“Yes, you have.”
“No, I haven’t. Stop talking in riddles, Daryl.”
“All right. Well, from what I can make out, Cordovex has been resurrected as Cardiell now. Ring any bells?”
Not that I had watched much TV in the past few months, but even the little I’d seen had been peppered with advertisements for Cardiell. Smiling middle aged men and women actively pursuing life and all its wonders were the hallmark of every Cardiell ad. They were slick and looked like they’d cost a fortune to produce, easily convincing sick people desperate for help with a heart problem that the drug was the answer to all their concerns.
“Who makes Cardiell?”
“A pharmaceutical company named Rider Pharmaceutical, but there’s a problem. I checked out Rider and it’s a front—nobody seems to actually work for Rider. There’s no physical address for the company. Some other company is the parent, but that’s going to take a little more digging.”
I grabbed my laptop from the end of the couch and began searching for the company’s website. What came up in my search was a site as slick and well-produced as their commercials, complete with success stories and implied promises drug makers always included. At the bottom of the page, Rider Pharmaceutical was given as the maker of the drug, but it was a facade hiding the true business that produced Cardiell.
Daryl leaned over to look at the screen. “Nice site, isn’t it? They spared no expense to make it look professional and welcoming, except for the fact that it’s meaningless.”
“How can a drug that was killing people a few years ago be back on the market with just a new name and some new fancy site?”
Daryl shook his head. “I have no idea. Makes you wonder about the drugs we all take, doesn’t it? Give me a few more days and I think I can find what company is behind Cardiell. Then we’ll know if it’s something or not, but my guess is that we’re going to find this is what Karl is worried about.”
“Fine, but I can’t wait much longer. Every time Nina texts me, I want to run across that field, jump the fence, and march right up to the house to find her. I don’t want to do this to her anymore.”
Standing from his chair, Daryl gave me his best “I’m working on it” look, but I saw in his eyes he didn’t understand what Nina and I were going through. “Give me a couple days. That’s all I think I’ll need.”
“Fine, but no matter what you find out, I’m going home after those couple days. This can’t go on.”
Rolling his eyes, he left mumbling under his breath about young lovers or something else he didn’t understand. At least now I could tell myself there was an end to this whole thing. Whatever happened, Nina and I would be together soon. That’s all that mattered.
Chapter Ten
Nina
An afternoon of pretending to have the hots for my bodyguard had left me feeling like a wrung out dishrag. While Gage seemed to be taking on the part of my boyfriend as if it were second nature, I still struggled with our fake relationship. In fact, instead of getting easier to act like he was the man I wanted, it was getting harder each time he and I had to parade in front of the press looking like two young lovebirds. Guilt did that to me.
I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I took it out on him anyway. In just a short time, what had been a budding friendship between us had morphed into something full of resentment for me. Gage wasn’t to blame, but it didn’t matter. Every moment I spent with him in front of the world playacting was a moment I betrayed Tristan. Each loving gaze and touch of his hand on mine filled me with guilt and added to my shame over kissing him in my bedroom.
He saw it too. It was in the way I had to stop myself from glaring when we were in public or wouldn’t look at him when we were alone in the car after our public displays. I nearly oozed contempt for him.
This was a great plan to Daryl, but to me it was torture. Thankfully, at least it seemed to be working. Karl hadn’t made any attempt to reach me, so perhaps it was all worth it, but every night when I laid my head on the pillow next to Tristan’s, I hated myself for what the world thought. One mention of Gage and me on Page Six after our first outing called us “Cinderella and Her New Prince.” The implication wasn’t lost on me—I was nothing but a poor working girl before meeting Tristan and now that he was gone, I’d taken no time at all in replacing him with another man.
Nothing like being seen as a heartless, disloyal bitch by everyone who read Page Six.
Skipping dinner, I headed for my room to curl up in a ball and dream about a time, hopefully in the near future, when Tristan and I were happily married, living in this house without bodyguards, maybe even with a baby. Would that time ever come? On nights like this, as I lay alone missing him like a part of myself was absent, I doubted we’d ever truly be together again. So much had happened since the last time we were in each other’s arms. Would we still be the same two people we were then?
I slid out of bed and made my way to his closet. Part of my nightly routine, I slipped one of his dress shirts from its hanger and held it to my nose. Even months after the last time it was against his skin, it smelled like him. Closing the closet doors, I completed the next part of my ritual and took a strong breath of his cologne that still sat next to his sink in the bathroom. Musky, woodsy, and slightly floral, it was all Tristan.
No one on Earth knew I did this every night. I hid each shirt until there were enough for a full wash and ran the load by myself when it was ready instead of letting Maria see my pathetic madness. It was okay. I knew it was crazy to do these things. Maybe I was going mad because I thought it was all right to sniff someone’s clothes and cologne, but I’d heard that smell was one of the strongest senses when it came to memories. The vision of something might slip someone’s mind, and a voice may be forgotten, but a smell associated with the past could bring it right back, closing the space of time and distance.
Climbing into bed, I leaned back against the headboard and with my phone in hand, completed my nightly ritual with a text to Tristan. Is it night where you are? I’m in bed, even though it’s barely 7. I miss you more every day. New people come into my life but still no you. I’ve begun learning sign language to speak to the new gardener. I’m sure you know about him from Daryl. I think he’s a relative of his. They have similar beards.
I read over my text and lightly snorted a chuckle. It sounded like a crazy person wrote it. That was okay. It wasn’t like I’d get an answer anyway. The texting just made me feel like I still had Tristan’s ear, except now he spoke even less than usual.