“You look like her.” Her expression turned sad, and I wanted to take back the words as soon as they left my mouth. Damn alcohol. Liquor loosened my tongue.
“I’m not her.”
No. You aren’t.
Natalya pulled the sheet up, letting it float over me. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you always see her when you look at me?” she asked, her face searching mine.
Did I see my deceased wife when I rested my hand in the small of Natalya’s back? Did I see her when I longed to kiss Natalya? Even though I hadn’t yet tried, Natalya saw the desire to do so in the way we both knew I looked at her.
I missed Raquel, and always would. She was the mother of my sons. But it wasn’t Raquel I saw when Natalya came to visit.
“I see you.”
Her shoulders lowered and I reached for her hand. Our fingers twined and a terrible thought spilled into my head, oozing outward like watered-down oil paint until it covered me completely, making me desperate for an answer. “Was it real? Raquel and I?”
Has anything about my life here been real?
Natalya studied our joined hands. She flipped mine over and traced the lines in my palm. The pressure of her finger tickled. “Nat,” I pleaded, my heart racing faster. I squeezed her fingers. Had Thomas bribed Raquel, too?
“I think what Raquel felt for you was very real.” She folded my hand in both of hers. “I’d never seen her as happy as she was with you. She gave you both of her sons.”
Air rushed from my lungs. “Good.” I settled back on the pillow. “That’s good.”
She pressed my hand against my chest. “Get some rest, Carlos,” she said, rising to her feet. “I leave in the morning and the boys need you.”
“They need you, too.” I lifted my arm toward her. “So do I.”
“They have me.” She opened her mouth, briefly hesitated with a short intake of breath, and said, “So do you. I like you, Carlos, very much.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
She blinked and averted her face, cheeks tinged with embarrassment.
“I like you, too. But listen.” I tunneled both hands into my hair.
Natalya sat back on the bed. “What is it?”
Eyes darting toward the hallway in the direction of Marcus’s and Julian’s rooms, my chest tightened. I’d told Aimee she’d never have her James back. It had already been almost two years, and I was convinced I’d be this way permanently. I’d always be Carlos. But it was nine days ago when the full impact of my condition had barely carved its hole in my chest. I understood now there were no guarantees. I could remain as Carlos for the rest of my days or wake up as James tomorrow. It all depended when my mind was ready to deal with the trauma that had triggered my condition.
“When I stop being me, you’re all they’ll have.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Natalya said.
“But it can. It’s a real possibility that it will. I don’t trust anyone in the Donato family, so how can I trust the man I should be? I don’t know what I was like. I could be just like Thomas, or that other brother he told me about—Phil. The one who’d sexually assaulted Aimee. I don’t want someone like that anywhere near my kids, let alone raising them.”
“How can you talk like that? You and James are the same person. Same body, same heart.”
“But not the same mind.”
“You have the same soul.” She rested a hand over my heart and I clamped it to my chest with my own. “I can’t believe James would do anything to hurt them. You’ll love them as James just as much as you love them as you.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
She splayed her fingers on my chest. “Maybe you will someday. Until then, how can I help? What can I do to put your mind at ease?”
“I want you to adopt my sons.”
She jerked back. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She stared hard at me. I stared back. “You’re serious.”
“Very. I want you to raise them should something happen to me.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Yes, I’m drunk, and yes, I know exactly what I’m asking. You’re their aunt. Julian is more related to you than to me, and Marcus adores you. It makes perfect sense.”
“It makes absolutely no sense,” she objected. “I live in Hawaii. You expect me to take your sons away from you, the only father they’ve known, when you’re still alive?”
“But I won’t be me.” I gripped her hand. “I won’t know who they are, and there’s a very good chance I couldn’t care less about them, not to mention the danger they might be exposed to if James takes them back to the States. I’d rather have them living with you in Hawaii than in California with the Donato family.”
Natalya slid her hand from mine and stood. “I leave early in the morning. Can I think about this?”
I groaned, frustrated. Then I nodded. “Take your time. We’ll talk in a couple weeks.” She’d be back for the holidays.
She leaned over me, her face less than a foot from mine. She cupped my cheek. “You should think about this, too. You may feel differently tomorrow.”
I doubted I would.
She kissed my forehead and I clasped the back of her neck, urging her lips to linger longer on my skin. She lifted her head a few inches and caressed my cheek with her thumb. “Take care of your boys, Carlos. And take care of yourself.”
“That hasn’t been an easy task lately.”
“I know. But try. I’ll be in my room downstairs if you need me, otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.” She moved to the door, her bare feet a whisper across the floor. “Good night,” she said.
“Good night, Nat.”
CHAPTER 5
JAMES
Present Day
June 22
Los Gatos, California
James should have known returning to his childhood home would reward him with a restless night. He floats in and out of sleep. The cold, deathly quiet interior of a house that’s too large for the three of them keeps him awake. So does his overactive mind.
He tosses in the bed, the sheets tangling around his legs. He worries about his sons adjusting to their new country. He’s concerned they’ll never see him as the father they once had. He’s paranoid he’ll hear Phil walking down the hallway. And the person he wants to talk to the most, the one he used to talk to every day, is the one person he can’t call.
James groans, rolling to his feet. He pads barefoot through the house, triple-checking the locks, then flips the thermostat switch. The fan rumbles to life. Vents creak, stirring the air, erasing the oppressive stillness in the house. Maybe the white noise will help him rest. Remarkably, he misses the ocean outside his bedroom windows.
He misses Aimee.
A memory moves gracefully through his mind the way Aimee did while in his arms as they danced. And suddenly, she’s back there, in his arms, as he spins them around the crowded floor at Nick and Kristen’s wedding. Her smile is dazzling and meant just for him. “I love you,” she tells him.
He leans in to kiss her and the clock in the dining room chimes off the hour. James tenses, then sighs, a frustrated sound of longing. He punches the wall. Not hard enough to do any damage, but with enough strength to bring on the sharp sting of reminder that he is alone in this new life. He doesn’t have anyone he can rely upon, or lean on, not in the way it had been with Aimee for most of his life.
God, I miss her.
He rubs his sternum with the base of his palm to relieve the ache and returns to the guest bedroom where he’s been sleeping, or trying to sleep. He powers on his laptop and launches the browser. He should go to LoopNet and search for commercial properties. But what’s the point? He has no desire to paint, and without painting, he doesn’t have any art to show and sell, which means he must find a job. His interest in Donato Enterprises that Thomas sold on his behalf is enough for them to live off for now, but the money won’t last forever.
James brings up the career-search website Ladders and stares at the home page. He graduated from Stanford with a double major in finance and art history, and because of his father’s expectations of him in the family’s import-and-export business, he completed Stanford’s Spanish-language program. Thanks to his experience at Donato, he’s more than qualified to apply for upper managerial positions. He can also return to school and get credentialed to teach high school or college-level art courses.