Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
We were quiet a moment.
“The journals . . .”
“I’ll burn them,” I stated.
“What did you tell the cops anyway? Didn’t they ask you how you found out about Calvin?”
“I just told them I found an old newspaper clipping in her things and looked it up. Found out what happened to her and her sister and I investigated—became a sleuth.”
Roland chuckled. “You almost got yourself killed, Samira.” He tipped my chin. “I don’t want you to do anything that crazy ever again.”
“Well, unless you have another wife hiding out there somewhere that I don’t know about, I doubt I’ll have to.”
He laughed, then kissed me on the lips.
There was no way I was going to tell the police about the journals. They revealed too much of that night between him and Melanie and would have stirred up even more shit for Roland. He was healing from that and working on himself, and I believed he was. He regretted his actions and was learning from them every day.
I wanted the journals gone for good and I wanted to protect him no matter what, so we agreed that we’d burn them on the weekend, turn them to ash and never bring them up again.
We were going to restart as a happily married couple, and Roland would take his wins after having so many losses because after everything Melanie put him through, even after her death, he deserved it. And no one was going to ruin him again. Not when he had me in his corner.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
“That’s the last one, right?” Dylan asked. We stood in front of the firepit beneath the pergola, watching the journals burn, the ivory pages turning to dark embers.
“Yep. Last one.” I sighed. “I’m glad to finally be rid of them.”
“Me too.” Dylan stepped sideways and looked back at the kitchen, where Roland was opening the fridge for a beer. “Thank you for not telling him about . . . you know.”
“Yeah, well, after all that we’ve been through the past week, that’s the last thing he needs to know about. But that’s not happening anymore, is it? You’re done stealing from him, right?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s been done. I got spooked after Melanie confronted me about it, and cut it off. I regret doing it and not gonna lie, I really only did it to piss her off. It was fucked up of me and I’ll tell him about it . . . just not right now. Maybe when things slow down. I don’t want to throw too much at him at once after everything that happened in Raleigh.”
“Right. That’s wise,” I said.
Dylan sat in one of the chairs and released a long sigh. I studied the bandage beneath his eye, where he’d been hit with the butt of Calvin’s gun. “I can understand why she wanted to leave,” Dylan said. “She was a bad wife and she admitted it. Probably would have saved so much stress with Roland if she’d just taken off.”
My head cocked, and I looked at Dylan more intensely. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh—well, I mean, she always said how she was going to get a place of her own and go.”
“No, I mean about the bad wife thing. You said she admitted it. When did she admit that?”
“Roland told me she was saying stuff like that to him.”
I frowned. “When?”
“Shortly after the whole Calvin thing.” He laughed nervously, revealing all his teeth.
“Roland and I have been stuck together like glue since the whole Calvin thing happened. I don’t remember him saying that to you.”
Another nervous laugh. “Well, then Melanie must have said it to me before or something. I don’t know. It was so long ago I can’t even remember. All of it is a blur.” Dylan blew out an exaggerated breath and pretended to shake off something invisible.
I was quiet a moment, watching Dylan. He dragged a palm down his face, tapped his foot on the ground and caused his leg to bounce.
“I just think it’s strange you say that, because from what I read in those journals, Melanie hated you, Dylan. Up until her end, she literally hated you. I read all about it. That doesn’t seem like something she would have shared with you—running away and all.”
“Look, you didn’t know, Melanie, a’ight? She always said stuff to me or Roland to try and hurt us, get under our skin, but it never worked.” His eyes shifted over to the double doors of the house and I looked with him. Roland was on the phone now, most likely talking to his agent. He’d been receiving a lot of calls from his agent for bookings.
“Did you read her journals?” I asked, snapping my gaze back on Dylan.
“Why would I read her journals? I told you I didn’t know anything about those until a few days ago, when you were talking about them on the flight to North Carolina.”