Suit - Woodruff Jettie (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗

“You think you can at least brush out their hair?” Paxton asked with the tone that I didn’t get. The guy hated me.

“Are you like a full-blooded misogynist, or is it just me you hate?”

Paxton appeared beside me on the sofa in the blink of an eye. His hand went around my throat, expression matching the anger. He squeezed my jaw and told me how it was. Again…

“You’re pushing it. I don’t buy this shit for one second. You’re full of shit. You think I didn’t catch the look in your eyes? The expression on your face when you saw how different they were? I saw it, Gabriella. You suck. Show biz is not one of your strong points. Why don’t you be a good little slut and tell me where you were. Why were you that far from home?”

My lips moved to talk, but Paxton stopped me. “No, no. Shhh. Just do what you’re told and shut the fuck up. Now!” he ordered with angry words against my lips.

From my current predicament, there was nothing else to do. Not until I figured out who the hell I was, anyway. It wasn’t this. That I knew for sure. I was stuck with nothing to do, but obey, and wait. Wait for what, I didn’t know. A memory and then a way out. Rowan and Ophelia made it all better. I struggled with Rowan between my legs, trying to brush out her golden locks. If I used my right hand it hurt my wrist. If I used my left hand it hurt my shoulder.

“I can help you, Mommy,” Ophelia offered in a sweet angel voice. She took the brush from my hand and sat on the floor. Rowan perched in front of her and crossed her legs. That was the first premonition that I had about anything so vivid.

Two little girls sat just like Rowan and Ophelia. Their outfits matched. White sundresses and natural dark skin, a Mediterranean heritage maybe. They looked alike. Exactly alike.

“What’s wrong?” Paxton questioned. The vison of the little girls vanished with my blinking eyes.

“Nothing, I was just—.”

“Go get the two books we talked about,” Paxton said to the girls, cutting me off mid-sentence.  He leaned over the back of the sofa with a handful of my hair and kissed my neck. “Unless you’re about to tell me you’re done with this shit, and tell me where you were, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care.”

I didn’t respond. I already knew he didn’t want a reply. Paxton ran his hand over my breast and pinched, producing a hard bead behind my shirt.

“I can’t wait to bathe you,” he whispered with another twist. The whimper that escaped without permission was from pain, not arousal. Paxton kissed my cheek and backed away when both girls came bouncing in, carrying photo albums.

Anxiety filled my nerves, sending a chill down my spine. I tried to swallow the dry lump, only to have it get stuck half way down.

“You girls help Mommy remember while I go clean up the kitchen.” His fingers poked Ophelia’s ribs as he walked by. I laughed, but not at him. At her. She dropped straight to the floor on her knees to get away from him. She was like me. I hated to be tickled, too.

I did?

“Me first,” Rowan said, her little body sliding next to me. I could smell the strawberry shampoo in her wet hair, and the scent of Lavender from her summer pajamas. Mmmm. I loved lavender. I didn’t even question why. I had a lot of those things, premonitions that I didn’t understand, I knew things, but I didn’t know how. Like lavender and hating to be tickled.

“No, I’m going first. Dad! You said I could!” Ophelia shrieked, body flopping to the floor with a loud shrill. Jesus. Cute and adorable into a full-blown meltdown in a flash. Paxton glared at me and I gave it right back to him. If he thought I knew what to do, he was crazy. I didn’t. He dropped to one knee and patted her tummy.

“Hey, we just talked about this. You don’t get what you want by throwing yourself on the floor. You can’t scream when you get mad.”

Ophelia settled but continued to whine. “But, I already did it.”

“I know, and I don’t like it. Next time, you’re going to timeout. Okay? You can take turns flipping the pages at the same time.”

I watched Paxton scoop her up and pat her on the butt. He picked up her album and she settled in beside me. I tugged on her nightgown and covered her bare legs while, relaxing into the back of the sofa. My heart melted with love.

“You can open yours first, Rowan,” Paxton offered. His stern glare to Ophelia made her recant the whining she was ready to share. She whimpered and nestled into my arm. I hugged her close and kissed her wet hair, the fresh scent of strawberry and lavender, satisfying my senses.

Rowan smiled up at me, teal eyes gleaming. “This was when I was a baby,” she began as her hand turned the cover. A hospital photo of her, Paxton, and someone that wasn’t me. A stunning blonde held her in her arms. “That was my first mommy, but she left.”

My eyes moved to Ophelia’s album when she insisted it was her turn. I looked at the first page with my mind still on Rowans, a newborn. I held her in my arms and Paxton held Rowan. Ophelia had more hair than her, but I could tell it was Rowan. White fuzz stuck straight up on her little head. They were very close in age. Maybe a year apart.

Paxton’s expression from one photo to the next was incomparable. He was in love with the blonde and the newborn in Rowan’s book. He was in love with Rowan and Ophelia in her book. Not me. The next few pages were much the same…up until about six months old. Rowan’s baby book abruptly changed stories. The photos went from happy photos of a beautiful family to photos of me. The new mommy.

Unlike the photos before where Paxton had his arm around the girl in every picture, if his lips weren’t on Rowan, they were on her. Rowan wasn’t mine. Rowan was Paxton’s and hers. Whoever her was. I hesitated on asking Rowan, unsure of Paxton’s reaction to that. I refrained, deciding to ask him later instead. I was sure the girls had been through enough. Their mommy had up and left them in the middle of a storm and didn’t come back for two weeks.

Storm?

Instead of investigating, I looked at the photos. Nothing. I didn’t remember any of it. Not their first birthday parties, the people there, their first steps, their dance recitals, first haircuts, nothing. I didn’t remember any of it. We did a lot of family things, but they weren’t really family things. There was Paxton and the girls, and me and the girls. None of the photos were of the four of us—except those where the girls were between us. None of them were like the blonde. No physical contact between us whatsoever. No touching, hugs, or kisses.

I didn’t understand it at all. The man couldn’t walk by me without kissing, or touching me, but not in photos. No proof of that claim whatsoever.

I needed answers, regardless of setting Paxton off. There were some things he had to tell me. Like this. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t told me that Rowan belonged to another woman. I would have never guessed that. Not for one second. The instinct to protect her and love her was as strong as it was for Ophelia. I didn’t get it. It left me feeling sad, but I wasn’t sure why.

I lied to the girls each time they asked me if I remembered something. Like when Paxton taught them how to ride two-wheeled bikes in the street right out front. I assumed since I wasn’t in any of the pictures, I was the one taking them. There were a lot of those, photos of everything from swimming in the ocean to tea parties. Father-daughter banquets. Sports. Day camps. Park outings. Disney World. These girls had seen more in five years than most kids did in a lifetime. We were busy.

I couldn’t get away from either of them for the rest of the night. If I went to the bathroom, they waited outside the door. If I hobbled to the kitchen for a drink, they went with me. Even when it came time for bed. They begged to sleep with me. Of course, Paxton wouldn’t let them. They agreed when he explained that they might bump my bruises and hurt me. They didn’t want that.