Chapter 2

CLAIRE

“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, LEVI!”

“LEVI!”

I hope it's not what I think it is... if it is, God help me, I'm gonna kill him.

“LEVI.” No answer. Just an infuriating silence. No female voice. Did they stop talking or is he taking her outside?

I slam my shoulder into the door with all my strength. Nothing. It doesn't even rattle. I zap back and charge at it again, and again, and again until it rattles my bones; I thought I broke something in me. And the door doesn’t move an inch.

Panting, I stumble backward, wincing, the white-hot fury making me dizzy. Calm down, Claire. Calm. Just breathe... breathe.

Nada. The rage doesn’t listen. Either I break this door down or I'll explode. I take my pick. Gonna have to find something heavy. I turn back and practically tear into the walk-in closet, eyes frantically scanning the rows of designer shoes. I ignore the piles of flats and sneakers; my gaze hooks on a pair of sharp stiletto heels. I close in on one, lunge to the door, and strike the sharp tip into the doorknob.

It pings and no bulge. I hit it again, and again, until the heel finally snaps off with a jarring crunch. I look at the broken shoe in my hand, then the door. Did I just get manhandled? By Levi? Did he just—did he...

The door suddenly creaks open.

Levi cautiously enters, his smile so wide his dimples stretch.

"Hey…" he says, his smile wide enough to show his dimples, but his eyes are grimacing. He reaches for my hand, the one holding the now-flat shoe. "What... what are you doing with this? Did you... break it?"

Break it? I stare at him. The sheer idiocy of his question is giving me murderous vibes. Without a word, I shove past him, bump my shoulder into his chest hard enough to hurt, and as he stumbles back, I'm out, going for the stairs. I don't look back. I don't wait for him.

As my feet hit the stairs, I feel it in my bones. My breathing rattles.

"Where is she? Where is she, Levi!" I scan the space frantically. To the long hallway, outside the gate, and back. I see no shadow, nothing.

When I'm back, Graham, his nine-year-old son, materializes in the living room in pajamas, looking confused—or should I say dumbfounded, like I'm a mad woman on a rampage.

“LEVI!” I yell, and if looks could kill, Levi's body would have been stumbling down those stairs. He's there at the top of the staircase, one hand on his temples hiding his face, the other hand on the wall.

“Answer me, Levi. Who was she? 'Cause last time I checked, you don't have any siblings, no cousins, no family; only friends, and they are all male. So who the fuck was that woman?!”

“You mean my mom.”

I whip my head to the kid.

Mom?

“What did you mean by mom—”

“Graham, go to your room. Now!” Levi cuts in fast. I've never seen him speak to his son so harshly before.

The two-seconds standoff that follows makes my blood boil; my eye twitches as it catches the silent plea from Levi to his son. Graham's response is anything but understanding.

“How do you expect me to sleep when you're both fighting?”

“Graham!” Levi loses it, stomping down the stairs and seizing Graham by the arm. He hauls him away, ignoring the kicks and protests, shouts of “Let me go.” “Leave me.”

I'm left standing like an idiot filling space. Reliving everything on loop—from the moment we got home and the game Levi pulled off minutes ago to the silent treatment. I feel like breaking a wall.

Levi returns, fingers laced together and pressed to his lips in deep thought. I'm waiting for him to speak, leg tapping on the floor, eyes on him, but he doesn't say a word. Sighing and avoiding eye contact is all he does.

I've had enough. I toss away whatever was still left in my hand—the condemned shoe—and run a finger through my hair.

“What's so hard to confess, Levi? You're cheating on me.”

He shakes his head quickly. “No… no, I promise you, it isn’t what it looks like…”

I point a trembling finger at the space where Graham had just stood. "Then what did he mean?" My voice drops. "He said, 'Mom.'"

Levi's face pales, and his eyes shift focus.

I step closer, the truth dawning on me. “You told me his mother was dead. While giving birth. She bled. Remember?”

Silent. That's what I get. Again.

Levi's hands fall from his face, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The perfect cheerful man I remember? Is gone. Now I don't know what I'm looking at. Guilt? Shame? Broken? God, he isn't making this any easier.

“Levi, talk to me!”

“She’s not dead.” His voice rises. “I lied. She’s not dead.”

A laugh bubbles in my throat. The white-hot fury returns, but it’s a new kind now, sharper and colder. “You... you lied about that? All this time, you let me believe his mother was dead?” I take another step toward him. “Why, Levi? Why would you lie about something like that?”

He finally looks at me, his eyes pleading for understanding.

“I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry, Claire. I just... I had to. You have to understand...”

I shake my head vehemently. “You have to make me understand why you had to, so spill it, Goddamn it!”

“I didn’t want you to have to deal with her, with her... her fits. I'm doing this to protect you... and Graham,” he says a little too sharply. There's a glimpse of defeat. A strange, conflicting current rushes through me. He looks so broken that I want to punch him and hug him at the same time.

“Levi, you aren't making sense. You're giving me bits and pieces; make it fit. Okay? I'm not just marrying you. I'm marrying your entire life. I’m marrying your past, your son, your happiness, and every single one of your goddamn secrets. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you. So you'd better tell me what I'm spending my life with."

He nods like he finally gets it. Reaching out, he takes my hand, fingers lacing with mine. He’s about to speak—a dozen things, probably—when a sharp clicking sound echoes from the front door.

A click. A pause. And then the door opens.

“Oh, damn it,” Levi grits his teeth, almost smacking his forehead in frustration.

“I left my phone somewhere,” a woman’s voice calls out, so soft, like a bell that might ring in a fairytale, and it feels completely out of place in the tense air. It’s the exact same voice I heard before.

I turn slowly, not sure what I’m expecting, but it’s not this. A tall, huge, fierce-looking woman dressed in a flowing black coat that looks far too warm for a summer day. Her face? It's something else—it's what a model like me would feel insecure about. But it’s her eyes that hold my gaze—they’re a cold, unnerving shade of blue, and they fix on me with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m being sized up.

“So you're the side chick. Oh, my bad, 'fiancée'.” She stresses the word a little too much as she slumps on my couch, eyes on Levi now. “I don't remember you having a thing for young girls, Levi, especially the skinny ones. She looks like she’s gonna break.”

“Please… don't,” Levi cuts in, face scrunched up. I interrupt before he can continue; my voice is calm as ice.

“And what should I call you? Dead wife? Graham's mom? What are you?” I face her fully, shoulders squared, blood thrumming in my veins.

She gestures to herself. “Oh… me?” She scoffs. “You can call me Sam. I'm the family Levi told you didn't exist.” She pauses and smiles at Levi. “And for a while... I was his stepmother.”

“Sam, for God's sake, stop!” Levi yells, brushing past me and bolting toward her.