Page 15

Chapter fifteen

Hunter’s Residence, London

Isabella

“Come with me,” Hunter says. He stands behind me, his hands on my hips as the morning sunshine seeps into the room. “I have something to show you.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t need to see it.”

He releases my waist, then walks around to face me. I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead, not wanting his actions to change my own. His hand takes my fingers, and he tugs me forward. I try to stay still, my weight centered so as not to move. I can’t let him control me.

“Bella,” he whispers, his voice soft. “Look at me.”

I keep staring at his chest, my eyes focused on the buttons of his shirt. My mind wanders to the body beneath, and my mouth dries. After closing my eyes, I wish for him to disappear, not to put me in this situation. Deep down, I don’t feel strong enough to reject him. The closer he comes, the harder it is to stick to my plan of doing what I need to do for the next year, but no more.

“Bella,” he repeats. “I know you feel this too.” His grip tightens on my fingers; I sense his body turn away, and he steps forward. My arm extends as he encourages me to walk with him. I pull at his fingers, but he doesn’t release me. He tugs again. “Please come with me. I promise what I have to show you is good news.”

When I reopen my eyes, his body is angled away as if to start walking, but his focus is firmly on me. The overconfident asshole who threatened to lodge a tracker in my body is gone, and back is the sweet boy I loved all these years. He looks nervous, unsure if I will do as he asks. There is no authority, no possession; he is asking me to join him. To trust him. My indecision splits in two as part of me wants to run, but the other is curious to see what he wants to show me.

“Okay,” I mutter, and he leads me toward the staircase. The house is deathly quiet. Not a soul can be heard. My watch tells me it’s seven in the morning. The daytime staff won’t have arrived yet. Then I wonder why on earth Kasia was cleaning the kitchen at this time in the morning. I had risen early, hoping to make some new content undisturbed, but my plan failed. And now, I’m holding my estranged husband’s hand as he leads me to see goodness knows what.

We climb the stairs to the bedrooms above, but instead of turning left as I expect, we turn right. Hunter takes me to the door at the furthest end of the corridor, which I assumed was a security office or something. I have seen men come and go from there the past few days but never thought much of it.

“Before we go in,” he says. “You need to understand, Bella, there is little about you I don’t know. And I hope you see this for what it is.”

“What is that?” I ask him, my interest piqued.

Over the years, I’ve known that the men assigned to my protection would be reporting back on my life. The men I’ve dated, the places I’ve been. I never hid anything because I didn’t feel the need to. In my mind, Hunter was no more interested in me than I was in him. And from the stories I’d heard over the years, he had no shortage of women by his side.

“My support.”

He pushes the door open, and we step into a room I least expect. The white wall on the far side is emblazoned with CurvyGurlsCanJiggle in pink scrolled writing. Mirrors line the other three walls, a sleek wooden floor covering the vast space. To one side is a walk-in wardrobe, where rows of sports outfits similar to those I wear in my social media content hang meticulously. Next to it is a small bathroom; the door sits open, and I can see a shower.

Hunter pulls a remote control from his pocket and signals to a television screen suspended in the corner. He hits the red button, and it comes to life with a compilation of my own page of videos from the past two years. Fitness equipment is stacked and hung on the walls, ready to be used, all brand new, and in my signature pink color with my logo.

“What is this?” I say, completely stunned.

“Is it not obvious?”

“Yes, but…”

“You have an audience to entertain, and I am aware you haven’t been able to create your videos since moving here.” He still holds my fingers, but his hand slips to take more of mine. “I’ve watched you since you began, Bella. You look incredible on screen. I want to help. Your channel makes you even more mesmerizing.”

“But…” I stammer, not missing his flattering comment. My heart rate quickens a fraction with the compliment. “All my content has been anonymous. How could you know?”

Hunter smiles, his teeth sink into his bottom lip. He almost gives a hint of shyness as I question him on how he knows my secret. He morphs back to the teenage boy I would watch around the door frame when his family came to visit. We would meet each other’s eyes then blush, never speaking until we were older.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“Well…yes, no one knows except…” My words disappear as it becomes apparent the man I thought was keeping my secrets wasn’t. Ronan has been reporting back this whole time while pretending not to be. How could I be so stupid? Of course he was never on my side, appointed by my husband. He wasn’t really going to keep my secrets. As my anger begins to bubble, Hunter squeezes my fingers to regain my attention.

“No, it wasn’t Ronan,” Hunter says, blowing my suspicions out of the water. “He took his initial instructions of protecting your privacy a little too literally. The man is like a fucking locked safe. He would barely tell me if you were alive.” I laugh a little at his comment, and my faith is restored in the person I thought I could trust. “Our tech guys reported unusual activity on your phone.”

“My phone?”

“We monitor some communications to ensure there are no issues within the business. No one trying to hack our information or systems,” he says evasively. “We were notified when you set up the account as it was on a company device.”

“You’ve been stalking my personal phone,” I snap, the idea of being watched so close infuriating. Even though I knew there was some level of surveillance, I never imagined it would be so, so intimate. Never did I think he would want to know so much about me.

“Yes and no,” he admits. “I don’t read your conversations if that’s what you’re worried about.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow, and I relax a fraction. Hunter has been a topic of many conversations with the few girlfriends I’ve had over the years. They always had an interest in him. I stopped trying to have friends when I realized most were just looking for a path to him. Once they realized we didn’t communicate, they lost interest anyway. “Don’t worry, Isabella. I haven’t been adding your boyfriends to a hit list.”

“I’ve not had a man in years,” I mutter, his comment catching me off guard, my defensive instincts kicking in with the perceived negativity. “And you would have no right considering the number of women you’ve been with.”

He steps forward, taking my other hand. We stand, staring at one another in the middle of my new studio. His head cocks to the side as his eyes run over my face before dropping down my body to the floor. It feels as though he is removing each piece of my clothing as he does so. When they return to my eyes, they’ve darkened, closer to the more menacing version of him I’ve met in recent weeks.

“Have I not made myself clear? There are no other women.”

“I’ve seen the reports.”

“Do you believe the daily press on everything they print?” he asks.

“No, of course not!”

“Have you never heard of false reporting, Bella?” He steps forward so our bodies almost touch. The annoyance melting away to uncertainty. “Because I mentioned already, there have been no women. The only woman I have ever been interested in is you.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I half whimper under his stare. My heart yearns to believe him. “That there have been no women, and all the gossip columns and photos of you with models on your arm are fabricated.”

“I do. Why would I lie?” I go to open my mouth to protest, but he begins speaking again. “The photos are merely me with whatever companion I was advised to take to an event. The stories were leaked purposefully to the press to give them something to talk about. But no woman has felt my body the way you have since our wedding night. And no woman will until you do again. I’ll wait however long it takes, Bella, but I know you want me too.”

“I do not!” I protest, unsettled at being called out so bluntly. Knocked sideways by his claims as to have not slept with anyone since me, he appears unruffled, merely shrugging then changing the subject.

“When your fitness page first appeared, I admit I was amused in the beginning. It was a window into your life I had never had before. All my information relied on others, and now I could see for myself. It brought a sense of peace to see you happy.”

“I dance, Hunter. I show women that we can all dance, no matter their shape.”

“No, Bella,” he says fiercely. His arms wrap around my back, and I strain to look up into his eyes. Our bodies slam together, and I’m unsure what to do with my free hands. I place them on his upper arms, against my better judgment. “You grew before my eyes. The girl I fell in love with began that page, but it’s a woman who dances now. Your confidence, your fire, it was all there, and I love it. I would give you anything to be engulfed in it, even for one night.”

“Are you saying you are a secret fan of my moves, Mr. Devane?” The sentence leaves my lips laden with sexual innuendo. My will to reject him falls away pathetically. “Have you watched many of the videos?”

“Every one, Bella, at least twice but probably more.” His eyes flick away toward the sign on the wall. There is no denying the sexual chemistry here between us. He wants me, and he’s making damn sure I know. “Do you like the studio?” he asks, changing the subject from my videos and body to something less tempting. I am both relieved and disappointed, having moved through an abundance of emotional states in a matter of minutes.

“I love it,” I whisper, rising on tiptoe. Our height difference means he must lean down to kiss me. Our lips connect, and the past two decades disintegrate. We are back in our wedding night hotel room, enjoying each other again. My fingers slide up his arms, the taut muscles firm beneath the tips. He tightens his hold on my body, my breasts squashed against him. His form is rock solid, mine soft and malleable. The sensation feels both alien and familiar, something we had in the past, even if the time was fleeting.

“You feel so good, Bella,” he tells me, his hands dropping to my ass. He squeezes, pushing my body harder against his, and there is no mistaking the hard dick in his pants. “I’ve wanted this for so damn long. I’ve missed you.”

“You can’t miss something you never had.” Unwanted tears begin to fall, and I bury my face in his chest. I will them to pass, to disappear and never return. Too many tears have been shed over this man—I don’t want to cry anymore, but it can’t be helped. Twenty years of loss have come to a crescendo today, and we are standing here raw in front of each other with our scars on full display.

“Bella,” he says, pulling back, his hands raising to my shoulders. “If the hundreds of letters between us don’t prove we were together, I don’t know what will. I still write them.”

I look up, and he’s staring down, his expression a mix of wonder and uncertainty. The admission that left his lips is unexpected, and I’m not sure if he meant to tell me.

“You still write to me?” He nods. “Can I read them?”

He hesitates, and for a moment I wonder if his claim was a lie. Has he been writing me letters for twenty years but never posted them beyond the first year? Back then, a letter would arrive each week, but after I didn’t respond it became monthly. Eventually, on our first wedding anniversary, the final one arrived, accepting my decision to be apart. It had brought both a sense of relief and sadness. He had given up on us, even though I had done so months before. It still broke my heart.

What began as embarrassment, pain, and broken hope grew into a void that could never be crossed. With each passing year, Hunter seemed further away. But I see now that to him, I was never gone, just unreachable. He saw me as his wife whether he touched me or not, and suddenly, our time apart made much more sense.

The focus on my health, the constant security team, and a credit card always available for whatever I needed. My spending has never been questioned, and my schedule has never been altered, but he’s been with me, watching from a distance every step of the way. Silently, he held my hand to ensure I was safe and as happy as he could make me.

His fingers trail down the tops of my arms over my sports jacket. Even with the barrier between us, my skin tingles under his touch. As they pass over my elbows and make their way to retake my hands, he breathes deeply, his chest rising and falling dramatically beneath his shirt. My stomach clenches and my toes curl as feelings I’ve not felt in years resurface. I swallow as he closes his eyes then reopens them.

“I’m not asking for forever, Bella,” he says. “We’re not there yet, but will you allow me to give you the wedding night you truly deserved? Just you and me, no threats, no broken promises. Just us.”

“I don’t know, Hunter. I can’t commit,” I whisper, my eyes flicking to the doorway. This can’t be real. Perhaps I should run; this is insane. Sleeping with him isn’t conducive to my ultimate plan to leave. Letting our feelings resurface any more won’t help, but my body isn’t listening to my sense.

I don’t remember the pain as much as the shame. The door swinging open. My father’s voice calling me pathetic. The sheets weren’t enough to keep my dignity intact.

“I didn’t ask for forever. I asked for tonight.” He leans down and places his lips on my forehead. They are warm against my skin, and the gesture is the most loving act I’ve felt in years.

“You didn’t answer my question about reading your letters,” I prompt, and his cheeks flush a soft pink.

“Enjoy making your content,” he says, still not answering. “And if you want to live our wedding night the way we should have, meet me tonight at eight in the dining room.” With that, he releases my hands and turns to leave. Before reaching the doorway, he stops and looks over his shoulder. “Bella, think with your heart. I know I am. We both deserve to be happy at least once.” Then he’s gone.

Left staring at the closed studio door, I stand in the middle of the room and turn three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, taking in each element of what is in here. But the equipment, electronics, and mirrors are not the best thing Hunter has offered. He has supported my independence and freedom. That truth means more than any other ever could.