Page 48 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Camille

J ack is a ghost again. When he comes home from work, usually very, very late, he goes straight to his room upstairs, and he locks himself away most hours of the day.

There are no more shared dinners. No trips to Disneyland or walks in the parks nearby.

There is no more sex and no more bondage.

It might as well be the first day I started.

The moment I walked into my room that morning and found him holding that letter, I knew it was over. It was never about me lying or keeping something from Jack. It was about him still holding on to the past and never giving himself enough room to grieve.

In Jack’s mind, Emmaline is still here, and he’s being unfaithful to her. In his mind, he’s a terrible man, a terrible father, and a terrible husband.

He refuses to let her go, to the point where he finds himself comparing her with me. His love for her and his love for me. Her place in Bea’s life and mine.

I wanted to be touched when he admitted that he loved me more, but I wasn’t. I was heartbroken because it meant that Jack was still holding on to the past. And I don’t belong in the past. Not when I want his future.

I’m just relieved he allowed me to stay for Bea. I’m still shattered that he and I no longer have a life together, but at least for the time being, I can have my time with his daughter.

I don’t know how long it will last or what will become of us, but I’m taking it day by day. Bea is my first priority, now and always.

Bundling my coat around me, I walk against the harsh wind after dropping Bea off at school. It’s nearing winter, and the city has grown brisk in the mornings. Still, I’d rather busy myself with errands and tasks while I’m out than go back to the apartment when I know Jack could be there.

I can’t face him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to again.

It’s sad, really, having felt a love so real and then having to live with it just out of reach.

Eventually, I assume I’ll be able to see his face again without needing to leave the room and sob quietly into a towel or the sleeve of my shirt.

Eventually, I hope the sound of his voice no longer pierces my heart like a knife.

And I refuse to hope that we will just get over this and find our way back to each other. Jack has serious work to do on himself before I’d let that happen. I refuse to live in his dead wife’s shadow, even if he says his love for me is stronger.

There never should have been a comparison in the first place.

But I know in my heart that Jack won’t heal the way he should because that would require him to face his pain and actually feel it rather than just run from it. Ironically, the man would rather lose the two loves of his life than work on healing and talk about his emotions.

When I arrive back at the apartment, my nose is so cold it burns, and my fingers are frozen as they clutch the bag of groceries to my chest.

After getting inside, I set the things on the counter and blow into my hands trying to warm them.

“You need a pair of gloves.”

I nearly scream as a woman’s voice cuts in from out of nowhere. Elizabeth steps into the kitchen while my heart is still beating wildly from the terror.

I clutch my chest in fright. “Mon Dieu!”

“Pardon,” she replies in a half-hearted apology. “I still have a key from when I lived here.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Elizabeth has such a stern expression that I remember how Jack once called her the meanest person he’s ever met, and I assumed he meant that because she is his sister. Don’t most siblings consider the other mean?

But in this case, I believe him. Elizabeth has claws, and she frightens me.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she wears a stoic look as she faces me. “What happened with you and my brother?”

I let out a sigh. “Nothing.”

“Tu me prends pour une idiote?” she asks.

“No, I do not think you are an idiot,” I reply in a huff, “and stop speaking French. It’s throwing me off.” Which is true. Her French is disarming, and I know she’s doing it to prove her intelligence. And maybe even her dominance.

“Then stop lying,” she replies flatly.

“Fine,” I reply, placing my hands on my hips. “Your brother taught me rope bondage upstairs at night, and that’s all.”

“That’s all?” One single brow rises on her face.

“It’s none of your business,” I argue.

“It’s my business that Jack barely shows up to work anymore. He went from being finally happy again to being miserable and elusive again.”

“Why do you even care?” I reply angrily. “I thought you hated him.”

She reacts like I’ve slapped her. Her jaw drops as she glares at me. “You thought I hated my own brother?”

“You don’t talk to him. How could you even tell if he’s happy or not?” I snap in return.

“Do you even understand why I was so mad at Jack?”

I relax on an exhale, and although I know I don’t need to be getting deeper into Jack’s personal life, I am curious to hear this story.

When I don’t reply, she walks into the kitchen and retrieves two wineglasses from the cabinet and a bottle of cabernet from the rack.

“It’s ten in the morning,” I say, but she ignores me as she pours.

“Sit,” she commands.

I try to resist, but after a moment, I give in and take the stool next to her. Taking a sip, I listen as she tells the story.

“I told you how I was living with Jack and Emmaline when she passed away. She was like a sister to me. I held her hand as she passed.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. We both take a drink in the moment of silence.

“I was only twenty years old. In a foreign country, far from my parents and any family outside my brother. And when Em passed away, I needed him. The day she died, he disappeared. For a week, no one could find him. I was alone with Beatrice, who was only three at the time. I was grieving and alone, but he took all that grief for himself and gave me no room for my own.”

My heart feels heavy as I stare at her, watching her eyes moisten.

“My parents flew out immediately to help with the funeral and with Bea, and eventually Jack came back, but he never really came back. He was present, but he wasn’t really here. For nearly a year after she died, he couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Not me. Not Phoenix. Not even his Bea.

“I know Jack was grieving the loss of his wife, but I was grieving the loss of my best friend and my brother.”

“That must have been so hard,” I mumble quietly.

“It was. I moved out,” she says, staring down at her wineglass as she swirls it.

“Bea went and stayed with Phoenix for a while. Shortly after that, I heard he planned to move home. He was just going to leave me here. As if none of our life here mattered. When Ronan Kade offered the club to us for a year, I only agreed to do it because I assumed it would change my brother’s mind.

I thought it would convince him to stay.

It turns out I was wrong. You were the one who convinced him to stay. ”

My face falls in regret as I reach a hand out and place it on her arm. “You know that if he decides to go back, the life you built here still matters. You can do it without him.”

“I know that,” she replies with a tilt of her head. “But I don’t want my brother to leave. Or my niece. I just want them to be happy, and for the past two months, they have been.”

Her eyes bore into mine, and I understand what it is she’s asking.

“So tell me,” she adds. “What happened between you two?”

With a sigh, I take a long drink from the wineglass. Then I tell her everything. From the night he dragged me out of that club to the night he told me he loved me in the very same spot. I even tell her about the letter and the fight we had the morning he found it two weeks ago.

We polish off the entire bottle of wine before noon, and I should probably feel guilty for how drunk I am in the middle of the day. But with the month I’ve had, I deserve this.

“Okay,” she says, not sounding near as slurry as I do. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Nothing,” I argue, setting my wineglass down with a clumsy thunk . “That’s what we’re going to do.”

“Listen…” she says, putting her hands out. She doesn’t seem tipsy at all, but she does appear more relaxed, like she won’t claw my face off or stab me in the throat. “My brother has some groveling to do.”

“Groveling…no. Healing…yes,” I say, pouring the last few drops from the bottle into my glass. “Elizabeth, the fact of the matter is…I did keep a secret from him. Sure, it was just a letter, but that letter served as a reminder that Jack and Emmaline had something I wanted.”

“Okay, then just apologize to him,” she says sternly.

“It’s not that easy. He has to want me regardless of his wife or the letter. Not more or less than her. And to do that, he’ll have to accept that she’s really gone.”

Elizabeth leans back in her chair, looking defeated.

“I know you’re right,” she mutters to herself.

“I want him to be happy too,” I say softly.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” she replies, standing from the chair, “this was fun.”

“It was?” I reply, sitting upright. It’s not what I expected her to say, so it takes me by surprise. I haven’t had a lot of female friendships in my life, so to feel as if I might be forming one with Jack’s sister has me suddenly hopeful.

“Yes, it was. I like you.”

She starts to walk away, and I follow. “Well, next time you want to scare me to death and share a bottle of wine, I’ll be here.”

“Good,” she replies frankly. “And…don’t give up on Jack just yet. He…might take some time to come around.”

“Okay,” I say noncommittally. I don’t suspect he will this time, and I don’t have the heart to hope for it either.

“Bye, Camille,” she says before opening the front door. Then, a moment later, she disappears through it.