I swallow the bile rising in my throat and look away. What I just learned only adds to my despair. How can I expect Julian to love someone after being raised that way? The fact that my husband is a stone-cold killer with sadistic tendencies is not surprising; the only wonder is that he’s not even worse.
It’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Sensing my distress, Ana lays her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting, like that of my mom.
“For the longest time, I thought Julian would grow up to be just like his father,” she says when I turn to look at her. “Cruel and uncaring, incapable of any softer emotion. I thought that until I saw him with a kitten one day when he was twelve. It was a tiny creature, all fluffy white fur and big eyes, barely old enough to eat on its own. Something happened to its mother, and Julian found the kitten outside and brought it in. When I saw him, he was trying to coax it to drink milk, and the expression on his face—” She blinks, her eyes looking suspiciously wet. “It was so . . . so tender. He was so patient with the kitten, so gentle. And I knew then that his father hadn’t succeeded in breaking Julian completely, that the boy could still feel.”
“What happened to that kitten?” I ask, bracing myself. I’m prepared to hear another horror story, but Ana just shrugs in response.
“It grew up in the house,” she says, gently squeezing my arm before taking her hand away. “Julian kept it as his pet, named it Lola. He and his father had a fight about that—the older Señor hated animals—but by then Julian was old enough, and tough enough, to stand up to his father. Nobody dared to touch the little creature for as long as it was under Julian’s protection. When he left for America, he took the cat with him. As far as I know, it lived a nice long life and passed away from old age.”
“Oh.” Some of my tension fades. “That’s good. Not good that Julian lost his pet, I mean, but that it lived for a long time.”
“Yes. It’s good indeed. And you know, Nora, the way he looked at that kitten . . .” She trails off, gazing at me with a strange smile.
“What?” I ask warily.
“He looks at you like that sometimes. With that same kind of tenderness. He might not always show it, but he treasures you, Nora. In his own way, he loves you. I truly believe that.”
I press my lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to flood my eyes again. “Why are you telling me this, Ana?” I ask when I’m certain I can speak without breaking down. “Why did you come out here?”
“Because Julian is the closest thing I have to a son,” she says softly. “And because I want him to be happy. I want both of you to be happy. I don’t know if this changes anything for you, but I thought you should know a little more about your husband.” Reaching out, she squeezes my hand and then walks back inside the house, leaving me standing by the railing, even more confused and heartsick than before.
* * *
I don’t join Julian in the office that afternoon. Instead I lock myself in the library and work on the paper, trying not to think about my husband and how much I want to be sitting by his side. I know that just being near him would make me feel better, that his presence alone would help with my hurt and anger, but some masochistic impulse keeps me away. I don’t know what I’m trying to prove to myself, but I’m determined to keep my distance for at least a few hours.
Of course, there’s no avoiding him at dinner.
“You didn’t come today,” he observes, watching me as Ana ladles us some mushroom soup for an appetizer. “Why not?”
I shrug, ignoring the imploring look Ana gives me before going back to the kitchen. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
Julian frowns. “You’re sick?”
“No, just a bit under the weather. Plus I had a paper to finish and some lectures to catch up on.”
“Is that right?” He stares at me, his eyebrows drawn together. Leaning forward, he asks softly, “Are you sulking, my pet?”
“No, Julian,” I reply as sweetly as I can, dipping my spoon in the soup. “Sulking would imply that I’m mad at something you did. But I don’t get to be mad, do I? You can do whatever you want to me, and I’m supposed to just accept it, right?” And taking a sip of the richly flavored soup, I give him a saccharine smile, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at my response. I know I’m tugging on a tiger’s tail, but I don’t want a sweet, gentle Julian tonight. It’s too misleading, too unsettling for my peace of mind.
To my frustration, he doesn’t take the bait. Whatever anger I managed to provoke is short-lived, and in the next moment, he leans back, a slow, sexy smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “Are you trying to guilt me, baby? Surely you know by now that I’m beyond that kind of emotion.”