before I got pregnant. It's crazy long, heavy, and takes forever to do anything with.

  "Don't cut it." It's as if Oliver can hear my thoughts.

  "What?"

  He steps forward and his hand comes out like he's going to touch my hair before he drops it back to his side. "You looked like you were thinking about cutting it." He shrugs. "Your hair is gorgeous. You shouldn't cut it."

  "Seriously? Are you forbidding me from cutting my hair? You know I’ll cut it just because you told me not to, right?" The fact that he likes my hair, that he says it's gorgeous causes a warm feeling to spread through my chest.

  Oliver is fidgeting now and it's hard for me to hide my glee. He always seems so collected, and never unsure of himself. "I'm not that silly. I wasn’t forbidding, just requesting you don't and making an argument to save your locks."

  “Well, then, we’ll have to see.” Without waiting for his reply, I step into the shop.

  “Wait, what are you going to do?” Oliver lingers on the other side of the door like he can’t come inside. I wave at him through the glass. He makes a face and kicks a rock.

  I turn around and tell the girl at the desk what I want her to do. It takes a little longer than I’d thought. I feel kind of bad about that, but when I walk outside he's still there. Oliver is leaning against the wall waiting for me and holding two cups of cocoa.

  The stylist only cut off about two and a half inches from the bottom and added lots of layers. It feels much lighter and I no longer look like a sit-com monster. I had it washed and styled, so now instead of the knot on top of my head, it falls down my back in gentle waves.

  I turn in a slow circle before speaking.

  "Does it meet your approval? Still long enough for you?"

  "Kayla," he stops to clear his throat, "it looks beautiful, but then it always does. Even when you try to hide it." He's completely serious and I was expecting him to say some smart-assy back.

  “Thanks. My hair isn’t hanging in my face anymore, and look,” I point to my hair, “she added some chunky bangs.”

  “You look beautiful. She did a nice job. Are you glad you cut it?”

  “Yes.” I beam and look over at him, feeling totally awesome. “Are you glad it’s still long?”

  “Yes, very glad.”

  I smile as we walk back up the street, sipping our drinks and window-shopping. By the time we reach the other end it's late afternoon. I had such a good time; I didn't realize how quickly time was passing.

  Oliver checks his watch like he didn't realize it either. "We'd better get back to the castle," he says finally. "We have to leave shortly."

  CHAPTER 24

  When we walk up, the helicopter is sitting on the lawn where it dropped us off yesterday. Oliver leaves me to speak with Liam and collect our bags. Soon, we're on our way back to London and I can’t say I’m excited. I don't want to go back to reality.

  "Hey," Oliver says, cupping my cheek and turning me to face him. "We'll come back again. There's plenty more I want to show you."

  That’s sweet, but I need to run soon. I won't let my past catch up with me. I don’t know what to say so I nod and smile.

  The trip back feels shorter than the ride to the castle. It's not long before we're in London and headed for my flat. Oliver walks me up, kisses me gently on the cheek, and allows me to step inside. I shut the door quietly, not wanting to interrupt anything Emily might be doing, but when I walk into the living room I can't help but gasp. A recording of the musical Cats is playing and Emily is dancing along with the figures on the screen while they sing.

  "Emily?" I gape at her and stand there.

  She freezes, not turning around, but says in a strangled voice, "Kayla?" Then, in a stronger voice, "I wasn't expecting you until much later." She has that awkward got-caught smile.

  "Oliver," I have to cover my mouth to stifle my giggles. I try again, "Oliver, uh, had some work to do tonight so we came back a little earlier.”

  She cuts off the TV and turns to face me, her blonde hair matted to her forehead where it's come loose from her ponytail and her cheeks flushed. I don't know how much of that is from exertion and how much is from embarrassment.

  Emily flops down on the couch, throwing her arm over her eyes and laughing. "Oh. My. God. I can't believe you just saw that."

  Sitting beside her, I pull her arm away so I can see her face. "So, you like the musical, too?”

  "I love that musical. I always wanted to be one of the dancers, but by the time I was old enough to even think about auditioning, it wasn't playing anymore." She shrugs, "So, sometimes I act it out in the living room. No judgment."

  I put my hands up in front of me. "No judging here. If you want to dance like a cat, that's you're prerogative." Emily throws a pillow at me, but she's smiling so I kn
ow she's not upset.

  "Oh, by the way," she starts, "A man called here for you yesterday."

  She's studying me, like I'm supposed to know who it was, but I can't think of anyone who would be calling to talk to me here. Oliver was with me, and she'd know if it was Reggie.

  "Did he say who he was?"

  "No. He just asked for Kayla O’Mally and when I said you weren't here, he thanked me and hung up."

  A shiver runs down my spine. Crap. He found me.

  I stammer, making up and excuse, "It was probably one of those prank calls, the ones that tell you that you were bequeathed money by a Nigerian prince. I wouldn't worry about it." Emily doesn't look fully convinced, and I feel bad about lying to her, but I can't exactly explain why someone would call for me.

  "I'm really tired..." I stretch and yawn. "I think I'm going to go ahead and go to bed. See you in the morning?"

  Please, don't ask questions.

  “So, I’ve got a question.”

  Damn. That didn’t work. I smile at her.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Did he seriously take you somewhere in a helicopter?”

  That surprises me. At the same time, I’m glad she’s not asking about the caller. “How’d you know?”

  “Oh, a little birdie told me.” She looks like she has a juicy secret, but the way she phrased it makes me freak out. The color must have drained from my face because she adds, “Just joking with you, Kayla. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I’m heading to my room for the night.”

  "Sure."

  After I’m in my room, I close the door and suck in air. If she knows about the helicopter, then maybe the guy tailing me found out that way, too. Crap. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open the voicemail app and see the unread message, but I can't bring myself to listen.

  I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling for a while before deciding to text Oliver: