Chapter 4
The smile was gone in a flash, but Cecily saw it.
Sophie smiled. Her baby girl actually smiled!
An overwhelming wave of emotion washed over Cecily. Sophie was smiling, but Cecily was crying, tears blurring her vision.
It was a sweetly heartbreaking moment.
Realizing she was losing her composure, Cecily quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and refocused on guiding Sophie's drawing.
Later that night, after tucking a sleeping Sophie into bed, Cecily tiptoed out. No light spilled from beneath William's door, which proved he was already asleep.
She returned to the bedroom at the end of the hall, the one the imposter had used, and pushed open the door. The scene inside made her recoil.
This wasn't a bedroom.
It was a tomb.
The room was swathed in dark curtains. In the center sat an antique four-poster bed made of dark wood, looking more like a cage than a place to sleep. The air hung thick in the room, pressing down on her.
The imposter, following some bizarre self-imposed rule of only sleeping with George on the first and fifteenth of the month, had moved out of the master suite.
Cecily's head throbbed with anger. She forced herself to lie down on the bed.
After two hours of tossing and turning, she was still awake, her mind buzzing with agitation.
She shot up, raking her hands through her hair in frustration.
She couldn't stand this suffocating atmosphere for one more second.
Without another thought, she grabbed her comforter and marched down the hall to the master bedroom.
She pushed the door open without knocking.
"George, I'm moving back in. I'm taking half of your bed!"
Her words dropped into a heavy silence. Cecily's gaze fell on George, standing in the warm glow of a wall sconce, and her eyes widened.
He had just stepped out of the shower, a faint mist still clinging to his skin. His dark gray silk robe was open at the chest, revealing his defined collarbone and the hard lines of his pectoral muscles.
A few stray drops of water trickled down his jawline, disappearing into the collar of his robe, creating an aura of forbidden sensuality.
She could look at this body forever. Every single time, it made her feel a primal rush.
George stared, momentarily stunned, before his expression hardened. "Cecily, what kind of game are you playing now?"
Cecily tore her gaze away from his chest. Her first instinct was to just dive into the bed, but she knew that would backfire. Instead, she offered a placating smile.
"That other room is cold and creepy. I can't sleep.
"Besides, when did I ever not sleep wrapped around you? I can't get used to not having you to warm my feet."
Her tone shifted, becoming more demanding. "Anyway, I'm not spending another minute in that crypt. So, are you going to let me sleep here or not?"
She was always cold at night. She would inevitably migrate across the bed like an octopus, latching onto George, her personal human furnace, tucking her icy feet between his legs. He always sighed in exasperated surrender but would instinctively pull her closer into his arms.
The memory sent a sharp pang of longing through her, and she silently cursed the soul-stealing imposter all over again.
George froze.
After the accident three years ago, the new Cecily had been a stranger. She never, ever brought up their past.
He had thought she was possessed by a demon.
But today, her expressions and her movements seemed to imply the vibrant Cecily from before had returned.
The tips of his ears turned red, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm.
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Just as Cecily was about to lose her nerve and retreat, George finally moved.
He walked to the bed and sat on the edge with his back to her. His voice was flat, betraying no emotion.
"If you're going to sleep here, be quiet. You snore, and you're out."
Cecily was shocked.
Happiness hit her so suddenly it left her breathless.
He actually agreed? His tone was still annoying, but this was a historic breakthrough.
She practically flew to the other side of the bed, flopped down, and let out a sigh of pure bliss.
Before long, she fell asleep.
In her sleep, she sensed a source of warmth and instinctively snuggled closer.
George's eyes snapped open. As he registered the small head burrowing into his chest, his breath caught.
It was so familiar.
Three years ago, she did this every night, using him as her giant furnace.
For the last three years, she hadn't done it once, and for three years, his own sleep had been restless and broken.
He had resisted this new version of his wife so much that he hadn't shared a bed with her in all that time.
Could it be his love began to pound?
This long-lost, familiar dependence made him wrap his arms around the woman in his embrace.
This time, for the first time in a long time, sleep came for him, deep and peaceful.
The next morning, Cecily was dragged from a deep sleep by a persistent knocking on the door.
She opened it to find William standing straight in the hallway.
They stared at each other.
Cecily struggled to process the situation. "School starts this early?"
William looked taken aback. "But you're the one who instituted the morning greeting ceremony."
Cecily was at a loss for words.
That woman was a complete psycho.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile and clapped William on the shoulder.
"Son, you're old enough to think for yourself. You don't have to follow every ridiculous rule someone makes up. Go back to sleep for a bit. I'll drive you to school later."
She shut the door in his bewildered face.
When she turned around, she found herself staring directly into a pair of icy eyes that had clearly been watching her for some time.
Cecily froze.
What did she say wrong now?
She didn't care. She was going back to sleep.
Drowsiness was pulling her back under. She started to lift the covers, but a strong hand clamped around her wrist with unyielding force and yanked.
The world spun. In the next instant, George was pinning her to the bed, his warm breath fanning across her face.
"Cecily," he growled. "What the hell are you up to now?"