You Are My Reason - Willow Winters Page 0,4

and wink, putting on the act I use so well. Maybe I have a soft spot for her.

“Have a good night, Mr. Thatcher,” she tells me as she shuffles the papers on her desk, seeming somewhat less disturbed.

It’s enough that it settles me and I push open the double doors leading to the entrance with both hands and keep moving. The sound of my shoes pacing on the granite and the open air of the lobby filled with chatter soothe me.

But only for a moment.

It’s not until I leave the building that my true feelings surface. The mask fades, and fear sets in. I didn’t know what my father was capable of.

I had an inkling, but I thought I’d always imagined it. I’d thought my memories weren’t quite right. It’s not that I expected more from him; I just hate that I was right.

What’s done is done and I can’t stop what’s been set in motion.

Julia

Bloodred lips. The silver tube in my hand is labeled Black Honey, my favorite color. I’ve worn it since my freshman year of college and although I’ve experimented with other colors at times, it’s always been a staple in my beauty bag. Pressing my lips together, I smack them once as I examine myself in the mirror.

My complexion is flawless thanks to the full-coverage foundation I’m wearing. My lashes are thick and long, and I’ve got just a hint of blush. It’s a timeless look, classic and clean. And it hides everything. My reddened skin and the dark circles under my eyes are nowhere to be found.

I don’t look like the person I’ve become. This woman in the reflection, she’s who I used to be. A very large part of me wants this woman back. I want to smile like I used to and hear the sound of a genuine laugh from my own lips.

My heart pangs and stops that thought in its place.

He’ll never laugh again. It’s as if any small moment of time that passes where he’s forgotten for even a second is a disgrace. My eyes fall and I slip the cap back on the tube of lipstick, tossing it into the pouch on my vanity.

No matter what I do, every little thing reminds me of him.

Trivial things, like the color of the granite he insisted we purchase when we remodeled this place together. The knobs on the bathroom drawers he hated and never failed to complain about. The change he left in the cup holder in the Bentley. The pile of dimes and pennies that clink together when I drive over speed bumps or a pothole. The same small coins I refuse to touch. He put them there, and I can’t bring myself to move them.

Freaking pieces of metal render me useless.

It may seem pathetic, but not to me. From my perspective, I’m being as strong as I can. I face the New York City judgment every day, putting on a brave face and going about my life, my new normal.

All the while I shove everything I’m feeling deep down inside. That’s healthy, right?

I won’t let them see me crumble. There are those who want to. I could practically hear them licking their lips months ago when my world fell apart.

Julia Summers, born into wealth and raised on the Upper East Side. She always did everything by the book and married young to her high school sweetheart, Jace Anderson. With a loving family, a handsome and doting husband and the social life every young woman in Manhattan dreams of, Jules had a picture-perfect life. Until her husband suddenly passed away at the age of twenty-eight, leaving the twenty-seven-year-old woman widowed and alone for the first time in her life.

Twenty-eight now and numerous months since the tragic accident.

They’re waiting to see what I’ll do next. Pens to the papers and cameras ready. There’s nothing better for the gossipmongers. It’s to be expected. Being in Page Six is how I’ve made my life.

They’d love to see me fall and I have, but not in front of their eyes. I’ll keep my hair pinned up and my concealer on thick.

I know what they say, though. This town whispers, especially in the circles I run in. They don’t need to see the truth to figure it out themselves. There are rumors of leaning too heavily on alcohol for comfort. I don’t command enough loyalty for discretion; every member of my household staff has sold out to the tabloids looking for a hint of what goes