by Tessa Teevan
He lets out a low, disbelieving laugh and gives a slight shake of his head. “Just remember, when you’re all in your head, wondering how in the hell you got to this point in your life, don’t beat yourself up.”
Jesus, is this guy a mind reader?
“Why not?” I ask. “Obviously, I’ve done this to myself. I put myself here. If it’s anyone’s, it’s my fault.”
He shakes his head and takes two steps back into the kitchen, studying me for a moment before cocking his head to the side and letting out a deep breath. “It’s never quite that simple, Brie. We’re often blind to the true nature of those we care about the most. After all, the devil himself was once an angel,” he reminds me. A chill runs down my spine.
Does he mean himself or does he mean Adrian? Either way, the sentiment rolls around in my mind, and Rafe chooses to retreat when I don’t respond.
“Oh, and, Gabriella,” he calls, catching my attention.
Back to Gabriella? This man is one big ball of confusion. This entire interaction is wreaking havoc on my sanity, and I’m still unsure what’s even happening or why I’m allowing it to.
His eyes flick to the space next to me. “Those would be much better in black.”
My cheeks burn as I glance over and take in the crotchless panties that kicked off this whole crazy chain of events. Instead of embarrassment, I burn with anger. At Adrian. At myself. At this stranger for having walked in and, in less than ten minutes, turned my world upside down—more than it already had been.
“They aren’t mine,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
A grin plays on his lips. “I didn’t think so.”
My eyebrows narrow in confusion. Did he truly overhear everything? How long was he standing outside?
“Then why would you say that?” I ask, trailing off as I rub my temples, where a tension headache is beginning to form.
“To gauge your reaction. You’re angry, and that’s a good thing. Indifference would mean you’re too far gone. Despite what he may think, you are not a possession. You are not a plaything. You are a beautiful, strong woman just waiting to break out of her shell. A treasure to be cherished, not a trophy to be locked up in a case until he decides to find you useful. You know it, and I know it. The question now . . . What are you going to do about it?”
Before I can answer, he slides the screen door open and escapes onto the patio, his questioning echoing loudly throughout the silent kitchen.
What am I going to do?
And just which one of them is the devil and who, if anyone, will be my savior?
AFTER A LONG, LONG, hot shower to wash the events of the day off, I try to distract myself from my two very different interactions with two very different men. I stay in the house and work at the dining table, scouring the meticulous plans Adrian had drawn up for the guesthouse for the answer to some unknown question. The thing is that I have no idea what’s so significant about this construction project. The main house is already a sprawling twelve-thousand-square-foot monstrosity sitting on over two hundred acres. There’s enough space to accommodate at least five families, and right now, it’s just the two of us and the occasional business associate of Adrian’s. The addition makes no sense to me. Neither does his need for me to oversee things.
Nothing in the plans looks out of place until I come to drawings for a tunnel leading from the main house to the guest one. I frown, unsure of its purpose. Why would he need to get from home to the next undetected? As I examine the prints more closely, I recognize the room where the point of entry is—his office—but not the door. It’s one I’ve never seen before.
Rising from my chair, I make my way down the long hallway until I’m just outside his office. As I stand there, a battle wages within me. Part of me wants to enter, but the other part knows that, if Adrian found out, he’d be livid. After all, he did warn that he had eyes and ears everywhere. Do I want to risk his wrath when I’m unsure of what it could possibly unleash? The way he acted this morning was unsettling, and I have no idea how he may react if I go where I’m not supposed to. Then again, that little tête-à-tête in the kitchen with Rafe was more than enough to anger him, so why not continue my acts of defiance?
For the most part, this room is off-limits, especially when Adrian’s traveling. He claims that it’s due to what he keeps there—the personal information of his clients. I’ve never questioned it before. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Still, I’m only curious about the door, and if caught, I can make up something about the blueprints. It’s not exactly a lie.
As I turn the knob, I’m surprised to find it unlocked. I always assumed that it’d be locked due to Adrian’s insistence that I stay out, but perhaps he really does trust me as he said.
Slowly, I push it open and then flip on the light, looking around and seeing nothing out of place. I step into the room, frowning when I see no extra door. I search his office, taking in the imposing wooden desk that takes up nearly half of the room. It’s meticulous and organized, not a thing out of place. On the wall behind his desk is nothing but a blank space. There’s a hook there, where he prepared for my perfect selection, and I was ecstatic that he trusted me enough to decorate his favorite room in the house.
He balked at the idea of reproductions if they weren’t for sentimental reasons. He had the money for originals. He wanted to use it. The only reproductions he’d consider were the ones I grew up with. It was the only time he ever tried to get me to go to Chicago. Like our first day together, he showed an interest in studying reproductions side by side with their originals. I wasn’t keen on the idea. As much as I loved him, I wasn’t ready to share that part of my past with him—or anyone for that matter. It was still too fresh, too raw. The only reason I was even able to decorate our home was because I knew he didn’t care for Impressionism. He begrudgingly understood, and dropped it, but not before he made sure I was aware of how unhappy he was.
We never did step foot back in the Museum of Art, and as soon as I found the perfect reproduction for the office, the house was complete. Even though it was still painful, I carefully chose and hung Monet’s Meadow Road to Pourville, 1882 on the wall, hoping that this small concession would appease him.
It wasn’t that I was keeping my past from him. I just wasn’t ready to confront it myself. Still, it was a small step in the right direction. The colors in this particular painting were tranquil, yet they still brightened the room with their flourish of color. The blues brought serenity to life, and if I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was there. Just being near it lifted my spirits, and I hoped that Adrian would feel the same. In fact, I was nearly ready to find another Monet to place elsewhere in the house for my viewing pleasure. Unfortunately, it wasn’t perfection in his eyes, and the next time I stepped in the office, the painting was gone. I offered to find another one more suitable to his wants, but he told me that that part of my job was complete. And I became his lackey.
I shake my head at the memory, willing it away. I can’t believe how close I was to opening up to him, which is what he wanted, and then he shot me down. The more I think about it, the more I realize that his gradual changes over time were subtle. It’s no wonder it went unnoticed. At least I’m aware of it now, even if it took me far too long to do so.
After I glance down at the blueprint in my hands and then back up again, my eyes flick around the room. Everything is where it should be. His office chair is pushed under his desk, and the two across from it are perfectly positioned, exactly three feet away, just as he likes it. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he actually measures it. He wants his clients close, but not too close, he’d always told me.
My eyes scan the room and fall on a solid bookshelf, just where the door is supposed to be. I cross the room and plant my feet, pushing it. It moves with ease, and I realize that its solid appearance is just that—an appearance. A couple of books fall on the shelves with its movement. The sound echoes, and I gasp, unaware of the breath I was holding. Taking a quic
k peek behind me, I ensure I’m still alone before turning back to completely move the shelf out of the way. Behind it is another door.
I stand and stare at it for a moment, my curiosity building. There can’t be a tunnel yet, since construction’s only just begun, so where did this door come from? Has it always been here? What hides behind it? What is its purpose?
Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.
His voice resounds in my head. Maybe that’s been my problem all along. I haven’t asked the questions. Hell, I haven’t asked any questions. I’ve just gone along with whatever he says, like the perfect little yes girl he expects me to be. The one I’ve always been with him. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve ever told him no, and even then, I usually came around.
No longer, I think as I reach my hand out. My heart beats wildly as I slowly twist the knob, but then I stop before it even makes half a revolution. The click echoes throughout the room, right along with my hammering heart. I wasn’t expecting it to be locked. My curiosity only grows, and even though I’ve promised never to touch his desk, I whirl around and gaze at it, wondering where he keeps his keys. All of a sudden, I have to know what’s behind this door. What else Adrian could possibly be hiding?
Just as I’m about to cross the room to search for them, my phone beeps from my back pocket, causing me to jump then fall to my knees as I catch my breath.
Knowing that it could only be one person, I look around the room, remembering Adrian’s reminder of having eyes and ears everywhere. Can he see me now? Oh God, did he somehow see what happened in the kitchen?
I told myself earlier that I don’t care, but deep down, the truth is that I don’t know how Adrian might react if he found out I allowed another man to touch me. To kiss me. The rush from earlier has faded, and a nervous chill creeps in.
Hands trembling, I pull my phone out and look at the screen, where a text from Adrian appears.
Adrian: Sweet Gabriella, forgive me for earlier. I just go crazy at the thought of you leaving me. I will see you in a four weeks’ time. Be a good girl while I’m gone.
It’s the closest thing to an apology I’ll ever get from Adrian, and six months ago, I would’ve been quick to do just as he asked. However, with new clarity, I realize he hasn’t asked anything. He’s ordered me to forgive him. There was no I’m sorry, Gabriella, or I was wrong, Gabriella. No, I get, Forgive me. Not even a please. The resounding or else plays in my head. What will he do if I don’t?
Suddenly, any ounce of courage I was feeling dissipates. After rising to my feet, I back away from the door. I move the shelf back, placing all the downturned books right-side up. With one last glance around, I slowly slink out of the room, done for today but knowing that, one day soon, I’ll be back and I will finally have my answers, no matter how long it takes.
The only thing is . . . I have no idea what the questions are.
That night, when I’m ready to retire, I don’t sleep in the master bedroom. What once was my sanctuary has now become a symbol of my dungeon, and I have no desire to spend another night there, even if Adrian’s gone. Instead, I gather up my pajamas and my bathroom belongings and quietly pad down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms, exhausted and mentally drained—nothing a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio and a long bubble bath won’t fix. At least, temporarily.
After slipping into the large Jacuzzi-style bathtub, I down a healthy amount of wine, trying to drown my anxiety and fend off the proverbial chill that’s been hovering over me ever since Adrian’s text. When I click the built-in stereo on, Banks’s “Drowning” fills the room. Slowly, I sink lower into the tub, listening to the lyrics as the crooning continues over the speaker.
I realize that a more apt song couldn’t have been playing for me right now. With Adrian, I’m drowning. I’m sinking. I’m losing every part of me, and as much as I thought I loved him, I can’t do this anymore. If I lose any more of myself, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back from it. Rafe was right. I don’t have a boyfriend. Maybe I did in the beginning, but not any longer. No, what I have now is an owner, and I wonder how I let things go so far. How did I let them get this bad?
Closing my eyes, I lean back against the cool tile of the tub as the events of the day play through my mind. Adrian. Rafe. My impromptu visit to a local clinic in order to ensure that Adrian’s sleeping around hasn’t affected me. The thought causes me to shiver, the mere idea a repulsive one. Not much better than what he did to me on the counter.
I won’t lie. The moment Adrian wrapped his hand around my slender neck, he terrified me. In that precise moment, my eyes were set on a man I no longer recognized. His wild eyes bored into mine, and even though he didn’t squeeze, his thumb kept ticking against my skin, almost as if he had been anxious to do so. To hurt me. To show me just who was boss and what would happen if I were no longer obedient to him.
I had no idea what he was capable of. I still don’t. And his following words, how he claimed to own me, my car, my bank account, and every piece of clothing in my closet, made me feel dirty and cheap even though I knew I was anything but. Still, if I’d left, if Adrian had let me walk out that door, where would I be now? Sleeping in my car? Correction—his car. I could see myself starving and broken because of my stubbornness. Or I could ride it out and determine a way to get myself out of this mess and still come out on the other side. Can’t I?
Then Rafe walked in, and after the initial terror had subsided, his presence soothed me—probably more than I should have allowed. I don’t know what it was, but with one look, I knew he wouldn’t harm me. With one touch, I knew he desired me. I’ve missed that—the feeling of being wanted. His hands rose and fell as he tried not to touch me, and I wanted him to. More than anything.
It was a foreign concept, and I’d be lying if I said that he doesn’t interest me. I spent a total of ten minutes with the man, but it was all I needed. One kiss from his lips awoke something deep inside me that’d lain dormant since Adrian’s personality change, and even though it should scare me, I want to experience more of it. So much more.
I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man, but the moment he touched me, I was flooded with sexual desire I want to explore. Sure, with Adrian, I was instantly attracted, but it took me hours to work up the nerve to get close to him. With Rafe, it was mere moments. I know I should be cautious, but it’s not as if I’m looking for an emotional attachment. Something purely physical would probably do me some good, and if I read him correctly, Rafe felt the same. Suddenly, the next few weeks are looking up.
Still, it’s bewildering how I could encounter such different men in a single day, both evoking reactions I’m not sure I’m ready to explore.
One man wants to own me like a cheap toy, his until he’s ready to discard me.
The other looks at me as if he can see the old me. The real Gabriella. Or, in this case, Brie.
Rafe wanted to consume me—that much was evident—but he was gentle. Tender. He didn’t take. He requested. And it made me all the more willing to give in even when my brain was screaming at me to run away and never look back.
Has it really only been twelve hours since I found those panties? God, just the reminder of them makes my stomach turn with revulsion. Is he with her now? Or are there multiple hers? The thought alone is enough to have me gripping the edge of the tub until my fingertips turn white. My hand reaches for the wine bottle, and I take a long drag, allowing my mind to push those thoughts away and bring new ones in. Welcome ones of the rugged, sexy construction worker whose taste still remains on my lips.
As I lose myself in the memory of Rafe’s kiss, I no longer care about what could be called my betrayal. Adrian certainly didn’t when he decided to sleep around, so why should I? Morality be damned. Let me be the whore. The cheater. Don’t I deserve a little bit of pleasure in the sea of this insurmountable pain?
I’ll deal with the consequences later.
Tomorrow, I’m taking Rafe up o
n his offer.
Tonight, I have a rule to break.
My hand slips into the water and finds my core, begging to be touched, but I stop just before making contact, changing my mind.
No, I will not break the rule tonight, but I will break it soon.
It just won’t be by my hand. It’ll be by his.
THE REST OF THE week passes without incident. Every morning, I wake to a greeting text from Adrian. Which is surprising, as he’s never cared to keep in contact lately. Every night, like clockwork, he wishes me goodnight. The first day, it caught me off guard, but I quickly realized what he was doing. He is keeping me on a leash, giving me what he thinks is just enough to keep me satisfied. He is also, I suppose, trying to keep up tabs on me without actually having to talk to me. As long as I continue to answer him, he is appeased and our contact stops at texts. Gone are days we’d talk on the phone for hours, with back-and-forth sentiments like I miss you and I wish you were here.
It isn’t until now that I notice just how lonely this mansion is. Just how isolated I’ve become. The contacts in my phone, if not Adrian, are purely professional: The dreaded dry cleaners, the maid that comes once a week, our favorite—scratch that, his favorite—takeout joint. When I look at my phone, I feel more alone than ever.
I can’t blame it entirely on Adrian, however. I’d already done a good job of isolating myself before I’d even met him. When my parents were killed, it rocked my entire world. No girl should ever have to identify her parents in such an agonizing way, especially when they’ve suffered multiple bullet wounds. It was the most excruciating moment of my life. I was nineteen years old and an orphan.
Something inside me died right along with those who gave me life as I stared down at their bloody corpses in that morgue. I retreated inside myself, barely surviving through the funeral and the subsequent media coverage and conspiracy theorists.