Three is a War(17)
I suck at managing more than one relationship. It brings out the worst in me. I’ve never suffered from mental illness, but since Cole’s return, I wonder if I’ve developed bipolar disorder. Narcissism. Maybe sex addiction. I guess it could be worse. Severely distressing events can breed all sorts of nutjobs—psychopaths, serial murders, scientologists. Bottom line is I’m not good at bouncing between them.
“What’s putting that look on your face?” Trace captures me in a penetrating stare.
“All the reasons why your proposition won’t work.”
“Such as?”
Shifting toward him, I slide a hand down his chest while meeting Cole’s eyes. “What would you do if I kissed him right now?”
“Nothing.” Cole stands taller. “I won’t like it, but it’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“You choosing Florida, a new life, and eventually another man who will never bring you the happiness you deserve.”
I drop my hand and step around them, pacing toward the island in the kitchen. “Where’s my phone and my car?”
“The phone is on the kitchen counter,” Trace says. “Your car will be delivered tomorrow, along with the Maserati.” He hardens his tone. “It’s after ten o’clock. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“My parents expect me—”
“In two days. You’re going to stay the night and think about everything we’ve told you. If you’re still set on leaving tomorrow, you’ll have your car.”
It’s a logical argument. But he’s always logical. And compelling. And impossibly gorgeous, studying me with those intelligent eyes.
This is a bad idea. The worst. Yet the next question is already falling out of my mouth. “Where would I sleep?”
“Follow me.” Cole turns and heads toward the slight gradient of stairs that leads to the bedrooms.
Trace extends an arm, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him. I assume they have a guest room made up for me, but when I join Cole at the end of the hall, the room he unlocks with a passcode is not what I expected.
A massive king-sized bed sits in the windowed corner. Given the unmade bedsheets and picture frames cluttering the furniture, this isn’t a guest room. I recognize the photos of me in the dance studio, Cole and me at my house, and Cole with my sister’s family. There are others, however, I’ve never seen before. Like the photos of me at the casino.
The camera angles suggest they were taken with the surveillance equipment, and I’m surprised by the high quality of the zoomed-in images. There are some of Trace and me dining together at Bissara, mingling at the casino bar, and holding hands in the lobby.
I didn’t know he was capturing and saving those images, but that’s not what makes my pulse speed up. It’s the sight of them intermixed with Cole’s pictures. I recognize other things, too—Cole’s sneakers on the floor by the bed, his watch on the side table, and the headboard that looks almost identical to the one he bought me years ago.
As Trace’s scowling shadow follows me around the room, I shift to look at him and Cole. “Whose bedroom is this?”
“It used to be mine.” Cole leans against a chest of drawers and straightens a picture frame.
Trace watches me intently. “Now it’s ours.”
My mouth opens and closes, forming words that have no sound. Breathe, dammit. I can’t tell them how insane they are if I’m hyperventilating.
I gulp, and gulp again, filling my lungs with air. “Our bedroom?”
“Yours. His.” Trace clasps his hands behind him. “And mine.”
“What?” I swing my head around, my skin heating as I take in the intimate space. “No, we can’t—”
“It’s just a room.” Cole crosses his arms, frowning.
“A bedroom with only one bed.” I point needlessly at the mattress that now seems a lot smaller than it did a few seconds ago. “You need to explain whatever this is, because right now, I’m jumping to conclusions that aren’t possible.”
“Cole and I discussed multiple ways to approach this.” Trace paces around me, rubbing his jaw. “If we all have separate bedrooms, one of us will come into your room at night without the other one knowing. Or maybe we won’t, but we’ll lie in our beds, wide-awake, worrying about it.”
“You have all this high-tech security.” I wave a hand at the keypad beside the door. “Just set something up that would trip an alarm and notify you when someone entered my room.”
“We’d turn it into a competition.” Cole’s brown eyes glow beneath heavy brows. “We’re trained to penetrate every security system ever designed.”