Several of you asked early on why she didn't just leave Carlisle...here's what I'm going with...she married young, straight out of her daddy's house, and was whirlwinded through the ritzy posh lifestyle before finding herself on a Caribbean Island with no friends...it hasn't really occurred to her, nor has she had the drive to leave him, until now. And it's fiction, so let's just go with it...lol
~20~
EPOV
With every step we took forward, I knew I should have been going the other way.
In our time together, I'd been unable to tell her my story.
But she'd told me hers.
Confirming that she was taken.
That she belonged to another.
Even if the bastard didn't appreciate what he had robbed from the cradle.
Every time we got close, my skin prickled and came alive, feeling as if it were being tugged upon, pulling me closer to her until we made that connection that would burst fiery hot and then settle into a comforting warmth, finally becoming an icy cold spot when we separated.
I could only imagine, and had imagined on a nightly and morning basis, what it would be like to be able to lay my body out along hers.
To have all of our flesh pressing together.
Pressing into each other.
I followed her across the deck and through the floor to ceiling glass doors into her residence.
I refused to call it her home.
I don't think she had a home.
Yet.