One Weekend with the Billionaire Chapter 51

*Braxton*

I have a scotch in my hand. It’s my third. I should probably slow down. I don’t want to wake up with a hangover, but it’s hard not to drown my sorrow in alcohol when I feel like shit.

I’m sitting in the art room I had put in for Julia, looking at the paintings she did when she was here, looking at the stool we were sitting on when we made love in this room. She’s been gone less than twenty-four hours, and I already miss her like hell.

I look down at my phone. I sent her a text about an hour ago. “How are you?” is all it says, but I am hoping she will respond and let me know how it’s going. I have an associate located in the apartment next to hers so that, if Jeff gets violent, that person can intervene. Most of the time, that will be Stringer, but right now it’s someone else so that he could be home with his wife for a while. It will be a rotating assignment, one I’ve delegated to someone else. I trust all of my people to make sure that Julia is kept safe, but I want to talk to her myself.

I want her to call me and tell me that she’s left Jeff for good, that she wants to come back here, come back to me, come back home. I don’t know how I can do this every day, be away from her. It’s like trying to live without oxygen in my lungs. I need Julia just as certainly as I need air.

Her last painting is still on the easel. I move to the stool so that I can study it better. It’s a still life of a bowl of fruit, not anything that should be particularly moving, but it’s dazzling to me. The way she captured the blush of the apple, the way she made the banana appear as if it is leaning so heavily on the orange that it might topple over at any second. It’s a skill not many people have. It’s a talent that is moving and will bring out emotion in many people if Julia is allowed to share her work with others. I can’t imagine being her husband and knowing that painting is her passion but not allowing her to use it. The idea is as mind boggling to me as having such a beautiful flower of a wife but not appreciating her. Jeff Thompson is an unbelievable bastard, and I would like to bash his head in.

I won’t, though. I’ve got some pretty good lawyers, but I don’t want to push my luck on going to prison for the rest of my life over someone who’s not worth it. Surely, Julia will not choose to stay with him, will she?

I glance at my phone again. She still hasn’t answered me. I put my phone in my pocket and finish my drink. I’ve sworn that this is my last one of the evening, but I am pouring another. Is this what my life will be like now that Julia is gone from it? Drinking myself stupid every night and dreaming of killing Jeff Thompson? God, I hope not.

It’s almost midnight now, so I know she won’t be answering my text. I have to assume it’s because she hasn’t had the opportunity to do so and not because she doesn’t want to answer me, but that she isn’t able to because Jeff is there. I curse myself for not calling or texting her earlier in the day when she might’ve had the opportunity to respond. Telling myself that she will answer me tomorrow, I put my phone in my pocket and take one last look around the room.

Everything about this room reminds me of her. From the paints still sitting on the table exactly the way she left them to the canvas on the easel. If I close my eyes, I can smell her. I run my hand down my face and fight tears. I can’t let him have her. I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I have to find a way to get Julia to come back to me.

With a deep breath, I take my half empty tumbler and the rest of the bottle of scotch and head to my bedroom where there will be even more memories of Julia.

I am haunted by a person who is perfectly alive and well, and it is worse than the ghosts of a thousand dead people.

As I lay down and close my eyes, I have to wonder what I will do if she doesn’t contact me tomorrow. I’m not sure, but I know I can’t go on like this much longer. It’s killing me, slowly but surely.