I kiss up her neck and every inch of her exposed skin, making her let out a small, feminine laugh and push away from me slightly. This is the only kind of pushing I ever want her to do again. From this day forward, she’s mine.

I only set her down so I can take out the ring from the box. I watch as Jules’s eyes widen once again. “Oh my gosh,” she says softly, eyeing the ring as though it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Do you like it?” I ask her as I slip the box into my pocket and hold the ring out for her.

She bites her bottom lip as she nods vigorously and says, “Mason, it’s beautiful.” Finally, she looks up at me as I slip the ring onto her finger. “I love it,” she whispers.

A small breath leaves her as she rubs her fingers over my five o’clock shadow and gently kisses me. I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for her. Seeing my ring on her finger makes it seem as though it’s all going to be all right.

As long as the past will stay buried where it belongs.

Julia

Lies lies go away,

The sins are all from yesterday.

We tried to run, you tried to beat us.

Now we’re ruined, left defeated.

The frame clicks into place and I turn it over in my hands and smile. I straighten my back and hold up the heavy silver frame. This isn’t for hanging out here where everyone can see. It’s silly really, but I wanted it framed.

My engagement ring clinks against the silver frame as I hold it up, the sunlight from the large bay window in Mason’s house, well our house now, reflecting off the glass as I read the words.

A New Love and New Beginning.

It’s a picture of us from the first article about us that was run in the papers. Back when I didn’t know how to feel about the two of us. When I was riddled with guilt and pain and not seeing things clearly, I hated that we were in the papers at all. But I loved the candid photo.

I happened to come across it online the other day and when I read it, I lost it. Mason had to come in and find out why I was crying. He’s always worried that I’m going to break down. I wish he wasn’t so concerned for me. Yes, I’m emotional, but I know what I want. I want him. Something as simple as this article shouldn’t get me so emotional, especially since half the facts aren’t even true. But I love that our story has a beginning that was captured. I love that everyone around us knew.

I would never have thought that this article would give me a sense of pride and bring back a memory I want to be reminded of. A night when two lost souls knew they needed each other, even if we were too blind or stubborn to see it, we felt it.

“Finally,” I say. It’s framed and perfect. Just how I wanted it.

I hear Mason’s rough chuckle as he walks into the kitchen and wraps his hands around my hips then plants a kiss on my shoulder.

I have to close my eyes as he hums and places his hand on my lower belly. He wants a baby. The very thought warms my heart and makes my head fall back against his broad chest. Wedding first, though. I want it all with him.

“Soon,” I say softly with my eyes closed.

“What’s this?” Mason asks, picking up the frame and reading the article left on the counter from where I cut out the photo. I watch his eyebrows raise as he reads the first few lines and he looks at me questioningly.

“I was going to put it on my nightstand,” I tell him softly, waiting for his reaction. I’m still adjusting to moving in. I’ll never sell my family home but I’m happier here, away from all the reminders of what used to be.

With no response, he sets the frame down and kisses me again. It’s soft and sweet, but it lasts. My heart swells each time he kisses me like this. When he pulls away, he grins at me. It’s a cocky one that lets me know he thinks he’s got me all tied up in knots. And he does.

“Why this one?” he asks me.

Truthfully, I’m not sure I can vocalize why I want this particular one on my nightstand, so I just shrug.

“I just want it,” I tell him simply and my easy response makes him smile.

“Well if you want it, then it’s all yours.”

That right there is why it was so easy to fall for this man. It’s simple and natural. No rhyme or reason. It just feels right.

I set the frame down on the counter. It’s not at all a lazy weekend; I have to write like crazy to get this manuscript in before the deadline, but I’m doing everything I can to procrastinate.

“You want a drink?” Mason offers, his voice dripping with sex appeal. He has a sexy grin on his lips and I know he wants to stay in and do bad things tonight.

I can’t resist him, so I nod my head and his smile widens, filling me with warmth. I’ll never get enough of him and how he makes me feel.

I pick up the envelope one top of the pile of mail sitting to my right as he heads to the fridge. The envelope tears easily and a handwritten letter slips out.

I feel my forehead crease as I unfold the thick cream parchment. Who sends a letter like this in a plain envelope? Before I read it, I check the envelope again. My name is there, but there’s no return address.

Dear Julia,

It pains me to tell you this, but I can’t stand to watch from a distance as you fall into a trap. Your husband was murdered. I know this is going to shock you, but I have proof. You may not believe me but I pray that you do.

Mason Thatcher murdered him. Don’t trust him. Don’t let him know that you know. If he finds out, you won’t be safe.

My blood runs cold as I stand at the counter, my heart racing out of my chest. There’s more written, but I can’t read it. A shiver rolls through my body and everything seems to blur.

There’s no way this is true. There’s no way, yet my fingers tremble and my gaze shifts from the letter to the man accused, standing only feet from me.

My eyes dart from Mason’s back as he rummages in the fridge, then back to the paper.

My heart thumps.

Murdered. Jace wasn’t murdered. I deny it all, swallowing thickly.

I reread the letter, blinking and taking it in. My lips move with the words, but I can’t breathe. I can’t focus.

The handwritten letters seem to swirl together into a cloud of distrust. My vision fades and I feel so fucking dizzy. I back up slowly, pushing from the island and letting the feet of the stool scrape against the tile. Mason looks up at the noise and my weak legs barely hold me up as I grip the stool, the paper crinkling in my hand, my bare feet padding against the cold floor.

My head shakes on its own. That’s not true. It’s not true. It can’t be true.

“Jules?” Mason’s voice is riddled with concern and something else. Something I never registered before, but I can hear it now. I can see it on his face as I barely breathe and look up at him.

“The—” I can’t bring myself to confess what I’ve just read. It’s a lie. It has to be a lie. What a cruel lie it is. But Mason’s response is throwing me off.

He’s careful as he sets a bottle of beer on the counter, squaring his shoulders, all humor gone from his face and something else, someone else, stands in his place.

“Mason?” I barely get out his name.