ROWAN

Did you just read the happily ever after in the previous novel? I bet you did. I'd like to make a correction there. Nothing could be happily ever after, after marriage. Prince Charming, or the wannabe Jacob Black who loved belle in beauty and the beast, and that girl who lived in the tower. What's her name again? Ah, yes. Rapunzil.

They all lied folks. Yes. They did.

Don't get me wrong, I love my wife, and that's beside the point. Girlfriends tend to always listen to boyfriends, but when that girlfriend turns into your wife, she morphs some powers from the evil witch from the west. That's my bottom line and the first rule in the marriage handbook.

Always listen to your wife. She's always right, and if she's not, you wait until she wins an argument because she will.

You asked for our happily ever after so here I'm.

Before I married Alana, my room was the definition of bland. My sister Claire said I was boring, that I was getting old. I was only in my early thirties and I knew she liked to just get on my nerves.

After Alana became my wife, the bedroom morphed into whatever she liked. Three of the drawers that consisted of my ties were now replaced with lipsticks, fucking make-up kits and other nonsensical stuff women think makes them look prettier. Alana knew I hated makeup on her. When I asked her why she'd done that, she simply said the right side of the dresser was hers to occupy.

Since when, woman?

Then I go to work as usual and come home tired and walk into the bathroom and get hit by amazing scents of shampoo and body-wash. And then I noticed my stuff literally pushed into the corner. I felt bad for my shampoo bottles, they seemed intimidated by Alana's gigantic ones.

She'd also taken upon herself to move the furniture around, and I'd given her free reign to do anything she wanted.

And if I'm being honest, I loved this change.

The house was more like home now. She'd brought the warmth and her vibrant spirit.

But sometimes that's just not enough.

At least not for an addict like me.

I sneaked a glance towards Alana who was sleeping with her back to me. I was cautious as I climbed out of bed, closed the bedroom door slowly behind me and made my way into the living area bare foot. Slippers were a bad idea, I preferred not waking up the dragon.

I turned on a low beam lava lamp and padded barefoot towards the mini bar which now consisted of only bottles of wine and other not-so-alcoholic, sissy drinks that Alana thought was a good substitute for liquor. She also getting rid of my entire collection of bottles was going to cut it. She thought if I didn't find any bottles in the house, I could let go of my addiction.

If she only knew.

Let's recap a bit shall we, before I married Alana, I'd been a professor at Carmel university and Alana was my student, so when our relationship started to look a little out of the normal teacher-student character, and when things went spiral, the faculty kicked my butt. And well, let's say life wasn't easy for me after that. Not after I had a guilt trip to Suicide Island, not to mention a quick two year trip to rehab after that.

We'll get back to that some other time, let's step out of the memory lane for now.

I remembered coming back home late from a meeting at the university and Alana gift-wrapping all the liquor bottles and sending them to my father, my brother and her father. She'd planned a nice fast route from babe to bitch.

Worst of all, Sofia was backing up that plan. You remember Sofia, right? She used to be my therapist in Denmark, now she's Alana's new BFF and my mortal enemy.

Alana was under the impression that I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in weeks. I'd successfully pulled off the Recovered Man of the year facade for her and my kids for the past one year. Dammit I'd promised her I wouldn't touch that stuff but, you see I've always been like this from the start. I've always listened to the demon inside me who told me one drink was fine.

I could sneak into a local bar in the evening and down a few drinks but, then again, I didn't want to risk that. She smelled every goddamn thing on me like a well trained sniffer dog.

I walked to the other side of the counter and without switching on the LED lights of the bar; I touched the corner side of the wooden bar unit attached to the wall and tugged at it. The wine bottles jingled a melodious tune as it came apart. I stared starry-eyed at the glimmering bottles of pure heaven. My secret collection of bottles, which I'd successfully kept hidden from my wife. I picked up a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, unscrewed the cap, and touched the bottle to my lips. The golden liquid rushed down my throat, as if I'd downed a bolt of fire.

Hell, if it didn't taste like nirvana.

I took just another swig. My head buzzed, but trust me, it was a good feeling. My eyes rested on the glass on the counter top, with a few ice-cubes glimmering like diamonds under the dim lamp. The worst part being, I didn't remember putting it there. Fuck, I didn't even remember pulling out the jug of ice-cubes. That was a good indication that I had a few extra swigs than usual.

I started to put the bottle back in its original place.

"Hey, a bag of spicy Doritos would go wonderful with that drink. Or maybe peanuts, do you prefer peanuts?"

I flinched at the sound of the voice; I spun around and I touched the left side of my chest. "Holy hell, Alana!"

She arched a brow, "Did I scare you?"

"God! What the hell did you think you were doing, jumping on me like that in the middle of the night?" I asked her.

This was bad. My wife catching me red handed equated parents barging into their teenage girl's bedroom and finding her sucking face with the A.C repair guy.

She pulled her hair back in a messy French bun and inserted a stick like thing into it. She seemed bored and sleepy. "Morning. It's three a.m in the morning." She corrected me. "You're very punctual, I'll give you that much. Not deviating from the usual time. I guess that's one good thing that's come out of your job as a professor, but you need to work more on your sneaky skills."

She was trying to taunt me here. And it was working in her favor, it always did.

"How long have you been spying on me?" I asked her. She folded her arms across her chest, something like, 'You're going to be the one asking questions here? Bitch Please!'

"Sixty days, one hour and.." she checked the wall clock, "five minutes."

"Nice." I said. "So, we're not talking hours but, months here. And you pretended to not know about it for so long."

"I was waiting for the right time."

"To get me caught during the act." I completed for her.

"You were supposed to talk to me, Rowan." There. The sweet woman facade was gone. "But, you kept me in the dark. You were supposed to tell me if you had the urge to drink again."

"You don't understand..."

"I don't?" she sounded hurt and I hated doing that to her.

I analyzed her face; the glow that a normal twenty-two year old should be wearing was disappearing into the abyss of motherhood. Not just that, but college work was another aspect. I was a part of the larger picture here. I was her grown-up, mature adult man-child who refused to listen.

A piece of work. I felt guilty. Terribly guilty.

Alana raised her hands. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'm..I was just thinking how beautiful you look even during this hour of the day when you're obviously tired and sleepy."

A small smile crossed her lips. "Flattery isn't going to get you out of trouble, Rowan."

"It won't? What a shame."

"We're going to talk about this in the morning, okay?" If I refused, I knew Alana and the kids were having me for breakfast.

I nodded. She turned to go when I got hold of her hand. Her onyx shining eyes searched mine. I brought her knuckles to my mouth and kissed it without breaking eye contact. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

That question was another ploy from the women hand book; it was Alana's way of asking me to accept my mistake by saying it out loud.

"Sorry for hiding it from you." I did not let go off her hand. I kissed her knuckles again, "Sorry for lying to you."

"That fucking word has lost the true meaning of it." she whispered, sneaking a glance towards the passageway. I knew she was checking if Minnie was standing in the doorway, the way she always did. "Do you promise me you're not going to touch it again?"

I had to be honest here. Lying again was going to hurt her, and me. The truth was painful, but it was what she and I had to live with. It was better than deceiving.

"No." I said.

I watched her face contort in confusion and disbelief. She yanked her hand out of my grasp and started to walk away.

"I don't want to lie to you, Alana." I admitted as she stopped dead in her tracks. I continued, "I'm trying. Please give me some time."

I heard her sigh. "You have me, our kids. Are we not good enough for you?"

The pain in her voice was evident.

"You are too good for me. The problem is with me here. I'm not good enough for you guys. I don't know if I'll ever be."

Those words remained a whisper because she'd already stormed out of the living area and into our bedroom. I heard the door shut with an extra loud bang.

I was sleeping on the couch tonight.

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