Page 21 of Letters From Victor

BARBARA

The clock on the nightstand ticked softly, its hands inching toward midnight. The house was still, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards settling. I was sitting in bed with my back resting against the headboard, gliding my fingers over the supple leather cover of the sketchbook Victor had given me. My gold wedding band caught the light from the bedside lamp.

I glanced over at the empty half of the bed next to me. The pale blue coverlet and cream sheet were neatly turned down, waiting for Frank to climb in eventually. I’d lost track of how many times I’d gone to bed alone, only to be awoken hours later by Frank stumbling in, reeking of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke, words slurred, eyes unfocused. There was a time when his absence filled me with a sense of longing—a desperate ache for his presence, his warmth, his touch. But now I savored the solitude. It was the only time I was free.

The thick pages whispered against each other as I thumbed through the blank sketchbook. A loose sheet of paper folded into quarters fluttered onto the bedspread. I unfolded the note, smoothing it open against my lap. The message was brief,written in a bold, angular script that I instantly recognized as Victor’s.

It’s time to let your light shine.

My heart fluttered in my chest as I traced my fingertip over the ink, feeling the gentle indentations left by the pen. I imagined Victor bent over his massive mahogany desk, pen in hand, deliberately choosing each word. A thrill raced through me at the intimacy of it, as if he had reached out across the distance between us to whisper in my ear.

Conflicting emotions warred within me—guilt, desire, confusion, yearning, intrigue. I knew I shouldn’t indulge these feelings for Victor. And yet…some reckless part of me didn’t want to stop. When I was with him, I felt alive, seen, understood, encouraged. Like I was finally waking up from a long, monochromatic dream.

I carefully refolded Victor’s note and tucked it inside the sketchbook before setting it in my nightstand drawer. The drawer’s latch clicked softly as I shut it away. My secret.

As if on cue, the front door opened and closed, followed by the thud of Frank’s footsteps in the foyer. I quickly switched off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Burrowing beneath the covers, I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing, feigning sleep. The bedroom door groaned as it swung open. Frank lumbered in and bumped against the dresser. Rustling fabric cut through the quiet night as he shed his clothing on the floor on his way to the en suite bathroom.

A few minutes later, he emerged and mumbled something unintelligible as the mattress dipped under his weight.

Frank’s hot, moist breath slithered across the back of my neck as he nuzzled against my hair. The sour burn of whiskey churned my stomach. His sweaty palm dragged over my waistand grabbed at my hip. My skin prickled, and I suppressed the urge to recoil from his touch.

“Hey, baby, you still up?” His words bled together.

I kept my eyes screwed shut and tried to ignore the sandpaper rasp of his unshaven cheek abrading my shoulder. His thick, clumsy fingers pawed at the delicate lace trim of my nightgown. I clenched my jaw and lay rigid, forcing my breathing to stay even, willing him to stop. Frank sloppily kissed my neck, his lips wet and slack against my skin.

“C’mon, Barb, I know you’re awake,” he slurred, tugging at my shoulder, trying to roll me toward him. The stale stench of alcohol and cigar smoke clung to him like a noxious cloud.

I squeezed my eyes tighter and didn’t respond, feigning the deepest of sleep as my heart thudded wildly against my ribs. After a few more insistent pulls at my arm, Frank finally gave up with an exasperated sigh. The mattress bounced and swayed as he flopped onto his back.

His heavy, uneven breaths soon gave way to the stuttering snores of drunken slumber. I exhaled slowly and unclenched my muscles as the tension gradually drained away. Blinking into the inky darkness, I listened to the soft ticking of the clock marking the languid passage of time.

My mind churned, unable to quiet the restless yearning that had taken root inside me. Despite my best efforts, my thoughts kept wandering back to Victor like a compass needle irresistibly drawn north. My skin tingled from the phantom touch of his strong hands. I adored how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at me, making me feel like the only woman in the world. The hypnotic timbre of his voice resonated through my bones. He had awakened something inside me—a part of myself I didn’t even know existed until now.

Sleep eventually came for me, and when it did, it swept me away to a dream world where Victor was waiting for me. In thehazy logic of the dreamscape, I found myself standing on the porch of a weathered beach cottage, its white clapboard siding bleached by the sun and crusted with salt spray. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore and the lonely cry of seagulls echoed in the distance.

Victor emerged from the cottage, and my breath hitched at the sight of him. He wore a loose white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and faded blue trousers rolled at the ankles. The ocean breeze ruffled his thick, dark hair. His eyes, mysterious and alluring, fixed on me with an intensity that made my knees weak.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his velvety voice wrapping around me like an embrace. He extended his hand, palm up, long fingers beckoning.

I placed my hand in his, thrilled by the feel of his warm, rough skin. Electricity surged through me at the contact. Victor drew me to him, and I went willingly, powerless to resist his magnetic pull. He wrapped his arms around me and held me flush against the solid planes of his body. I melted into him, yielding to his strength, craving more.

Victor’s knuckles skimmed along my jaw, igniting sparks in their wake. He tipped my chin up with a single finger, his eyes, deep and dark as obsidian, bored into mine. The rest of the world fell away until there was only Victor, only this moment suspended in time.

“Barbara,” he whispered, his breath a feather-soft caress against my lips. He leaned down, his movements achingly slow, and brushed his nose along the slope of my cheek. My heart raced, and my ears grew hot. Victor’s lips hovered a hairsbreadth from mine, not quite touching, letting the anticipation build until I thought I might shatter from the sheer wanting of it.

Just as Victor’s lips were about to meet mine, a distant rumble of thunder jolted me. My eyes flew open, and I was backin my bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Rain pattered against the window, and lightning flashed in the distance.

Damn it.

12

VICTOR

Despite the overnight thunderstorms, the next morning dawned clear and bright. The sun danced off the sleek midnight-blue hood of my Jaguar MK V as I navigated the winding streets of northwest Los Angeles. Barbara sat poised beside me, her golden hair delicately pinned back into soft curls that grazed her shoulders. She wore a pale yellow dress that set off her luminous skin and traced the graceful lines of her neck and bust. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but my focus kept straying, drawn to the flush on her cheeks and those rose-petal lips.

A pair of cat-eye sunglasses shielded her eyes, but I could feel her watching me, studying my profile. As the city’s congestion and towering buildings fell behind us, giving way to the rolling hills and fragrant orange groves of the San Fernando Valley, I finally broke the silence.

“Tell me something—how does a girl like you end up married to a guy like Frank?” I kept my tone light, but I was genuinely curious. From my dealings with the man and the little Barbara had shared, Frank had all the charm of a bowl of cold oatmeal.

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