Spoiling My Sweet Wife to Her Core novel · Chapter 13 of 24

Chapter 13: Left Hand

I believed him at once, and that frightened me more than the story did.

I had died in the rain and opened my eyes under a chandelier.

I was in no position to call anything impossible.

Denton stood at the terrace rail and waited for my verdict.

"I need to tell you something," I said. "Let me finish before you answer."

"All right."

"I'm not her."

The wind moved the pages of the notebook.

"I was thirty-one," I said. "Then headlights, and then your ballroom."

"I don't know where Lizzie went."

"I don't know why I'm here."

I made myself look at him.

"The woman you couldn't save is not the woman standing on your terrace."

Denton lowered his eyes.

"I know," he said.

I stared at him.

"You know."

"I knew the first night."

He crossed the stone between us, and he did not touch me yet.

"I poured you chamomile," he said. "She drank it every night of her life, because her father brewed it for her when she was nine."

"I should have drunk it."

"That's when you knew?"

"That's when I stopped breathing," he said. "Then you picked up your spoon with your left hand."

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