Thirty Days: Part One (29 page)

“I’m going back to bed,” I say wearily.

“That would be for the best.” Marcus’ eyes seem to beg for rest of their own.

“Okay, good night.” Standing from the table, I shuffle my tired feet to the staircase. I’ve no idea what tomorrow will bring, but after today I don’t think it can get any worse. Glancing back over my shoulder, Marcus is nowhere to be seen. The Magician strikes again. I giggle when I reach the top of the stairs. What a fucking balls-up this has been.

The covers nestle around my body, offering some comfort, and although I’m extremely tired my eyes remain wide open. Glimmers of light dance across the ceiling, and I lie there watching them as they bounce from one spot to another. Turning my head, I see the curtains hanging at the window are parted and this observation frightens me. Without hesitation, I jump out of bed and pull them closed. The room now lies in complete darkness, but this only intensifies the fear I’m feeling.

“Abigail.” Marcus’ voice is soft as he speaks my name through the door.

“Yes.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” I reply climbing back into bed, pulling the covers high up under my chin.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after I hear the sound of the door opening.

“Better than I expected I would.”

“Can I turn on the light?”

“Sure.” The light flicks on, causing me to blink a few times. Marcus stands in long cotton pyjama bottoms that hang perfectly from his hips. He is bare chested and his hair is messed in a way that tells me his fingers have stroked through the strands many times since I’ve been up here.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“Can I ask you something then?” He seems reluctant to ask the question.

“Yeah, sure.”

Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers through the thick locks on his beautiful head. “At the cemetery, you said that you were telling your father about a wedding dress, one you never wore.”

I swallow hard. The fear that was sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach begins to roll like dirty clothes tumbling in a washing machine.

“That your ex-fiancé was getting remarried.”

My chest begins to crush under the strain of what I know now he is going to ask.

“Abigail, that was Mike, wasn’t it? He broke your heart.”

“Yes,” I reply, my voice barely audible.

Marcus’ cheeks puff out before they deflate with a noisy exhale of air. “I’m sorry, Abigail.”

I sit staring at him as his jaw clenches and his muscles tense. I don’t really know what to say, so I don’t say anything as the light turns off and the door to the room closes.

“Marcus.” There’s no reply. “Marcus,” I say again as a single tear streaks my cheek and my eyes close.

Memories

My heart beats so hard, it threatens to explode from my chest as I wake in a pool of my own sweat. “What was that?” I whisper, shaking my head. I can’t believe the vision that awoke me and now my mind is filled with so many more questions and I’ve no idea where, or how, to find the answers. The satin pants and top set I wore to bed last night clings to my skin with perspiration. Instead of taking the staircase to investigate the smell of another breakfast cooking, I head to the bathroom to freshen up.

Dressed in a baby blue silk blouse and flowy knee-length skirt, I sit in front of the heart-shaped mirror and fasten my hair with a black claw clip. A light application of makeup and some high heels, and I’m ready for the day.

“I’m going to court with Marcus today regardless of what he says,” I say to my reflection after I realise how much I don’t want to go home. Now I need to find the courage to tell him to his face.

My heels clomp loudly against the wooden staircase even though I try to tiptoe. When I reach the opening to the kitchen, I’m greeted by Marcus’ bare back and immediately have visions of my nails scraping his skin, leaving marks on him. Why such a vision enters my head rattles me, but the need is strong.

“Abigail,” he greets me confidently.

“Marcus,” I reply, and I’m surprised by the seductive nature of my voice.

He turns slowly before eyeing me up and down. “You look beautiful.”

I smile shyly before walking to the table and parting the heavy curtains, allowing the glorious view of another day to shine in. Sitting at the table, I choose the chair facing the river, and I can feel my body relaxing a fraction.

“Do you always cook breakfast in the morning?”

Marcus puts our plates onto the table and takes a seat before he answers. “No, I don’t normally. Martha…Mrs. Frost normally cooks breakfast when we stay. However, I found out yesterday that they are actually on a leave of absence, so I’m playing chef this week.”

“I see. Well, you’re a very good cook.”

“Thank you.” He grins before scooping a forkful of scrambled eggs and putting it into his mouth. I follow suit, scooping a forkful for myself, and just as I raise it from the plate, Marcus says, “I think you should take your blouse off before you do that.”

I gulp loudly in shock, loud enough for him to hear. “I beg your pardon.” My face warms instantly.

“I said, I think you should take your blouse off before you do that.” His eyes burn with intensity.

“I heard you the first time.”

The corners of his lips arch at my response. “Knowing you, you’ll spill that down the front of that top. You look so pretty in blue. I’d hate for you to have to change.”

Slowly, I place the fork back onto the plate.

He stares at me with curiosity, yet amusement.

At first I hesitate. I’m starving, but he’s right. I’d probably ruin the shirt in one mouthful. My now shaky fingers begin at the top bottom, unfastening it with ease, never taking my eyes from his. As each button slips free, more of my skin is exposed. Once completely undone, I tip my shoulders backwards, allowing the shirt to fall down behind me.

“Better?” I question, watching the gleam in his eyes brighten.

“Definitely,” he replies, breaking eye contact. Knowing he’s looking at my lace covered breasts only causes my body to warm even more. “So much better,” his voice hums before taking a hasty bite of his toast. “So much fucking better,” he adds, not hiding his pleasure.

I polish off my breakfast before Marcus does. That’s probably because the man’s eyes never left my heaving chest the entire time. With a small giggle I stand and slip my blouse back on, fastening it into place.

“You better hurry up, or you’re going to be late for court.” I smirk, and he chuckles in response.

***

Grady pulls up slowly until we come to a complete stop.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“About a block from the courthouse, Miss McMillian,” Grady answers, his golden eyes visible in the rear-view mirror.

“Oh, okay. We walk then?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inside of a courtroom. Or a courthouse for that matter.”

“That’s probably not a bad thing, Abigail,” Marcus interrupts, with the first words he has spoken to me since breakfast. The entire drive in he was quiet and it seemed the closer we got the tenser he became. “Grady, please see that Abigail gets to the airport without any incident today.”

“Airport!” I screech in anger.

“I told you, you’re going home.”

“Marcus, please. I don’t want to go,” I find myself pleading as he opens the door.

“Abigail. Don’t.” He steps from the car, looking in through the opening.

“Marcus, you need help today. I can help.”

“Have a safe flight, Miss McMillian,” he says before closing the door.

Instant panic sears through my veins as I try desperately to open the door. “Grady, it’s not opening.” My hands frantically pull with despair.

“It’s child locked as per instruction.”

“Open the fucking door, Grady.”

“I can’t, Abigail.”

“Do it now.”

“Sorry,” he says, starting to pull the car from the curb.

My heart throbs with such intensity the pain is overwhelming. In pure desperation I yell, “I fucking remember. I fucking remembered, Grady. You have to let me tell Marcus. Please let me tell him.”

The car jolts as Grady’s foot pushes heavily on the brake. “Abigail, really?” he spews out and his head twists so his eyes stare into mine.

“I do, I honestly do.”

“Go!” he shouts, causing me to startle because of the unexpected tone of his voice. “Abigail, go.”

I’m weightless as I begin to walk with speed down the footpath. “Marcus,” I shout when I’m a short distance behind him.

“Abigail.” He turns and glares at me with pure anger. “Get back in that car, you’re going home.” The back of his black suit faces me once more as he takes a step.

“Oceans are just a large body of rough water that separate two places from one another. True love can defy all waves, storms, and rips. Eventually the ocean that separates us will become smaller and smaller until it’s just a puddle of water beneath our feet. One day you’ll be mine again. I just have to wait until our ocean becomes nothing more than a puddle. We are one, Abigail. I will wait for you,” I blurt out in hope.

Marcus stops dead in his tracks. “Say that again,” he replies, his voice shocked.

I say each word with conviction that this is a memory and something he hoped I’d remember one day.

“Did you remember that?” His voice trembles with his back still turned to me.

“Yes.”

“Those were the last words I said to you before I left.” Marcus turns to face me. His eyes glisten with moisture as his lips curl upwards. “When?”

“Last night in my dreams. I heard your voice as plain as day.”

“Just a puddle now,” he whispers, closing the small gap between us.

My stomach rolls like a wave crashing the shore as his fingers brush against my cheek.

“I waited. I kept that promise,” he confesses.

“Kiss me,” I offer. My breath stutters as his lips connect softly against mine. The passion, want, and lust he has for me is evident as his minty tongue swirls with mine. It’s a kiss that steals your breath and it’s like something that’s only seen in a movie. Marcus kissed me like it was the last time he would ever get the chance to kiss me. I remembered the last words he spoke to me before I forgot him.
But why did I forget?

Hope

“Take her home, Grady,” Marcus says when our bodies part.

“You’re still sending me back to the Sunshine Coast?”

“To the manor.” He smiles. Relief tingles through my limbs as his smile illuminates my heart.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay,” I exhale before Grady escorts me back to the car, and Marcus disappears from sight.

“I don’t know what you remembered, Abigail, but thank Christ…” He stops mid-sentence as liberation floods his face.

“Can you tell me now, Grady?” I ask before he closes the car door.

“No, but you will know soon enough.”

I smile the whole way back to the manor. Whoever Marcus was to me, I’m going to find out, and for some reason there is no fear or panic present, only hope.