Page 44 of Reclaiming Izabel

Izabel

I rushed to the foyer,barefoot and naked except for my ruined sweater and panties. The devastation on Drake’s face triggered visceral emotions deep inside me. Emotions I couldn’t name, but they compelled me to follow him. They prevented me from letting him walk away like this. So broken. Like he’d already lost me.

My hand circled the doorknob but froze when I heard him roar.

A guttural, plaintive howl that shredded my insides, releasing the familiar emotions from my heart that I’d kept locked down since his return. Yes, bounded by resentment and anger. Drake was right. But was I so wrong? I understood our disconnect. Of course I did. He’d had years knowing he’d return to me while I had years trying to move on from him.

We were on opposing ends of emotions and expectations.

My hand dropped from the knob, and I turned from the door, leaning against it. I’d never heard such agonizing sounds come out of my husband.

Eyes blurring, I slid to the floor as my pain streamed down my cheeks. Losing Drake, the days when I thought I couldn’t go on. The resolve that held me together during my three-month prenatal checkup only to have that ripped away from me when I lost our baby weeks later.

I clawed out of my grief, channeled all my energy and time into making other people’s lives better. Did I have the fortitude to be with a man like Drake again?

That was the root of my problem.

Fear.

My head throbbed with indecision. Plus, I hadn’t fully recovered from the tranquilizer effects, and this confrontation with Drake was draining.

Eyes drooping, I let myself go.

Someone was carrying me.

“Drake?” I mumbled.

“Sleep, baby.” A gravelly voice spoke to me. “I’ve got you.”

I snuggled into the safety of his embrace.

I awakenedto the smell of coffee and unfamiliar surroundings. Roman shades blocked the sunlight, but starbursts rimmed their edges. A gold jacquard divan sat below the window ledge. The walls were painted a dusky blue. Carefully, I peeked under the comforter, confused that I was in my nightshirt. Then flashes of the night before hit me.

Drake ripping my sweater apart.

Drake kissing me senseless.

Drake burying his face between my thighs.

Heat shot up my face into the roots of my hair. I groaned into my pillow. “I am such a slut.”

One kiss. Dammit. One kiss and I ignited. My body was such a traitor and I surrendered to the strings of its master. Our physical chemistry was undeniable, undimmed by the years, it seemed, but was it enough to risk my heart again?

Tossing back the covers, I lowered my feet to the plush carpet and noticed an open duffel sitting by the divan. Nothing had changed. Drake was bossy, as always, and took it upon himself to pack for me. But we both knew how to pick our battles. This was why we had such a successful marriage when divorce among our peers was at an all-time high.

A cylinder of rolled-up vellum paper sat on top of the bag.

They were the plans of our dream house, which I had crumpled and thrown in the trash the day I went on a date with Kyle. White marks left permanent cracks in the design and reminded me of the state of my marriage. Drake’s words last night about hanging on to my anger came echoing back. If I let go, we could begin again just as I could draw a new house plan on a pristine sheet of vellum.

I looked around for my purse. It was nowhere in the room. Damn secret agent stuff. They didn’t want me calling anyone. I wouldn’t be surprised if my husband had done something to it so it wasn’t trackable.

I needed answers.

After taking care of my morning routine, thankful that Drake remembered how meticulous I was with my skin care products, I surveyed myself in the mirror. My lids were puffy from crying but, somehow, our encounter last night had been cathartic. Or maybe I was relieved that even though my heart and mind were confused, there was still a part of me that responded to Drake. A part of me that still wanted to be his wife again.

I returned to the bedroom and looked through the bag for something to wear. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a hoodie. My chest twitched when I spotted my slip-on shoes.

There was little Drake had forgotten about me.

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