Ghost Walk

Chapter Two

June 20, 1789- HC snuck in to see me last night, after the Ball. I woke up with my hands tied to the bedposts and his mouth between my thighs. He seemed intent on punishing me for dancing with JMR (He quite detests the Pirate!) and I was begging him for forgiveness by the end. I cannot even write all the wicked things he did to my body while I was helpless. I’m sure Eugenia knows what we did and the gloomy little prude knows that I know that she knows, which makes it all the more delicious.

It was quite a marvelous evening!

From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

“I wish you’d let the ambulance take you to the hospital, just to check you out.” Mrs. Anita Beauregard-Smythe frowned, visions of lawsuits dancing in her head. “You really don’t look well and our insurance provider is very clear about getting timely doctors’ reports.”

As head of Harrisonburg’s tour office, Anita was visibly worried about what the guests’ comment cards would say if one of her guides had a psychotic break. With lacquered blonde hair fixed in a permanent bubble and a face that never lost its empty smile, Anita had probably been born in her middle-aged pants suit. She couldn’t care less about the welfare of her employees, although she tried to cover that bean-counting callousness with Southern manners. Under the phony empathy and flawless make-up, her only real focus was ruling her office fiefdom with an iron fist.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital.” Grace assured her. “I’m fine.” She pointedly refused to look at the delusion of Jamie Riordan, who was now lounging in the corner of the Harrisonburg Guest Relations Center.

Housed in a two hundred year old building, the inside of the space was a modern mess, filled with computers and overflowing files. At nine o’clock in the evening, Anita and Grace were the only ones left in the office, which was a block from the center of town. The delusion of Jamie Riordan had smugly informed her that it used to be a brothel.

Not that she was listening to him.

Since she’d regained consciousness, Grace had done her best to ignore the big, handsome evidence of her insanity and it was clearly pissing him off. His gorgeous face was set in an irritated expression, as if she was the one being unreasonable. The man wanted to talk. He loved to talk. Since she seemed to be the only person who could hear his constant talking, he kept up a running commentary to her, whether she responded to him or not.

And she wasn’t responding to him.

No way.

“How much longer do you plan to tolerate this horrible woman, lass?” He demanded as Anita subtly mentioned that she’d had to give refunds to everyone on the Ghost Walk and didn’t Grace think it was just a little unfair to expect Harrisonburg to pay for Grace’s mistakes.

Grace pretended that he wasn’t there. If she just ignored him, Thomas Payne-in-the-ass (minus the Common Sense ) would just go away. He had to. Darn it, she refused to go crazy, again. “I can reimburse you for the tour admissions, Anita.”

“Well, I do think that would be the right thing to do. But the guests were also saying that you were talking to yourself.” Anita continued in a disapproving tone that she tried to pass off as worry over Grace’s wellbeing. “That’s very troubling, in light of your history. Were you seeing things, Grace?”

“No. Of course not. I think my electrolytes were just low. ”

“That’s it, lass. Donea tell her anything that will get you locked up. You’ll be of no help to me trapped in an asylum.”

Grace’s lips compressed into a line, but she still didn’t acknowledge him.

Anita made an “umm” sound, not convinced by Grace’s denials. “Are you sure you weren’t experiencing anything… odd? You’ve been under a lot of stress this past year. And then there’s your family’s… business. No one would blame you if you’re having a few… problems.”

Faux-Jamie scoffed at all the pointed pauses. “See?” He waved a dismissive (but beautifully shaped) hand at Anita’s faux-concern and faux-sympathy. “She thinks you’re off your head. Convince her everything’s alright so we can be going.”

“I’m fine , Anita.” Grace adjusted her icepack with a bit more force than necessary. Visualizing a safe and happy place was supposed to help with anxiety, but no amount of peaceful green cornfields could stop the throbbing in her skull. “I just need to drink more water.”

“I’m sure that’s it.” Anita obviously wasn’t sure that was it. “It’s shaping up to be a sweltering Independence Day, isn’t it?” She patted Grace’s arm. “Things will be so hectic here over the holiday. Take tomorrow off and recuperate. You can come back for the weekend, rested and ready to go. I think that would be best, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.

Grace ground her teeth together at the loss of a day’s pay. “Of course.”

Her answer was totally unnecessary. Anita was already moving on to her real priorities. “And you have a point. With the temperatures so high, we’ll sell record amounts of bottled water this weekend on the tours. I’ll just go make a note to order even more.” She headed for her private office. “You can get home on your own, can’t you, Grace?” She called over her shoulder and then shut the door after her, without waiting for an answer.

Grace sighed.

“Do you truly plan to stay working for that harridan, lass? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’d rather be dead and I am dead. You should grow a backbone. Walk out of this place and never come back.”

On some level, she agreed with his disapproving analysis. This job wasn’t for her. She was terrible at it and very, very bad at confrontations. Everyone knew that. Great-Uncle Devotion once told her she could lose an argument with a stuffed jackalope.

As a crypto-taxidermist, Devotion had a lot of time on his hands to think up witticisms like that. Most of them involved some kind of non-existent animal he was just waiting to discover, hunt down, and pose with on National Geographic’s cover. Dev’s fondest wish was to shoot a unicorn. In this case, though, her crazy uncle was probably right. Grace was stuck in a life that didn’t quite fit. Not a single part of it made her happy.

Unfortunately, after Grace’s breakdown, Anita had been the only normal person willing to hire her.

She couldn’t go back to being a crime scene tech. It had nearly cost Grace her sanity. And she sure couldn’t go work with her family. They were a surefire ticket back to the crazy house. Not only were her relatives insane, but their potion shop somehow lost money even though they could literally make money with their spells. As much as Grace hated to admit it, their magic could actually do --well-- magical things. There was no logical explanation for their powers. So how on God’s green earth could they have spent three hundred years dead broke?

It was enough to drive even a really normal person bonkers.

“Why do you let her speak to you so?” The delusion continued, gesturing towards Anita’s office door. “You should stand up for yourself!”

Grace looked up at the ugly dropped ceiling and let out a long breath. He was actually right. Was that a bad sign? An even worse sign than seeing a delusion in the first place?

Maybe she should’ve gone to the hospital. Grace just couldn’t shake the feeling that if she stepped foot into that sterile, cold space, she wouldn’t be able to get back out, again. It would be like a year ago, only worse. Just thinking about it triggered claustrophobia and had her doing her deep breathing exercises to calm down.

What she really needed was to just be normal. Normal people didn’t see visions of Revolutionary War era criminals. Normal people didn’t have relatives who hunted unicorns and spent every free moment trying to recreate the family’s long-lost recipe for “troll powder.” Normal people didn’t visit crime scenes and relive the murders. Normal people were boring and stable and… normal.

Normal was the key to happiness.

She was sure of it, no matter what her family thought. If she could just figure out the secret of normalcy, everything else would fall into place. Her whole life would go back to not sucking. All she had to do was focus on reality and tune out the amazingly attractive invisible man following her around.

Think normal.

Speaking of which, she was late for her date. Grace checked her watch. Yes, a nice, normal dinner with nice, normal Robert would make everything fine again. No one was more relentlessly normal than her boyfriend.

Hopefully, he could bore the delusion away.

“Now that we’re alone, will you finally listen to me?” The completely un -normal Scottish guy demanded. He straightened away from the wall and headed over to her. Aside from some transparency around the edges of his large form, he looked remarkably solid. And really handsome. Amazingly, disgustingly, unbelievably handsome. “We have much to discuss.”

He seemed bigger up close, the eighteenth-century clothes molded against the masculine lines of his body. His remarkable muscle-tone made sense. Kind of. If Grace was going to imagine Jamie Riordan, of course she’d imagine him as the most attractive man in the world. She’d been obsessed with the pirate from the time she was fifteen and now he was standing there, like that stupid portrait come to life.

Except he wasn’t alive .

Refusing to acknowledge him, Grace got to her feet. Instantly, the room spun and she had to catch herself on the edge of the desk. Her head didn’t appreciate any sudden movements. She’d diagnose herself with some kind of brain injury, but she’d been seeing things before she fell.

Long before if you counted that hallucination in the alleyway.

“Are you, alright?” Make-believe-Jamie loomed over Grace and held out a palm, like he could somehow steady her. His hands really were stunning, his fingers long and perfectly shaped. They should have belonged to an artist, not a pirate. “Maybe you should sit back down, lass. You still look peaked.”

Wonderful. The only person who’d shown her any compassion was a John Adams-y-themed figment of her own imagination. God, could she be more pathetic?

Grace waved him away and headed for the door, smoothing her hair down. Hopefully, the long dark curls covered the bruise on her head. She didn’t want to have to explain any of this to Robert. It would be too awkward. Anything that even hinted at messiness put him in a sour mood. Robert’s inflexibility would have been annoying, except Grace kept reminding herself that it was further proof of his unsurpassed normalness.

Still, he was going to be peeved that she’d missed their standing Friday night, eight-thirty dinner reservation. She was going to have to go straight to his house in her stupid costume, which would also irritate him. Maybe they could skip the restaurant and order in. She didn’t feel like going out, anyway. Her head was killing her and her stress level was off the charts.

“Where are you going?” Fake-Jamie followed her out the door and into the stifling heat of the fading Virginia twilight. “Ya cannot ignore me. It means something that you’re able to see me, when no one else ever has.”

Yeah, it meant she was losing her mind. Again.

“We must figure out why this is happening, lass. Denial is no way to deal with life’s challenges. Or death’s challenges, either. We need to face this opportunity head on. ”

He truly had a magical voice. The accent was like liquid sex drizzled on chocolate cheesecake. …Even when he was speaking to her like a know-it-all talk show therapist.

Grace put her fingers in her ears and walked faster, trying to block him out. Her car was the most practical four-door in the parking lot. Grace disliked looking at the tan box, but it was normal and that was all that mattered. The only slight unique thing about it was the small decal in the back window and even that was sold all over the Chesapeake Bay, so it hardly even registered on the weirdness scale. It was just an innocent little mermaid. Totally within the confines of normalcy.

At least that’s what she’d told herself… but maybe it was like a gateway drug into the world of strange. Just in case, Grace paused to rip it off the window after she unlocked the car. There was no point in taking chances.

“Oh, I quite liked that sticker.” The delusion complained. “Reminded me of my last trip to Jamaica.” He gave a contented hum of a sound. “Those were some of the best days of my life. A chest full of gold, a barrel of rum, and mermaids swimming in an azure blue sea.”

Grace refused to listen to that beguiling image. The man wasn’t even there. She deliberately didn’t offer him a ride, but he climbed in anyway. It was hard to keep out a ghost who could just phase though doors.

No. Not a ghost.

She was the only Rivera in sixteen generations who didn’t believe in ghosts, because she was frigging normal. Grace’s trembling hands got the key in the ignition and she peeled out onto the street, her hands clenched on the wheel so tight that her knuckles were white.

Very, very normal.

The not-a-ghost beside her kept yammering. “You’ve been sent to help me. I know it.” He sat sideways on the upholstery, his patriot blue eyes staring at her profile, willing her to engage in his craziness. God only knew how many poor women the real Jamie Riordan had been able to win over with that hypnotic gaze. “Please just listen to me and… ”

She reached over and turned the radio dial allllll the way up, drowning out his stream of words. Salt-n-Pepa blared out, shaking the windows of the car with the news that he was a mighty good man. Jamie immediately tried to turn the volume down again, but his fingers passed straight through the knob. She could tell he was swearing in frustration, but she couldn’t hear it over the thumping music and that was all that mattered.

Paying attention to him would just lead to madness and she’d had enough madness in her life. July 4 th was just a few days away. That was why this was happening. Grace should have known that the one year anniversary would stir up bad memories and trigger… oddness. As soon as the holiday was over, everything would go back to normal.

And normal was good.

The drive to Robert’s house only took five minutes. As curator for the Harrisonburg Historical Museum, he was successful enough to have a large house in the newest section of town. The upscale community was filled with identical homes, all painted in nearly identical neutral colors with names like “summer wheat,” “warm toffee” and “fresh cream.” Each blade of grass on the identical lawns looked like it had been cut with a ruler. No basketball courts or bicycles marred the identical brick driveways with evidence that children played there. Not even fireflies dared to enter the HOA approved landscape.

Grace felt suffocated every time she visited the manufactured perfection of Robert’s neighborhood. The monotonous bland pressed down on her and she just wanted to drive away as fast as she possibly could. But she didn’t. Bland was good . Bland was normal .

She just needed to keep telling herself that.

Grace parked her car, relieved to see that Robert had read her mind and ordered in food. There was already a red delivery truck on the street, out of place among all the luxury leases. Calling for pizza was unexpectedly thoughtful. She’d half-expected him to go to the restaurant by himself, rather than break his precious routine.

“Please donea be telling me you live here .” Couldn’t-be-Jamie took in the rows of cookie-cutter homes and made a face. “Slapped together and hellaciously ugly. This part of town hurts my eyes. I expected better of you, lass.”

Because that was way too close to what she’d been thinking, Grace shot him a deadly glare. There was nothing worse than agreeing with a jackass. She slammed the car door and started up the curved walkway.

He arched a brow, seeing her annoyance. Like a misbehaving twelve year old, the negative attention just encouraged him. “Oh, so now you’re pissed.” He hurried after her, his boots not making any sound on the pavement. “Why? Because I’ve pointed out what anyone with working eyeballs already kens? This house is a featureless monstrosity, like everything else built in the last forty years. It should be a crime to fill up beautiful farmland with such dwellings.”

James Riordan --serial killer and pirate-- would know all about crimes.

“You may have been sent to help me, but perhaps I’m also supposed to help you .” He persisted. “So far, your life is smashingly dull, Grace. Surely someone’s needing to fix that for you or you’ll end up dying in this tomb of beige.” He gestured to the house with a disdainful flick of his wrist.

Speaking of dying, if he wasn’t already dead and buried, she’d be thinking up ways to kill him.

“How could such a lovely woman surround herself with such a morass of mass-produced…?” He paused his sermon, his eyes falling on the mailbox where “Robert Johnson” was stenciled in an elegant, curving font. “Wait, is this not your home?” He glanced back at her, his stunning face outraged. “Oh bloody hell! Are you here to visit a man? ”

Grace inhaled a cleansing breath. Stay calm. No negativity could find her in the peaceful green cornfields of her center.

Not that it wasn’t trying.

Captain Wouldn’t-Shut-Up continued with his rant. “This man should not be a part of your life. Not any longer. For whatever reason, you and I have been brought together. You should be focusing on me .”

Her eyes rolled so hard she nearly blinded herself.

“I’m only trying to look out for you, lass.” He tried, switching tactics when she didn’t respond to his illogical possessiveness. He made a show of checking her hand for signs of a ring. “It’s unseemly for an unmarried lady to call on a man at this hour of the night.” He arched a pious brow. “You’ll be giving people the wrong impression.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Peaceful. Green. Cornfields.

“If a man is courting you, he should be calling upon your residence,” lectured the moral authority who knew the exact location of the town’s former brothel. “In fact, given your injury, a gentleman would’ve come to collect you in his car and driven you safely home. He should be there to assist you through this crisis.” He gave a derisive sniff. “I was never a gentleman myself, but I know the breed.”

Grace couldn’t even imagine Robert coming to “assist her through a crisis.”

Maybe her bewilderment showed, because the delusion smirked knowingly. “Of course, ya didn’t call him for assistance, did you? That says much about your relationship.” He watched her, blue eyes seeing far too much. “Do you have no faith in this man? No expectation that he will be of service? Not even a hope that he’ll offer you some feeling of safety?” He arched a brow. “Deep down, do you know he’s not a gentleman?”

Peaceful.

Green.

Cornfields.

Grace was staying so frigging calm and envisioning so many cornfields that she didn’t even bother to knock on the door. She just slammed into the house and headed for the living room. Robert had a bar set up and, possible concussion or not, she seriously needed a drink.

“Holy Mary, the inside is even worse than the out.” The man who wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t Jaimie Riordan came in behind her and looked around with a disapproving tsk. “Anyone who lives here must be an absolute wanker.” Everything in the McMansion had been picked by a decorator to be unobjectionable, but he was apparently not a fan of matching shades of taupe.

How unsurprising.

Braveheart 2.0 was the least subtle man she could imagine. Eighteenth century garb was known for its outrageous use of color. Gentlemen of fashion never wore suits that matched and Not!Jamie was clearly a fashionable guy. Dressed in a vivid yellow waistcoat and a contrasting blue jacket, with shiny gold buttons, no one in the modern world would ever call his outfit “tasteful.”

So why did he look ten times better in the gaudy mix of patterns than Robert ever did in his tailored business suits?

“You should have seen my home, lass. Your beauty would’ve glowed in such surroundings.”

Grace sent him a surprised look. Was he flirting with her?

He gave her a quick grin, which made her insides dip. Darn it, how was his smile so white, if he was from the 1700s? Didn’t everybody have rotten teeth back then? Her subconscious was totally cheating. “Aye, a bonny lass like you would have liked my ship. The boldest shades. The most fashionable furnishings. The best fabrics.”

Oh, she had no doubt that he’d built a veritable palace out of his stolen treasures. His personal style was clearly the Playboy Mansion meets Versailles, with a little bit of Elvis-era Vegas tossed in. Grace snorted, already picturing the circular beds and strategically placed mirrors.

The delusion let out a rapturous sigh, ignoring the fact that she was ignoring him. The man kept up a constant, steady stream of conversation. The subject didn’t seem to matter as much as the knowledge that someone could finally hear him. He’d barely taken his eyes off of her since she’d woken up, like he was terrified to lose their connection.

If this wasn’t all happening inside of her head, Grace would’ve guessed that he was lonely. Who could blame him? She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live in total isolation for centuries, with no one to…

No.

She shook her head. No way, no how. She refused to feel sorry for someone who didn’t even exist. He hadn’t been alone for hundreds of years, because he wasn’t there at all!

“Sweet Jesus, how I miss the Sea Serpent .” The pirate-who-wasn’t-there continued. “That ship was like one of my own limbs. Sank in the War of 1812, if you can believe it. When I heard of it, I nearly wept in…” He stopped mid-word, muttering a quick Gaelic curse.

Grace turned to see why he’d stopped talking. Even though she was definitely ignoring him, she was getting used to his chatter. His sudden silence caught her attention. Looking around, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary with the surroundings. Robert wouldn’t have tolerated anything out of the ordinary. Even the fringe on the carpet was combed straight.

“Um…” Maybe-Jamie pushed his tri-corner hat back on his head, his eyes fixed on the French doors leading to Robert’s office. He seemed to engage in a quick mental debate and then moved towards her. “Let us be returning later , lass.” He held out a restraining hand, like he wanted her to stay where she was. “Much later.”

What in the world...? Was he hiding something from her? Grace marched forward, determined to see whatever he was trying to prevent her from seeing.

Jamie dodged sideways, attempting to block her. As he did, his elegant palm inadvertently passed through her chest. Passed through her heart. It was like walking into a mist. Cool and tingly against her skin. It wasn’t being touched exactly, but she felt him and, judging from the astonished look on his face, he felt her, too. For one endless beat of time, blue eyes locked onto hers.

And Grace knew, whatever had just happened, it was real. This man standing in front of her was real .

Oh God.

As impossible as it seemed, Jamie was really and truly there. She was kidding herself, pretending that he was some figment of her imagination. She was a Rivera and Riveras weren’t normal enough to be crazy.

Jamie’s lips parted in astonishment. “Grace…”

“No. No .” This couldn’t be happening. She refused to be some nut who believed in ghosts, like her deranged second cousin Modesty and all her invisible cats. …Even if Grace sometimes heard their eerie meowing, too. Shaking her head, she quickly looked away from Jamie, desperate to focus on something sane.

Unfortunately, all she saw was her boyfriend’s naked ass. Robert was “busy” alright. Really, really busy with his head buried between the thighs of the pizza delivery girl.

Grace couldn’t do anything but stare for a long moment, descending into shock for yet another time that evening. The man she’d thought she’d marry was a lying bastard… but that didn’t surprise her nearly so much as the messiness of the affair.

She wrinkled her nose. Robert was too fastidious to even walk across the carpet in his bare feet and he was having sex on the floor? Engaging in oral sex with a girl covered in tattoos? He hadn’t even folded his clothes first. They were bunched up on the ground. Maybe Robert was right and she was semi-frigid, after all. Or maybe her therapist was right and she just had “unrealistic expectations” about sex, because all of this just seemed kind of icky to Grace.

Darn it, why did everyone have more fun than she did?

Jamie flashed Grace a quick glance, gauging her reaction. “I donea think the man was expecting you.” He ventured.

No kidding.

Betrayal roared through her as she watched Robert happily cavorting with the pizza girl. She’d been bored out of her mind for sixth months, because this son of a bitch was supposed to be normal . The fact that he’d deceived her about his staid monotony bothered her a lot more than his cheating .

Which really did sort of “say much about her relationship,” didn’t it?

Crap. This was just what she didn’t need today. Her head hurt, she was seeing ghosts, and now she was never going to be able to order pizza again without thinking of this awkward scene. She seriously needed to go home and get drunk.

The woman on the floor finally noticed Grace was there. She gave a panicked yelp, beating on Robert’s back and shoving him away. “Your fucking girlfriend’s here!” She squealed, trying to cover herself. “I thought you said she wasn’t coming over tonight!”

Robert jolted up, looking around with bulging eyes. His dark hair was mussed, his doughy face shiny and red. “Grace!” He groped for his pants. “Jesus! What are you doing here?!”

“It’s Friday.” She said in a remarkably even voice, all things considered. “We always meet on Friday.”

“It’s Thursday! ” Robert sounded like he was somehow the injured party.

“Oh.” Grace looked over at Jamie, her mind buzzing. “I thought it was Friday.”

“Does it bloody matter what day of the week it is?” He shot back. “The man is bedding another wench and that’s all you’ve to say?”

“Yeah. Good point. I should… go.” At a loss for what else to do, she turned back towards the door. “I’m going to go now.”

“Grace!” Robert shouted, struggling into his Dockers. “Wait!”

“You’re just leaving? Without even raising your voice?” Jamie frowned like he couldn’t understand that decision. “Sweet Jesus, how did a timid little thing like you even get mixed up with such a man? If you can’t take care of yourself, someone should be watching out for your interests. Perhaps that’s why you’ve been given to me.”

Timid? Grace shot him a glare. “I’m not timid and I wasn’t given to you. ”

“Oh, it’s bloody clear you’re mine now.” He argued as if she was being totally unreasonable. “Why else can you see me? How else could you even begin to explain it? You belong to me as surely as I’m standing here.”

“Except you’re not standing there.” Grace retorted, ignoring his territorial words. “…And I’m taking care of myself just fine.” She tacked on a little belatedly.

“Well, prove it, then. Go over there and punch the son of a bitch.”

“What good would that do?”

“T’would make him bleed! Which the wanker fucking deserves .”

He probably did, but Grace never wanted to see blood again. Shaking her head, she headed outside with Jamie hot on her tail. “I just want to go .” She insisted quietly.

Jamie made a frustrated sound. “Lass, confrontation is good for the soul. It’s unhealthy to repress your feelings. Just beat him about the head and you’ll be shocked at how much better you feel.”

“Grace!” Robert fastened his belt, dashing across the lawn after her. “Darling, this was nothing . I swear. The woman means nothing to me. A passing diversion.” He made a frustrated sound when she kept walking and reached out to seize her arm. “Listen to me, damn it!” He gave her an impatient shake.

Jamie’s expression grew even darker. “That wanker is putting his hands on you!”

Grace tried to pry herself free, but Robert wasn’t letting go.

“I wouldn’t have even looked twice at her, if you weren’t semi-frigid.” Robert continued, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I have needs, you know. Sometimes I have to fulfil them with a cheap slut, but that pizza-tramp has nothing to do with us.”

There was evidently no in-between for Robert: Women were either semi-frigid or pizza-tramps. And in that sexist dichotomy, it seemed like Grace was cast as the boring, icy, un-fun one .

He really was a wanker.

“Son of a bitch .” Jamie was still seething about Robert manhandling her. If he could’ve touched anything, there would’ve been a whole lot of bloodshed on the professionally lawn-serviced lawn. “Grace, leave him now .”

Like she wasn’t trying. Grace finally jerked herself free of Robert’s painful grip and kept heading for her car.

“But my heart belongs to you .” Robert went passionately, still not taking the hint. He made another grab for her and Jamie all but snarled at him. Grace evaded his grasp, walking faster. “You know that. We’re alike, you and I. Made for each other. All my friends say so. Don’t spoil everything with some juvenile fit of jealousy.”

“Donea listen to a word he says.” Jamie warned, slanting Robert a deadly look. “If you even think of forgiving such a man, I will bloody well lose my mind.”

Grace tuned them both out and dug her keys from her purse. Until that moment she didn’t realize how little Robert mattered to her. Her family had tried to warn her that he wasn’t her true Partner, but she hadn’t listened.

Except, on some level, she had .

She’d never given Robert everything inside of her, because she’d never felt safe with him. Grace had never felt safe with anyone . Some part of her always held back.

Now she was angry and hurt, but her heart wasn’t breaking. She wouldn’t forgive him, so she didn’t see the need to yell or cry. There was simply no reason to. He cheated on her and now it was over. Like flipping a light switch, her tepid feelings for him snapped off forever. Part of his appeal had always been how little he affected her. Grace could see that now.

She had known that he wasn’t a gentleman.

Jamie’s disapproval was making her feel inadequate, though. He clearly wanted her to have a huge, dramatic scene. Given the fact that he had no problem saying every thought in his invisible head, it was no wonder he couldn’t understand her reticence. But the last time she’d shared all her thoughts, she’d been locked in a padded cell for a week. Grace never, ever wanted to go back into that hospital. Losing control, again… No . Just the idea panicked her.

Peaceful green cornfields.

Peaceful green cornfields.

Peaceful green cornfields.

Robert smoothed down his dark hair, casting a furtive look around. It looked like the pizza girl had used clumps of it as handles, so it stuck out in wild spikes. God only knew what the neighbors would think. “And really this wouldn’t have even happened if you hadn’t mixed up the dates, Grace. Honestly, how could you not know it was Thursday?”

“You’re lucky I’m a ghost, ya wanker. She might not want to punch you, but I sure as hell would.” Jamie glowered down at her. “Are you really going to let him get away with this?”

Grace refused to care about his obvious disappointment in her. Absolutely refused. “I don’t like confrontations.” She muttered.

“You donea like confrontations?” He echoed incredulously. “How can you not like confrontations?”

“I just don’t , okay?”

No, it clearly wasn’t okay with him. “Where’s your spirit, lass?” He asked in a confused and troubled voice. Someone so extroverted would never know how scary it was for her to feel the chaos of heightened emotions. To fear that saying too much would unravel everything in her life again.

Grace unlocked the driver’s side door. “I lost my spirit last year, along with everything else.” She muttered. “I burned out.”

“You burned out? What does that…?” Jamie stopped short. “Wait.” His patriot blue eyes flashed over to hers, suddenly realizing she was acknowledging his existence. “You’re speaking to me!” His handsome face lit with hope. “You’re believing I’m real then?”

“No. But, I know I’m not crazy and that’s enough for the moment. If I was crazy, this would all make more sense.”

“What?” Robert frowned, thinking she was talking to him. “Are you feeling alright, Grace?” He didn’t bother to wait for a response, because he didn’t care. “Look, I’ll need to get dressed, if we’re going somewhere. Since you’re determined to be so childish about this, I’m willing to spend all evening making amends, but I can’t be seen in public without a shirt and tie.”

“Relax, Robert. You’re staying here with Miss Pepperoni. I’m the one leaving and I’m not coming back.”

“Thank bleeding Christ.” Jamie crossed himself in relief. “ Finally she sees reason. Maybe there’s some hope for the woman, yet.”

Robert wasn’t nearly so thrilled by the news of their break up. “But, darling…”

Grace cut him off. “I don’t think we’re made for each other, Robert. In fact, I think I’ve been kidding myself for the past year. You see, I’ve just realized something very important.” She climbed into the car and started the ignition, leaning forward to glower at him out the passenger’s window. “I suck at being normal.”