Elena’s POV
I don’t remember driving home.
One moment I was standing outside Xander’s apartment, Charles calling my name behind me, the container of soup I’d made somewhere on the floor. The next I was in my kitchen, handbag still on my shoulder, staring at the marble counter with no memory of the space between.
All I could remember was Xander’s voice.
He’d said Charles never really fell in love with me– that I’d just been kind enough to let him build something that looked like love while he buried the guilt of losing his first wife.
Maybe Xander had only wanted to hurt his father. He’d been angry enough to say almost anything, and he’d known exactly where to aim.
I wanted desperately to believe that was all it had been, but Charles’s face wouldn’t leave my mind either. He hadn’t loo
