Page 44 of Jordan
"What do you mean?" She wandered over to the opposite chaise and sank down slowly.
"Jules."
Slipping out of her shoes, she swung her legs up and curled them under her, expression tensed. "He wants a real marriage." She lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck. "We—we're sleeping together."
"I see."
"Do you?" She eased out a sigh. "He's white."
"Is he?" Caleb grinned at the dirty look she threw at him. "You knew the color of his skin going in."
"It was not supposed to be a thing, a relationship."
"Were you forced?" he asked mildly, taking another sip of the beer. He shrugged at the dark look she sent him.
"I don't know what to do."
"How do you feel about him?" He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. "Don't bother to deny it. You do have feelings for the guy. I know you, honey. You don't go into a relationship unless you care for the guy. That's the reason you have only had two under your belt. You don't do casual—it has to be meaningful. What do you feel for your husband, because deny it or not, he's your husband."
Jules stared at the ashtray in her hand, her brow furrowing as she tried to form her words. "He's... he's everything I never wanted but somehow need." She exhaled heavily, placing the ashtray back down with deliberate care. "I thought I could keep it uncomplicated, but it's not. It's a mess."
Caleb felt a pang of sympathy for her turmoil. He knew the look of anguish that crossed her features, knew the weight of decisions that seemed impossible to make. "Does he make you happy?" he asked gently.
"He does," she admitted, her voice soft, almost lost in the breeze that wafted through the open balcony door. "But it scares me, Caleb. It's like I'm losing myself in him, like I'm becoming someone I don't recognize."
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" Caleb mused, setting his beer down and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Sometimes change is good. Sometimes it's what you need."
Jules hugged herself, as if trying to hold onto her identity in the face of overwhelming emotions. "I'm terrified of being vulnerable, of giving him that power. What if it all falls apart?"
Caleb shook his head slowly. "Life doesn't come with guarantees, Jules. You have to take the leap and hope to land on your feet. If you love him, if he loves you, then you owe it to both of you to try."
She bit her lower lip, considering his words. "But what if..."
"No more 'what ifs,'" Caleb interrupted softly. "Follow your heart. It knows the way better than your mind ever could."
She rose and walked to the railing. Leaning her upper body over it, she stared at the bright lights that vied with the bright lights spearing upwards. The faint sounds of vehicles whizzing by had her smiling slightly. She missed the frenetic activities—of people rushing by without even glancing at each other. The often-feverish madness of the natives. The easy access to anything one desires.
"His mother wants to have lunch."
Behind her, Caleb tensed, his beer forgotten. He had the opportunity to study the woman from afar while at the wedding reception and Jacquline Wainwright had not looked at all pleased. Oh, she had tried to be pleasant, putting on a good performance, but he was trained to observe, trained to see beneath layers and had seen the flash of hatred, the bitterness, each time she looked at Julesa. It had his hackles rising and at one point, had almost confronted the woman.
"You told her no, of course."
"I told her that I would think about it."
"Jules—"
"She hates me, and the feeling is mutual." She turned around. "And if the relationship—if this marriage has any chance of being real, I have to do this."
"You don't have to do a damn thing. The woman is more likely to stab you in the heart. What the hell does she want to have a meal with you? And what does Wainwright have to say about it?"
"I haven't told him."
His eyes glimmered. "What? Why the hell not?"
"He would insist on going with me." She lifted her hands, palms up. "I need to clear the air. I still have nightmares about what she did—what the family did to mama and me. And dad."
"Your dad was a piece of work—" He shook his head at her rebellious expression. "I know you thought he walked on water, but it's time you start to accept that he was a worthless fool. He might have told you bedtime stories and gave you piggyback rides, but that did not make him a father. He was lousy at being one and even worse at being a parent. He put mama through hell and made my life miserable." His expression turned ominous. "I wanted to kill him. That's why I up and left. If I had stayed—" he shrugged. "Let's just say that I would be running from the law instead of wearing a badge."
