“You didn’t see what you thought you did.”
“I know what I saw.”
His head shook. “I wasn’t married. I haven’t. You will be the first Mrs. Donovan Sherman.”
My eyes opened wide. “Oh my God. This is all about semantics. Tell me, was she Mrs. Donovan Thomas?”
Van smirked. “That could be a loophole. I’m fucking great at utilizing loopholes for all they’re worth in business.” He walked around me to my chair. “This isn’t business, Julia. This is life and I’m telling you the answer as straightforward as I can.” Pulling out the chair from the table, he motioned. “Sit. And do me the great honor of your presence without the ramifications of Butler’s untimely misconception.”
“Why can’t you just answer?”
“I have.” As I sat, he crouched down on his haunches before me. Reaching for my chin, his intense gaze stayed fixed on mine. “I will tell you what I can, and then I want to concentrate on you, not someone from my past.”
I nodded as I twisted my legs and body toward him.
“Madison is still alive.” His head shook and he shrugged his wide shoulders. “I believe. I haven’t been told nor have I looked to learn otherwise. I haven’t seen her in years, nor have we spoken. Whatever there was between us is over. It was over long before either of us knew.”
“But the name of your company…?”
“I’ve done bad things, Julia.” His expression contorted. “Bad things that I never regretted except where Madison was concerned. I suppose with the clarity of time and reason” —a smile curled his lips— “and because of the light you radiate by simply fucking being here, I now see that keeping Madison as part of my corporation’s name was a reminder of what I’d done.”
“Such as your last name?”
Van nodded; his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sherman is a reminder of what I’m capable of doing, that I’m capable of success while at the same time reveling in the defeat of others. Madison is different.”
I leaned forward, placing my hand on his chest. The steady beat of his heart confirmed this man was still flesh and blood. “Please tell me.”
A shadow passed over him. “Madison is my way of punishing myself, a penance I pay each time I read or say her name.” He ran his hands over my thighs. “Over time, the pain has dulled, but each time I succeed, her name reminds me that it’s not enough. It’s never enough.”
“She’s alive,” I said softly as I framed his smooth cheeks in my hands. “I don’t know which is worse, competing with a memory or a ghost.”
His head shook. “Fuck, Julia, you’re not in a competition. I’ll have my legal team work on changing the name. It will simply be Sherman Corporation or perhaps” —he grinned— "Sherman and Julia.”
“You’d do that?”
“If it would make you happy. That’s all I want is for you to be happy.”
I lowered my hands to my lap. “I don’t want you to change the name. I want to know why you referred to her as your wife.”
Silence settled over us as the delicious aromas filled the air, reminding my stomach that we hadn’t eaten. Van took a deep breath before lowering his forehead to my thighs. When he looked up, it took every ounce of self-control not to fall to my knees and wrap him in my arms. Pain and regret emanated from his being so strongly that I felt it within me.
“There was a time,” he said, “I pretended to be her husband. It was for her own good. I wanted to get her the help she needed.”
“Pretended?”
This time his hands came to my face, framing my cheeks. “Julia, I rarely ask for anything. If there’s something I want, I take it. I’m asking for something from you right now.”
“What?”
“I’m asking you to believe me and to put this conversation to rest. I’m asking to celebrate the holiday by giving me the greatest gift, that of trust.”
Van was giving me an out, an exit. The neon sign was flashing, and I was ready to pass through. My motivation wasn’t spurred by a lack of curiosity as to why Van referred to Madison as his wife. My reasoning was in front of me.
Right here, in the kitchen of Van’s home, with a frozen world beyond the walls and windows, I not only saw but I felt Van’s pain, literally, physically, as if dark tentacles were trying to wind and intertwine their sadness deep into my soul. I didn’t want to spend any more of our time in their presence.
I forced a grin. “I thought I gave you your Christmas gift this morning.”
The reminder of what I’d done—showing him how I found my own pleasure—what he’d asked me to do, returned a smile to his expression. Van’s gaze lowered to where my thighs were held together and back to my eyes. “You did and watching you touch yourself was beautiful.” He eased my knees apart and moved between them. “You’re stunning. I guess I’m greedy because I want more.”
My hands covered his upon my thighs. “You have my trust, Van.”
“Do I?”
I pressed my lips together as I gave the question more thought.
He did.
Van’s long fingers gripped my thighs through my slacks as his eyes pleaded. “Believe in me, Julia. Trust me. I’ve spent most of my life closed off, hiding who I am. I show the world one person, but that’s not really me.”
Thoughts of Van in his suit, in his mountain-man clothes, the man who chopped down a Christmas tree flashed through my mind.
He went on, “I’ve stayed closed off, alone, and in the dark.”
“Van.”
His head shook. “Closed off is fucking easier than being open with you, but damn it, I’m trying.” He moved his hands, taking mine into his grasp. “You are light.”
Squeezing my hands, he took a deep breath.
I couldn’t look away from the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling in the green and gold of his eyes if I tried.
His volume rose. “The light, Julia. That is you. Bright and beautiful. You’re the damn sun. Do you know what happens when the sun rises?” He didn’t let me answer. “It chases away the darkness. Your light will expose parts of me that haven’t been seen in years, decades” —he shrugged— “or quite possibly—ever. I don’t want to scare you, but I also won’t lie to you. Some of what you’ll learn and see won’t be pretty. Some things I’ve done are downright grotesque.”
His sincerity radiated in our touch. I heard it in his words and saw it in his expression. “I’m not scared.”
“You should be.” He took a deep breath, his chest inflating. “But know this, you won’t be exposed to those things alone. I’ll be with you, by your side forever.” His grip of my hands tightened. “I won’t let you go. You’re mine. I found you.” Lifting my hands, he brushed my palms with his lips, his kisses gentler than his grip. “What I’m asking of you is to be with me, trust me, and allow me the time to go slow, revealing the ugly truths most likely slower than you may want.”
The lump forming in my throat grew bigger with each of his phrases. There were mysteries to this man, ones I would learn with time. However, it was the emotion I saw, heard, and felt that overwhelmed me. I was seeing Donovan Sherman exposed.