Page 78 of Arranged Obsession
God, if only she knew how right she was.
She’d run fucking screaming.
Chapter 25
Bianca
The house creaks when I’m alone.
I don’t know what it is. When Cormac’s home, the place is totally normal.
But every time I’m the only one in here, it’s like the house comes alive and starts making noise.
It’s unnerving, but weirdly comforting too. My old house back in Philly was like this. Every winter the old wood settled, and in the summer, it expanded again, contracting and shifting and making all kinds of sound. These New York houses are similar, old and full of character.
I water the plants and drink some coffee early Saturday morning. Cormac’s out for work. I learned not to ask what that means. He’s way too honest and he’ll tell me something likequick murderor whatever, and I don’t want to hear it.
Things are strange between us.
The sex is fantastic. I mean, really, really good. I could sleep with that man twenty times a day and never get sick of it. He knowsexactly what to say and how to touch me to send me spiraling down into full body, back-arching orgasms.
Which is a very good trait in a husband.
But he’s also still strangely reserved. He doesn’t talk about himself that often. When he does, it’s always how broken he is, how dark he is. But I don’t really see it.
From my perspective, he’s a lost soul.
These plants, for example. What kind of murderer cares for so many plants? Helovesthese things and practically dotes on them. Which is how I’m sure he’s not actually an emotionless murder robot.
He cares about things. He cares about me.
But no matter how hard I try to talk myself into feeling like this is a normal relationship, I can’t get there. He’s still got too many secrets.
And we still haven’t talked about my ghost.
I find myself up in the hallway again once the plants are taken care of. I drink coffee and stare at the locked door. I have no clue how to get it open, but I’m getting to the point where Ineedto know what’s inside. If he’s got corpses in there or something terrible?—
I just have to know.
Because I’m starting to feel things for him.
Little things. Don’t get me wrong. He’s still terrifying.
But I like waking up and feeling how warm his side of the bed is.
Iadorehis smell. There’s nothing better than watching him get dressed in the morning. He’s so good with his hands, it’s obscene. When he makes me coffee, he does it with this shocking grace and ease, like he’s dancing around the kitchen.
And there’s the way he looks at me.
Like I’m his salvation.
I hated it at first. It freaked me out. I never wanted to be someone’severything, but it’s clear he’s deeply obsessed with me in a very unhealthy kind of way.
But I like it. I love the attention. I can’t get enough of the way he’s constantly checking in with me, seeing what I need, going out of his way to give me little gifts and tiny kindnesses.
I’m acclimating to him.
I’m actually kind of starting to like being in this house.
