Page 18 of In Every Chapter

Being careful of the bruise, I rubbed my temple and let my eyes shut for a minute. Questions swirled through my brain, and I might need a thousand and one nights to answer them all. At least I didn’t have to worry about being offed by my husband like the girl in the book.

And we were back to murder. I definitely needed to take a break from the true crime.

“Sleep feels like the least of my problems,” I grumbled at last. “But yeah, I’ll take the guest room.”

Greyson nodded and eased himself up.

“I still have questions,” I called after him.

He slipped his hands into his pockets casually. “Questions are valid, and I know you want answers. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’ll be a lot to take in, and the doctor said not to push it.”

I glared at him. “It’s my life. I have no idea why I’m here and not in Seattle. Why I’m not in school. Why I married you.” The last one came out more bitterly than I intended.

Greyson winced. It was barely noticeable, but I caught it nonetheless.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll get your stuff moved into the guest room and let the girls take care of you.”

“Greyson, I—”

“It’s okay, Pais.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot. Take it easy, okay?”

“I’d rather get the tidal wave over now than live in this limbo of not knowing. I can process with osmosis later. For now, I need a pot of tea, a tour of the house, and my life story. In that order.”

Greyson chuckled softly, a low, throaty sound that warmed my insides. “I can only promise the first two right now.”

But as I watched him go, a pang of guilt stabbed my stomach. Juliet said I married Greyson, and obviously I wasn’t a bigamist. Then why did I find this man attractive yet still feel married to Jared? Alarm flooded my veins. Did I cheat? Did I leave him? Was he dead? Based on Greyson’s response—and avoidance—to my questions about him, there was some sort of history there.

“Did I cheat on him?” I blurted to Greyson’s back.

“No.” He whirled around so fast I looped my arms around Rosie’s neck like she’d protect me. He must have read my posture because his intensity gentled. “No, love. You did nothing wrong. It was never you.” His jaw ticked, like he was holding back what he really wanted to say. But he didn’t let the words out, just offered me a crooked almost-smile and disappeared down the hall. Rosie pattered after him, which was kinda adorable.

His reassurance should have made me feel better. Instead, confusion and warmth churned in my gut. He’d called me love again. I shouldn’t like it. And yet . . . I really did.

I studied the empty room, sucking in a lungful of the minty-vanilla air. It smelled like summer and childhood dreams. Or what I imagined they’d be like. My childhood dreams were all nightmares. “Whoever decorated this place had nice taste,” I said to myself, running a hand over the forest-green damask fabric of the armchair.

Liz’s bright smile popped into view, and she dropped onto the sofa across from me. “The compliment is yours. This is all you, honey.”

Huh. The house didn’t feel like me. Or at least the version of me I knew. Maybe because it was supposed to feel like us, but I didn’t know what us looked like anymore. The apartment Jared and I lived in was . . . chaotic. A dorm room with bland beige walls, small windows, and clutter I could never seem to clean up fast enough for him.

But this room—this house—was a haven. My soul could breathe for a minute.

The kettle whistled, and Stephanie scurried in, scooping tea into a rose-floral teapot. She hated the stuff, but I’d taught her to make it the British way—aka the only proper way—in college. Loose leaf was the way to go and never microwaved. Horrors. Juliet joined us and offered a tour while the tea steeped.

The promised tour was short as the house wasn’t large. Just a guest room and the master bedroom with an ensuite upstairs, a cozy kitchen and sweet little dining nook, a modest-sized separate dining room, a laundry room off the back leading into the backyard, and the most darling library room off the hallway opposite the stairs.

Its mahogany-coloured shelves and dark academia décor splashed against the deep teal walls thrilled my bookish-loving heart. It was every inch a literary escape. The silhouette oval caricatures of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy peered at me from beside the east-facing bay window seat—the perfect place to curl up on a drizzly afternoon. A well-loved guitar sat in the corner. Did Greyson play? Because I sure didn’t.

The map of Middle Earth stretched out over one wall with a replica of Aragorn’s sword mounted over top. Guess we really were fans. Or nerds. I traced a finger over it fondly. I would love having a quiet place to escape to with old friends waiting for me on the shelves.

And it had a rolling ladder.

Best feature about the house. Too bad ladders and I weren’t on speaking terms just now; otherwise, I’d be having a full-on Belle moment.

Instead, I kept my feet on solid, reliable hardwood and spun around. Books were home. Some things never changed. I trailed a finger down the spines of what appeared to be a fantasy shelf. I wonder how many of these I’ll read again for the first time?

“The shelves are beautiful,” I breathed, running my hand over the smooth polished wood.

“Grey made them as a wedding present,” Juliet offered.