was no longer at either of Wes’ homes. I needed my condo. So after we ordered an extravagant room service breakfast, I lied and told him something work-related came up and I needed to get home.
“They wanted someone to look at the place today,” I respond, looking to where he’s lounging on the couch with his tablet in front of him, fixing a few designs his team sent him earlier in the week.
I hate that I’m lying to him, but I need to talk to Julia without Wes knowing until I have some answers. Or at least more information. So instead of telling him of my plan to pop in to visit Julia at her bakery this afternoon, I told him I had to meet a potential client for a historic home renovation.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” I assure him with a smile.
Not wanting him to read too much into my anxious demeanor, I saunter toward him and take the tablet from his grip, straddling him.
“Then when I get back, we’ll have some fun.” I whisper my lips along his jawline, a bit of scruff starting to grow back.
“Is that right?”
I nod. “Why, yes, it is, Mr. Bradford.”
“And what kind of fun did you have in mind?” he asks, squeezing my ass as he moves against me, making it clear how much he wants me.
“Use your imagination. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” I hover my lips just over his, pausing there a moment before pushing off him.
“You’re really going to leave me like this?” he groans, making no move to cover up his obvious arousal.
“I sure am. But don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”
I turn from him, heading toward the foyer and grabbing my purse off the entryway table.
“Hey, Londyn?” Wes calls just as I’m about to disappear out the door.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder and meeting his eyes.
“I love you.”
I sigh, tension momentarily leaving my body. He tells me he loves me several times a day. But something about this one feels…different. I can’t quite explain it. But I don’t care. It’s exactly what I need right now.
“And I love you. You for me, me for you. For the rest of our lives.”
“You for me, me for you. For the rest of our lives,” he repeats.
I hold his gaze for a beat, then turn, leaving him behind so I can run my…errand.
As I make my way to my car, I pray Julia isn’t too hungover and shows up at the bakery to catch up on paperwork, as she mentioned she planned to do this afternoon. I debated texting or calling her, but didn’t want to clue Nick in. The last thing I need is for him to figure out what I’m planning and get to Julia before I can.
The fifteen-minute drive from my house to Julia’s bakery in Buckhead seems to take an eternity, my nerves kicking up with every light I’m forced to stop at and wait. I have no idea what I’m even going to say to her. How do you tell someone her husband is a rapist? Worse, how do you ask if he ever did the same thing to her? How do you convince someone it’s okay to come forward? That she doesn’t have to hide anymore?
When I pull into the parking lot closest to the bakery, my stomach churns, a flash of anxiety pulsing through my veins. I debate turning around, unsure whether this is the right thing to do. But I refuse to remain the cursed Echo I was all those years ago. I need to do this. For me. For Julia.
Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I head toward the rear service entrance, assuming the front door is most likely locked since the bakery is closed for the holiday. When I turn the corner and see Julia’s SUV parked there, I expel a relieved breath. Approaching the back door to the bakery, I pause, running my sweaty palms over my dress before knocking.
“Julia?” I call out. “It’s Londyn. Are you here?”
I press my ear to the door, listening for any motion from within. Not immediately hearing anything, I knock again, calling out once more.
“Jules?” I try the handle, expecting it to be locked. Instead, it turns, the door giving way.
I don’t do anything right away. This is the point in scary movies when I usually scream at the woman not to go in. That it’s a trap. But this isn’t a scary movie. This is Julia’s bakery.