Page 16 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“The one you were talking to? Or the one with short brown hair?” I ask, trying to clarify.

“The one I was talking to. The one with short brown hair is just some random friend that works for my sister.” Hmm…hard to tell, but it sounded like more bitter words have never been spoken.

“Oh, cool,” I say, not meaning it. Because everything about Alexander right now says:Not cool. Not fucking cool. Not even okay. I may never be okay.“Where are we headed now?” I ask, trying to gently draw his attention away from whatever just happened.

“Home,” is all he says. His tone doesn’t improve, but I accept it and don’t ask for more because, clearly, he can’t take much more.

Home, yay!I keep the thought internal because I…I don’t know what to expect, but the guarantee that it’s better than anywhere else I’ve lived before is obvious.

We drive towards the main strip of town before turning to drive up a different mountain road branching north of his sister’s house. I only get a quick peek at the shops and restaurants that make up the small town, but it definitely doesn’t look overwhelming, or high brow, or somewhere I’ll feel out of place. And for that, I’m immensely grateful.

The drive between locations only takes five or so minutes, and when we pull up to yet another mountain mansion that’s more like its own compound, Alexander rolls down his window to enter a code into a box in front of a gate.

No way.There’s no waythisis where I’ll be living.

It’s manna from heaven, like Eden on Earth. It’s beautiful, and a stupid tear wells in my eye at the sight.Pathetic, Em.

We pull up the sloping drive to park in front of a three-car garage.Three cars.And I don’t even have a car to drive. This is the point when I should start questioning the last 24 hours. That I really married someone I don’t know. Jumped headfirst into a situation with no plan and no immediate escape.

I wasn’t lying when Blanks asked if I had an exit strategy. I do. I just don’t have one I can execute yet. So, in the meantime, I’ll play nice and hope that Alexander keeps being accommodating.

“Are you okay to let yourself in? I need a couple minutes.” Alexander passes a key to me as I stand, staring in awe at the house before me.

“Yeah, but are you sure you don’t want…some company?” I ask, but he’s already backing away from me like I’m the dangerous or crazy one.Am I?

“There’s a guest suite on the first floor. It’s yours. Really, I need to be alone, Emma…” The end of his thought comes out rushed, like he can’t wait a second longer. He turns around and strides away from me quickly, heading towards a small clearing on the side of the garage for what looks like chopping wood.

No problem. I wouldn’t be too aggressive in caring for a wounded pup, and I’ll treat him the same. Because I have a feeling that when Alexander bites, he bites hard. Example:me.

I’m not a complete idiot. Alexander doesn’tneeda wife. He also certainly doesn’t need topayto find one. I’m some sort of revenge, right? I’m the knife in the back. I’m the final straw. Whoever he was just engaged to certainly did a number on him, and Alexander is doing his own number right back.

A shiver has goosebumps popping up along my arms. Fear about being on the receiving end of Alexander’s wrath? Or the chilly December morning? I’ll never know, to be honest.

Using the slate pavers, I walk towards the wide, solid wood front door and hesitate to enter. Do I ring the doorbell first? Or just use the key? There shouldn’t be anyone home, right? Though I wonder where Blanks is if he’s not here…

Inserting the key, I push down on the latch, and the large door opens to a massive yet relaxed space. It’s even decorated for the holidays, adding to its coziness. There’s garland hung from the stairwell and mistletoe hanging in the entry hall. It smells like Christmas.He decorates for Christmas?The thought makes me smile.

The family room lights are off, but when I switch them on, the tall Christmas tree in the corner comes to life, revealing a toy train that circles the tree and has a whistle that blows when it rounds the bend.Wow.This place was like my every childhood dream come to life. It’sMiracle on 34th Street. Like I’m the little princess, and all those wishes I made on first stars and meteors were saved and cataloged for this exact moment in time.

Over the mantle hangs stockings, and I notice there are three. Two large and one smaller than the others.

Oh.Ohhh. The house is decorated for the family-he-should-have-had’s Christmas.

A deep sorrow builds in the back of my chest, working up into my throat. How…sad. There’s no other word.

Dropping my bag by the stairwell, I walk deeper into the family room. It seems like the perfect place to read a book with a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter day.

Furs are draped over the backs of perfectly worn leather chairs, and a deep sofa upholstered in khaki, buttery, soft fabric sits between them. Even the ottoman is covered in fuzzy soft-as-a-baby’s-butt knit. Who could ever leave this behind? Leavehimbehind? It doesn’t make sense. It’s not adding up.

Running my hand along therealChristmas tree, I bring my fingers to my nose and inhale the spruce scent, something that had only ever come from a candle at our house. Each branch is neatly trimmed with an array of various mercury glass ornaments and brown velvet bows. There’s a nostalgic longing clawing at the recesses of my mind. Everythinglookedperfect.

I’ve never had a tree like this, much lessseena tree like this, except in movies. Even the gifts below are wrapped in matching paper with coordinating, gold-trimmed name tags.

Bending down, I flip over a tag that says, “For my love, Jess.” I suck in a sharp breath, a little bit shocked.

My cheeks burn, and I drop the tag as the train makes another loop around the tree’s base, blowing its whistle. Like a warning:This isn’t for you.

Understood.