Nothing could have prepared him for this kind of pain. He was so overwhelmed he felt as if his brain were shutting down under the weight of his agony. Losing Eve the first time had been bad enough, but losing both of them was more than he could bear. He didn’t think he was strong enough to endure it this time.
“Why does Danny have five bottles of alcohol in this bathroom?” Trisha called out. “You’d think he was preparing for the end of the world with all this.”
“Neat freak,” Paul shouted back, wincing over Trisha going through their bathroom. “Eve thinks he has a disorder.”
“I think she’s right,” Trisha said, amusement thick in her voice as she walked into the kitchen, a large box in her hands. She set it down on the table and then reached inside it, pulling out Danny’s large medical kit. “Look at this emergency kit. My father doesn’t even have supplies like this and you know how he is about emergency preparation.”
“I actually can’t believe he left that,” Paul said, staring at the medical kit in surprise. He raised his eyebrows after a moment, realizing Danny would have no need for it without Paul around. “Or maybe I can.”
“He’s so weird,” Trisha said with a laugh, tossing the kit back into the box. “Mmm,” Paul hummed as he turned around and went back to washing the
coffeepot.
“You’re not going to keep that old thing, are you?”
“The coffeepot?” Paul asked, turning around to frown at Trisha. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“We put one of those espresso/coffeemaker combos on our registry,” Trisha said with a look of distaste at the coffeepot. “Someone already bought it. I’ve been checking the list online.”
“Oh,” Paul mumbled. “Well, I dunno then. Maybe we can return it and get something else.”
“We’ll donate this one. You need to start a donation box.” Trisha reached down to grab another box in the corner and then seized a pen off the counter to label the box as donations with intricate care that came from her passion for organization. “There you go—most of this kitchen stuff can go.”
“Right,” Paul said, picking up the coffeepot and staring at it for a long moment. “But I actually wanna keep this.”
“Why do we need two?”
“Just—it’s sentimental. I wanna keep it.”
“That’s silly,” Trisha said, frowning at him with irritation. “Why keep it when there are others in need?”
“I want to keep it,” Paul repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes at Trisha with the realization there was no way he was going to let her donate Danny’s coffeepot to charity. “So stop arguing with me about it.”
Trisha pulled back, a look of shock playing over her face before she shrugged. “Fine, keep it if it’s that important.”
“It is.”
“If you say so,” Trisha said dismissively.
Paul stared at the coffeepot once more, a smile tugging at his lips before he put the whole thing into the box of kitchen supplies he was keeping with great care.
Both he and Trisha were efficient workers and they had the entire house packed up within a few hours. He could have gone to her apartment that night, but he used the excuse of wanting to clean the house in case Danny decided he wanted to rent it out as an excuse to stay one more night.
It was dark by the time Trisha left. Paul found himself sitting at the kitchen table after she was gone simply because there was nowhere else to sit aside from his bed that he was leaving behind for now because there was nowhere to put it in Trisha’s apartment.
He had a stress headache that had been building all day and it left him feeling dazed under the weight of it. The house was already pretty clean and the televisions had both gone to New York. He really didn’t have anything to do but sit there and wallow in self-pity that was making the headache behind his eyes worse. He actually considered taking some sort of pain reliever despite having never taken one before, even when he was recovering from his knee surgery. Something about the pain of this particular headache had him wanting to hide from it.
He searched through the boxes for something, anything to get rid of the throbbing, but came up with nothing. Danny and Eve wouldn’t have left anything like that behind. What use did a masochist have for aspirin?
Finally giving up, he grabbed his briefcase with the intention to do some of the work he had fallen behind on over the past few weeks when being with Danny and Eve had been more important than his job. He opened it on the kitchen table and rubbed at his temples, wondering why now was the time he chose to get annoyed with a headache when usually something like that was a welcome surprise.
He frowned down at his briefcase, blinking against the pain that was making his vision blur when he saw an envelope lying on top of his other files. He picked it up, recognizing Danny’s neat handwriting on the front in big letters that said—
Merry Christmas.
He opened the envelope, his eyes widening when he recognized a deed instantly. Unfolding it, he stared down at the deed to the house he was sitting in seeing that Danny had signed it over to him. Shock washed over him as his lawyer mind reeled over the fact that Danny would give him a lakefront property easily worth several hundred thousand dollars even with the real-estate market suffering as it was.
That was one hell of a Christmas present—one Paul would have never accepted if he’d known.
He looked into the envelope for an explanation and found a small note sitting in the corner of it. He pulled it out, finding that the words were blurred from some odd reason and he had squint to read it.
Look us up if you ever decide to bite the apple. Until then—enjoy Eden. Danny Boy
Paul stared down at the note, the headache throbbing worse than ever as the words became too blurry to see any more. He closed his eyes and dropped both the note and the deed into his briefcase.
He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking under his grief. The very last place in the world he wanted to be was Eden if he had to live there alone. All the real beauty of it had left early that morning in a sleek black Mustang driven by a devil who had never been as cruel as the world thought he was.
Sitting at the breakfast table by himself in the semidarkness of a cold winter night Paul did something he had thought was impossible for him—he cried.
“She’s precious, Daniel.”
Danny looked at Circe, who was dressed in normal clothing—as normal as Circe got in any case.
She still wore the long, ankle-length red leather coat she breezed into the loft with. Underneath she sported a black turtleneck sweater and tight leather pants, both of which clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. She wore boots instead of high heels, but even those were spiked and deadly instead of heavy and bulky like something Eve would choose.
Her makeup was as dark and forbidding as Danny remembered, but her white-blonde hair was much longer than it had been the last time he had seen her. She let it flow down her back in loose, long curls rather than tying it back as she did when she was playing mistress. It seemed nothing caught up with Circe without her permission, because she aged nicely. She was nearing fifty but her face was smooth and flawless, making her look much younger.
“Thanks,” Danny said dryly, taking a long drink of coffee. “She likes the loft. You were right, it’s perfect for her. She was so surprised when we got here. It’s magnificent. I love it too.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Circe said loftily as she glanced around the large Soho loft from her seat next to Danny at the bar on the side of the kitchen, admiring the red stonework with a critical eye. “It’s mine, of course it’s fabulous. Everything I own is fabulous.”
“Right, of course,” Danny agreed, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “Why are you here, Circey?”
“Do I need a reason?” Circe asked, narrowing steely gray eyes at him. “When I grace you with my presence what’re you supposed to say?”
“I’m not playing,” Danny said in a bored voice. “Eve’s in the other room and even if she wasn’t, you’re not my mistress. That game ended years ago.”
“You’re no fun.” “No, I’m really not.”
Danny grabbed his cigarettes off the bar and lit one with a tilt of his head, avoiding Circe’s eyes as he did it. Taking his cue, Circe reached into her purse on the bar and pulled out her own cigarettes, ones she carried in a silver holder. She smoked expensive French cigarettes she had gotten hooked on when she had a client in Paris who had fetish for silver screen starlets and Circe had never stopped smoking them like a diva. She tapped one cigarette against the silver case when she closed it and then held it
between her fingers expectantly. Danny rolled his eyes but leaned forward to light her cigarette obediently.
“You need a real lighter,” she said and took a long puff off her cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth with dramatic flair. “Those plastic lighters are so tacky. You’re supposed to smoke like James Dean, not Billy Bob from the trailer park. I hate plastic lighters. I should beat you for owning one.”
Danny snorted. “Now you know what to get me for Christmas.”
“I’m not buying you anything for Christmas,” Circe said, her eyes narrowing at him once more as she puffed on her cigarette like a starlet of days gone past. “If you fail to amuse me, you’ll get nothing and like it.”
Danny looked away from her, taking a drag off his own cigarette and tilting his head up to blow the smoke toward the high ceiling of the loft. “You never told me why you were here.”
“I came to make sure you liked the loft,” Circe said, studying his face intently. “And I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Danny lied, still not meeting her eyes.
“I don’t think you are,” she argued as she tapped her cigarette on the ashtray and then leaned forward, grabbing his chin and forcing his face to hers. Her long fingernails dug into his cheeks in a way that told him he would be dense to fight her hold. “You look like you did when your mother died.”
“I feel like I did when my mother died,” Danny admitted with a sigh of misery. Circe had flown back to Tampa the night after his mother’s death and stayed with him and Paul for two full months when Danny was battling his darkest moments of despair. This was a woman who knew him very well. He couldn’t hide from her even if he wanted to. “I think I feel worse.”
Circe didn’t release her hold on him as her eyes ran over his face keenly. “Guard your heart, didn’t I teach you that? You’re in charge. Never let them own you when you’re the one with the whip in your hand. You broke the rules.”
“I loved him before I knew the rules,” Danny countered.
“Yes, I know,” Circe said, letting go of his face and taking another puff of her cigarette. She blew the smoke at him in a haughty way, but her eyes told a different story. They swirled with concern she couldn’t hide. “Love is a fool’s game, but it catches up with all of us eventually. At least you’ve got your pretty little pet to amuse you. Give it time, the pain will fade.”
“She’s more than a pet to me,” Danny snapped at Circe as his skin prickled with defensiveness. “I love her.”
“Why have one weakness when you can have two instead?” Circe asked, shaking her head sadly at him. “She is precious, though. Does she behave?”
“I’m not loaning my girlfriend to you,” Danny said with his eyes narrowed at Circe.
“Afraid she’ll like what I have to offer?” Circe asked, arching one blonde eyebrow challengingly. “Playing a game with Circey could cheer you both up.”
“What would your husband have to say about that?”
“My husband has nothing to say about anything when it comes to my amusements,” Circe said, pulling back as if affronted. “He exists to serve me.”
“If you say so,” Danny said with a roll of his eyes, knowing for a fact Circe adored her husband. True, he was exceedingly wealthy, but it was love more than anything that finally had her agreeing to marry him. All her clients had been insanely wealthy like her husband was and he wasn’t the first to beg for marriage, he was just the first to break past the steel around Circe’s heart and win her over. “Where is he?”
“Working,” Circe pouted, a full, red bottom lip sticking out in misery. “On Christmas Eve. I’m beating him later.”
Danny smirked. Circe’s husband could possibly give Paul a run for his money as far as pain fetishes were concerned. “Early Christmas present.”
“Truly is,” Circe admitted with a sly smile. “I got this new burgundy corset he is going to love. I can’t wait to put it on for him. Precious will die when he sees me.” She cupped at her large breasts through her sweater, pushing them up higher than they already were, the cigarette dangling between her fingers as she admired herself. “They’re going to look great in it. He’s so lucky.”
“Come on, Circe,” Danny growled, looking behind him to see if Eve was still upstairs sorting through her paintings the movers had delivered earlier that day. “Tone yourself down a little. Take a tranquilizer if you have to.”
Circe giggled and tapped her cigarette against the ashtray. “You want to come over to our place for dinner?”
Danny gave Circe a look of distaste. “You just told me you’re going to beat your husband dressed up as a twisted version of Mrs. Claus. I’ll pass.”
“Oh, I should get a hat,” Circe said, her eyes lighting up. “A leather Santa hat. They make those, don’t they?”
“Do I know?” Danny asked, wincing at the visual. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Santa hat. I hate Christmas.”
Circe stared at him, concern swirling in her eyes once more. “What can I do to cheer you up?”
“Snap your fingers and make Paul come back to me.” Circe’s face fell. “I would if I could, sweetie.”
“Yeah, I know,” Danny said as he took another long drag off his cigarette. “What’s your precious doing?” Circe asked curiously, turning around to look for
Eve as she put out her cigarette. “She hardly said two words to me. I don’t like that.
Doesn’t she know who I am?”
“She’s depressed.” Danny shook his head sadly as he thought of Eve. The car drive from Tampa to New York had been hideous. With the bad weather and Eve crying most
of the way, Danny was still trying to recover from it. “Really depressed. She loves him as much as I do and she’s not handling it well. I’m such an asshole for doing this to her all over again.”