6
Vivian.
Sometimes, I tell myself that what I feel for Landon is a kind of madness. That it’s all the loneliness and emptiness I’ve been holding inside for years, pouring out in the wrong direction. Sometimes, I almost believe it. But then I see him—really see him—and I know it’s more complicated, more real, and infinitely more dangerous.
The truth is, I’m not good at sharing. Maybe I never was.
Today was an ordinary afternoon, hot and thick with summer, the house heavy with the kind of stillness that only comes after a thunderstorm. Gerald was out playing golf, and I wandered out onto the back patio with a book, hoping to quiet my restless thoughts. But my gaze kept drifting to the garden, to the pool, anywhere I thought Landon might be.
When I finally found him, my heart stumbled.
