White Lies (A Twisted Fate Series) (Volume 1) (2 page)

Too fast.

As I came to find out, Alex blamed himself for the death of someone in his unit. He told me his thoughts had been consumed with returning home… to me, versus keeping his men safe. Essentially, as per him, it was
my
fault.
If only I’d known prior to marrying him.
By nature, I refused to quit. That was why I stayed with him longer than any sane person would have.

Though I knew things would be tough, I hoped the love we shared would be enough to get us through. At first it was… then it wasn’t.

I glanced down at the note again. The words were like a beacon. A new hope blossomed in my chest. I chased away the negative thoughts that reared their ugly heads with the memories from our fight. I loved my husband. Finding what we had was worth one more shot. Clutching the note to my chest, I giggled. There was no stopping the sound as I thought about our whispered words when he made love to me.

I love you, Willow. I never stopped.

I love you, too. I never stopped. I never lost hope. I knew we would find our way back to each other.

As I thought back to last night, I held onto the belief we had broken through.

A hand trailed up my back as Alex held me. Goose bumps formed in the wake of his touch as I lay on his chest in the darkened hotel room. My fingers traced the military tattoo on his chest I couldn’t see but knew was there. The two knives intercepting each other with the inscription
I will not accept defeat
were over his heart.

“I miss this. Being together tonight feels like when we first started dating. I’m sorry I called you Gabe earlier. I know how you hate that. Old habits.”

My husband’s full name was Gabriel Alexander Thompson. All of his friends called him Gabriel when we first met while I was in college. He was on leave from the military. It had been a chance meeting in a random town as I crossed a street. Fate happened, bringing two people who were meant for each other together. Though I’d tried to take things slow, something between us clicked, and I fell madly in love with him before I realized it. Honestly, it was insane how fast we fell in love. Maybe too fast. But I don’t believe I could have stopped it if I tried.

On our first date, I called him Gabe, and it stuck. At least until he asked me to call him Alex shortly after returning from his last military mission. All of his friends who died overseas called him Gabriel, and it was hard for him to hear a shortened version. I got needing to distance yourself completely from painful reminders. I hadn’t been to Italy since Dad died for that very reason.

The muscles in Alex’s body tightened and then released while he dragged his right hand through his dark hair. Even in the dark, I felt his emerald eyes watching me. His voice was strained when he finally spoke. “Sweetheart, we’re going to find our way back to each other. We’ll get back to the place when we were Gabe and Willow, not Alex and Willow. I’m working through it. I promise you, I’ll never upset you again like I did this afternoon when I found you.”

I kissed his chest and then sighed. “I’m not going to Nonno to try and get him to release my trust. It’s not what Dad would have wanted. We have plenty to live on. I don’t want to fight, but that point I’m not budging on.”

Fingers paused on my back before continuing. I braced myself for the anger to return. “It’s your decision. I’ll respect that.” A small victory—a step in the right direction.

After kissing him again, I laid my ear against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. “We might want to think about couple’s therapy. When you came back after leaving the military, something has been missing. It might help us get a new start. I want to make this work.”

“That’s what I want too—a fresh start. For us.”

I smiled at his words. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I promised I always would.”

The memory was beautiful. Magical. Through the night, Alex woke me up twice to make love to me. Love. It was the key to everything. For now, I would focus on the memories of last night in order to hold on to hope to save my marriage until I saw him again. I read his words again.
I love you, Willow. I never stopped.

Inspiration struck.

I needed to get home.

Q
uickly, I grabbed my bags and checked out of the five-star hotel in New York City. I’d barely given notice to my plush surroundings in my suite last night with all the tears… then bliss.

The valet brought my Land Rover to me. The city felt alive. Dad and I used to come to the city all the time to people watch as we sipped hot tea in the park. It was amazing what you could learn about human interaction, which he believed helped translate emotions onto the canvas. I agreed.

On autopilot, I tipped the man with the tall black hat. I was in a fog as images of what I wanted to paint invaded my brain. The strokes of deep blues and greens would form the sky. Trees intertwined themselves like lovers. A light shone in the distance. The picture was crystal clear.

My fingers itched for my paintbrush to let the feelings and images within escape onto the canvas. It had been forever since the urge to paint struck me. I’d followed my father’s, Alfonso Lorenzo Russo, footsteps and become an artist myself.

Since the Russo name was “famous” in the art realm, I painted under the name Willow Loren, my first and middle names. In the last year, the name Willow Loren had gained traction. It would have been easier—career wise—to paint under the Russo name, but I wanted to earn my way and not ride on the strokes of my father’s paintbrush.

More pieces of the scene flowed through my mind as I catalogued the image mentally unfolding and where it would fit on the canvas.

After driving for almost two hours, the large estate my father left, which was also my childhood home in the Hamptons, came into view. The gates opened with a push of the button on my SUV sun visor.

Home.

Warmth settled over my body.

This place always brought me peace and perspective. It came to be the only home I knew except for the apartment I had through college up until Dad died.

The Tuscan-style house came into view with the expansive lawn, and I pictured my dad on the front porch waiting for me to come home like he always did. It was bittersweet thinking about it. Waves from the ocean crashed in the background.

This was paradise.

The gardener trimmed the bushes around the statues in the middle of the circular drive. Dad insisted we have as much Italian culture here to commemorate our artist roots.

I waved to Chris as he wiped his graying brow from the early heat of the sun. Years of physical labor kept him fit. He’d been in charge of our lawns since before I was born twenty-four years ago. His granddaughter came here often to swim in the ocean with her mother. Though not related, we were family.

I continued around the back of the house to the garages. Anxious to paint, I parked outside, not taking the time to raise the garage doors. The waves calmed as I jogged to the studio that stood off to the left behind the house. The stones crunched beneath my feet along the path that led to the studio door. It had been my father’s studio before he passed away unexpectedly from a brain aneurism a month after I married Alex.

That was only five months ago. His death still felt raw. Too raw. I would have given anything to have him here to guide me.

My world fell apart when Dad died. Though things were rough between Alex and me since he left the military, I was more determined than ever to make our marriage work.

One of the last conversations Dad and I had was about Alex. His guiding words were to see it through the storm. Through the trials we then saw our triumphs. Over the last five months, those words were what kept me on course. When I drove into the city yesterday, ready to file for separation, the sting of failure was deep.

Through it all, I felt like a ship lost at sea, tossing and turning without a compass. Dad had always been my true north, providing guidance. Had our storm passed?

Last night had been my only reprieve since Alex had come back. I needed the connection more than I had imagined. There was no going back to the abyss I had let myself wander into.

What had clicked to make things better?

Was it another trick?

Would the same Alex I had last night be the one to come home today?

It was terrible to doubt your husband, but the scars were still fresh.

I was thankful I still had Nonno through all of this. Nonno was the only family I had left besides my best friend, Carson, and his parents, Bennett and Marie. Even though not related by blood to Carson’s family, they took me in as if I were one of their own.

Mom died in a car accident three months before my eleventh birthday, shattering my world for the first time. Dad and I adapted, but the piece of my mother remained missing. Nonno was there for both of us, helping put our world back together again.

“Willow, do you have a second?”

With my hand on the wrought-iron door handle to the studio, I turned to the familiar voice of Chris, our gardener. He looked distraught. “Hey, Chris. Absolutely. I was about to start painting, so you caught me at a good time.”

When I painted, I locked the entire world away. It was only me, the canvas, and the emotions flowing through the brush. I lived for the rush.

His hazel eyes warmed; he knew it had been a while since I’d been in the studio. In some ways, Chris was like an uncle to me. Through the years, he and my dad had become close. Since my father’s death, he watched over me as if I were one of his children. I treasured the relationship.

“Did Alex tell you about firing Mildred?”

I gasped. “No! Why?”

There had to be a misunderstanding. Mildred had been the family housekeeper since I was in diapers. In many ways, she helped raise me.

Nervously, he shuffled his feet. “I don’t want to cause problems, Willow. She’s pretty upset. After you left yesterday, Mildred was in the study cleaning and found some papers behind a bookcase. Alex walked in, lost his temper, and fired her. He said some terrible things. I came in from outside, and when I walked in the room, he stormed off in a rage.”

A heavy stone landed on my heart. This was the crux of our arguments. He wanted everyone I considered family gone. The reasoning was he wanted to start out fresh—sell the house, fire all the staff, distance myself from my best friend, and us be in control of my multi-million dollar trust fund.

This was my home.

What I’d hoped to be
our
home.

Our children’s home.

Frustration brewed within me. Had Alex played me last night? I blew out some air in a gust. “Yesterday was a rough day for Alex and me. Mildred isn’t fired.”

Chris nodded. I knew he was holding back what he wanted to say. For a while now, I suspected he didn’t like Alex, but he supported me. Honestly, after how Alex acted, I doubted anyone was a fan.

I let go of the handle and exhaled, knowing painting would have to wait. Family first. “Is Mildred here?”