30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,63

I don’t think things can get any worse.

I glance back over my shoulder, but Marcus is nowhere to be seen. The magician strikes again. I reach the top of the stairs. What a fucking balls-up this has been.

The covers nestle around my body, offering some comfort, and although I’m extremely tired my eyes remain wide open. Glimmers of light dance across the ceiling, and I lie there watching them as they bounce from one spot to another, wondering where these orbs are coming from. Maybe there’s a crystal ornament the light is bouncing off. Turning my head in search of the location, I see the curtains hanging at the window are parted, I jolt. They weren’t open when I woke up, I’m sure of it. Without hesitation, I jump out of bed and pull them closed. The room now lies in complete darkness, but this only intensifies my fear.

“Abigail?” Marcus’s voice is soft as he speaks my name through the door.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” I reply, climbing back into bed and pulling the covers high up under my chin.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. The door handle jiggles. “Are you okay?” His voice grows closer.

“Better than I expected I would.”

“Can I turn on the light?”

“Sure.” The light flicks on, causing me to blink a few times before Marcus comes into view. His long cotton pajama pants hang perfectly from his hips. He’s bare-chested with his hair messed in a way that tells me his fingers have stroked through the strands many times since I’ve been up here.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.”

“Can I ask you something then?” He fiddles his fingers in front of his stomach. Is he uncomfortable with what he plans to ask?

“Yeah, sure,” I say curiously.

Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers through the thick locks on his beautiful head. “At the cemetery, you said you were telling your father about a wedding dress, one you never wore.”

I swallow hard. The fear previously sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach rolls like dirty clothes tumbling inside a washing machine.

“That your ex-fiancé was getting remarried.”

My chest feels like it’s crushing under the strain of what I know he’s going to ask.

“Abigail, that was Mike, wasn’t it? He broke your heart.”

“Yes,” I reply, my voice barely audible.

Marcus’s cheeks puff out before they deflate with a noisy exhale of air. “I’m sorry.”

I sit, staring at Marcus as his jaw clenches and his muscles tense. I don’t really know what to say, so I don’t say anything, and then the light turns off, and the door to the room closes.

“Marcus?”

There’s no reply.

“Marcus.” A single tear streaks my cheek as I close my eyes.

He left.

TWENTY-SIX

Memories

My heart beats so hard, it threatens to explode from my chest. I wake in a pool of my own sweat.

“What was that?” I whisper, shaking my head. I can’t believe the vision that awoke me.

That’s how I know Marcus.

I have a tiny piece of information. It’s not much, but it’s deep and profound, and it should help me to get all the information I’ll need to unravel the whole story.

Dressed in a baby blue silk blouse and flowy knee-length skirt, I sit in front of the heart-shaped mirror and fasten my hair with a black claw clip. A light application of makeup and some high heels, and I’m ready for the day.

“I’m going to court with Marcus today regardless of what he says,” I say to my reflection. Now I remember something, I don’t want to go home. I just need to find the courage to tell him to his face.

My heels clomp loudly against the wooden staircase even though I try to tiptoe. When I reach the opening to the kitchen, I’m greeted by Marcus’s bare back and immediately have visions of my nails scraping his skin, leaving marks on him. Where did that thought come from?

“Abigail,” he greets me confidently.

“Marcus,” I reply, and I’m surprised by the seductive nature of my voice.

He turns slowly, eyeing me up and down. “You look beautiful.”

I smile before walking to the table and parting the heavy curtains, allowing the glorious view of another day to shine in. Sitting at the table, I choose the chair facing the river, and I feel my body relax a fraction.

“Do you always cook breakfast in the morning?” I ask.

Marcus puts our plates onto the table and takes a seat. “No, I don’t normally. Martha … Mrs. Frost normally cooks breakfast when we stay. However, I found out yesterday they are actually