Jack stands up and motions for me to step inside. He shuts the door behind me, and I stare at the living area. A large, stone fireplace is off on one wall with fine leather sofas and chairs surrounding it. Paintings decorate the walls, making it look almost more like a showroom on HGTV than an actual house where people live. I step into the space and notice the loft overhead that's filled with bookcases. Wall-to-wall books. A library that overlooks the living room. It's beautiful.
From the front of the house, I can see through the windows out to the back. I can see the snow covered back porch and mountains off in the distance. It's a gorgeous view and almost looks like a painting itself, except for the dog prints all over the snow breaking up the almost perfectly white, flat canvas.
I notice that Jack still hasn't answered my question, so I turn back to him, arms crossed in front of my chest. I grit my teeth and stand firm. I want some answers and I intend to get them.
“You keep saying we're going to talk,” I say. “So, talk.”
“Can I at least let Gunner out first?” he asks. “He's been cooped up in here for a while and probably has to pee like a race horse.”
He shoots me an adorable smile that touches me right to the core, even though I know he's just delaying. Still, Gunner is at the back door, tail wagging excitedly, looking back at us with a goofy doggy grin on his face.
“Fine,” I groan. “I'm going to look around.”
“Maybe we should talk before you take the tour,” he says.
“No, maybe you should tell me what the hell is going on,” I finally snap.
Gunner whines. I see the pull in Jack's face, so I wave him off and sigh, irritation coursing through me.
“Go. Take care of the dog,” I say. “Then we talk, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, snapping me a small salute.
He opens the back door and the dog runs out. Jack goes outside after him, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone in the house. I walk around the living room looking at everything I can find. What strikes me first are the things that aren't there that I would think should be. There's no pictures of people anywhere. No wedding photos. No pictures of us. Just generic artwork. Nice artwork, sure, but nothing that feels personal. Nothing that rings familiar to me at all.
If Jack and I have as much money as he says we do, I can't imagine why we wouldn't make this space ours. Why there would be no personal touches and why would the environment feel so sterile and spartan.
Unless spartan and sterile is my style?
But that doesn’t feel right to me. Though I don’t know many things right now, I feel like I’m neither spartan nor sterile. I'm pretty sure I'm more of a nester; somebody who likes to make her space her own, complete with all kinds of personal touches. This museum quality showroom is definitely not me. It just feels wrong; at odds with who I feel that I am. There's a spiral staircase leading up to the loft, and it calls to me. I slowly walk up to the top landing, my hand on the carved wood railing for balance. It's a narrow, slim staircase, but I make it to the top without topping over backwards and stand amongst the books.
So many books. Classics like Moby Dick and The Iliad. Modern works by Stephen King and James Patterson. History books. Biographies. An entire section devoted to the Marines. A few books that look about a hundred years old, the bindings coming loose and titles I don't recognize. I run my hand along the spines and take a deep breath, letting the smile spread across my face.
I have the distinct notion that the smell of books has always been one of my favorite things. This library is me, one hundred percent me. It makes me think maybe, just maybe, this is my house after all. Even still, the library doesn't feel familiar the way the cafe had.
It's hard to put into words, but it just feels new. Exciting. This doesn't feel like a space I've spent a lot of time in, which doesn’t make sense if this is supposed to be my house. There's a hallway off of the library, and I'm curious. It's like exploring a funhouse. I have no idea what to expect around the next corner, and so I walk down it. It ends in a large master suite. A king-sized bed is against one wall, in a bed frame that is seemingly hand-carved from some rich, dark wood that's been polished to a bright shine.
Large windows overlook the mountains in the distance, with curtains that are pulled back to let the natural light in. The furniture is all made to match, relatively simple and built from high-quality wood. There's a dresser, some end tables, standard bedroom fare.
Two doors are against one wall, and I walk over. One leads to a bathroom with a shower large enough for an entire football team, with multiple shower heads and a seat carved into the corner. There's also a soaking tub, which appears unused, large enough for two or three people and complete with jacuzzi jets. The idea of crawling into a nice, hot bath is appealing, but I step out of the bathroom and check out the next door instead.
It's a gigantic closet that I'm pretty sure is larger than some people’s apartments. Shelves line the walls and remain mostly empty. There's a rack of suits, some men's shoes, and other men's apparel, but that's it. Seems like Jack isn't the type who owns a lot of clothing. His wardrobe, such as it is, contains mostly just black t-shirts, a few long-sleeved tees, and jeans.
But again, it's what's not there that raises the questions in my mind. Amongst his wardrobe, there is no sign of women's clothes. My clothes. And I know it's not from a lack of space. The closet is mostly empty, with plenty of bare shelves and open racks that can hold an entire wardrobe. The back wall has a large three-way mirror and some seating. It's enormous and elegant, and almost feels like a department store, rather than a closet. A men's department store, anyway.
Jack's voice is muffled, but I hear him calling my name as he steps back into the house. I hear his footsteps crossing the floor downstairs, quickly followed by the clicking of Gunner's nails on the wooden floorboards.
“Sydney?” he calls. “Where are you?”
The sound of footsteps on the spiral staircase makes my pulse race, and I hurriedly shut the closet door behind me as I step back into the master suite.
“I'm in here,” I say.
He steps into the bedroom, his head and beard wet with freshly fallen snow. White bits of powder still cling to him, melting away gradually in the warm house.
“I told you not to explore,” he says.
“It's my house too, isn't it?” I stand with my arms crossed in front of me.
“Well – ” Jack stops and looks down at his feet.
“It isn't, is it? I don't live here with you, that's why my clothes aren't in the closet. Only yours,” I say, my voice rising. “In fact, we're not even really married, are we? I can't help but notice that neither one of us is wearing a wedding ring.”
Jack sighs and walks over to the bed. Sitting down, he puts his face in his hands. I consider leaving the room. Scratch that, I should leave this house entirely. I don't know who this man is or what sick game he's playing, but my survival instinct is telling me to get the hell out of here. The man might be dangerous.
Despite all of the reasons I should leave, something keeps me there.
“Was any of it true? About how I introduced you to Daisy's cafe?” I ask. “Do we even know each other, Jack?”
“Yes, that's true. All of it's true. Just not – well, the married part,” he says. “But, there's a perfectly logical explanation for that.”
My blood pressure rises, and I can feel the rage boiling inside my veins. I grit my teeth and stare daggers at the man. For the most part, I'm not shocked to find out that he lied to me. I think somewhere deep down, I already knew. But, the fact that I might have already known he's a liar, and have it confirmed straight from his mouth, doesn't piss me off any less.
“You lied to me,” I hiss. “Not just me, to everyone.”
“I had to, Syd,” he says, removing his hands from his face and stares up at me.
His eyes are so warm, so filled with love and compassion that I stop breathing for a minute. I forget where I am entirely. I almost forget that I'm mad. Those blue eyes of his draw me in deep, keep me there, and I almost lose myself within them completely.
Almost.
“Had to? You had to lie?”