by Penelope Sky
Carl closed his eyes.
It always took at least three hits to sever the head from the body, so I did it two more times. “Two. Three.” I decapitated him completely then rose to my feet. “Carl, you’re up.”
Nineteen
With All My Heart
Melanie
It was nearly morning when he came home.
The sun had just peeked over the horizon. It was a beautiful summer day, the dawn after the dark night. My things were moved into his bedroom, and the staff put everything back in place. The men had ransacked his suite, looking for me everywhere. But now, it looked exactly as it had before.
I couldn’t sleep, not until I knew he was home, not until I knew this was really over.
When he finally walked through the door, he was covered in blood again. He didn’t say a word to me as he pulled his shirt over his head and undressed, putting his clothes in a big plastic bag, as if there were a procedure for this sort of thing. He took a quick shower before he emerged in a pair of black boxers.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my racing heart slowing down as he came closer, bringing me peace.
He joined me on the bed. “It’s done.”
I nodded. “So…it’s over?”
“Yes. They won’t return.”
“Why…why did they do this?”
His arms rested on his knees, and he stared at the floor as he considered the question. “They wanted to do business with me. I said no. So, they decided to eliminate me and take it over themselves.” He turned back to look at me, his dark eyes giving me a look that said more than his words ever could.
Our fight never happened.
It was irrelevant now.
His hand moved into my hair, cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip slightly. The stare was endless, going on and on, and his expression slowly began to change. A slight shine moved to the surface of his eyes, a subtle redness, a tightness to his face. “If something happened to you…I wouldn’t have gone on.” He brought his face to mine and rested his forehead against mine. “Je t’aime, chérie. Je t’aime de tout mon cœur et de toute mon âme.” I love you, sweetheart. I love you with my heart, my soul, my everything. He inhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes, gaining control of his emotions. “Je ne te quitterai plus jamais. Je te protègerai. Toujours.” I will never leave you again. I will protect you. Always.
It was the first time we went to bed together but didn’t make love.
We got under the sheets in the dark, my body on top of his, his thick arm wrapped around me, keeping me close. His lips rested against my hairline, and his deep and slow breaths became less frequent once he drifted off.
It only took a few minutes.
Like there was no hesitation anymore.
I was awake longer, the memories still so fresh, but knowing he was there helped me drift off too.
When my eyes opened the next day, it wasn’t morning.
It was two in the afternoon.
Fender wasn’t there.
I showered and got ready for what was left of the day before I went in search of him.
The staff had restored the palace to its former glory, cleaning the blood and dirt that had stained the walls, rugs, and floors, and replacing the broken items that had been damaged beyond repair. There was a heavy solemnness to the house, rain clouds in every room, a sadness that hummed in every ear. Maids would break into tears unexpectedly, the rawness of the night before hitting them again and again.
A night of rest hadn’t dulled the pain for me either.
I was about to ask where Fender was when the front door opened and he walked inside. Dressed in all black with his customary boots, he shut the door behind himself then stilled when he spotted me.
I inhaled a breath of relief at the sight of him, feeling comforted by that look that no one else could give me.
He walked over to me, a solemn expression in his eyes. “I took Gilbert to the funeral home so they could prepare him for burial.”
My eyes filled with pain all over again.
“And I went to his parents to tell them what happened.”
“Oh my god…” My hand immediately went to his arm, knowing how painful that must have been.
His expression was hard and stony as if nothing had happened, because his true nature was so much deeper beneath the surface. Sometimes he looked like he didn’t care, but that wasn’t true. He just didn’t know how to express it.
“That must have been hard.”
“It was.” His eyes dropped for a moment, a quick replay happening in his mind. “I gave them enough money to be very wealthy for the rest of their lives, for several generations of their family.”
I knew they wanted their son—not the money.
“I’ve found a replacement. He starts today.”
My eyes watered—because Gilbert couldn’t be replaced.
He inhaled a deep breath at my reaction, the look paining him. “I know, chérie…”
I cupped my mouth to stifle the tears.
His strong arms wrapped around me, and he held me in the foyer, his body supporting mine, his love cushioning the blow to my broken heart. His fingers gently ran over my hair and down my back, treating me with such gentleness that contradicted his entire nature.
“I…I miss him so much.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I do too.”
A week passed, but that week felt like an eternity.
Gabriel was the new butler. He was a young man who had recently left his previous employer because they’d relocated to the Netherlands. He learned fast, was quick on his feet, and didn’t talk much.
But he was no Gilbert, even though Fender refused to learn his name and insisted upon calling him Gilbert. Gabriel seemed flustered at first, but given his salary, he adapted to his new identity quickly, soon answering only to Gilbert.
There wasn’t that extra effort, that drive to make Fender’s life absolutely perfect at all times. It was just a job to him, doing it the best he could before he was excused to live his own life.
My old bedroom had been turned into a guest room that no one ever used, and when I stepped into Fender’s closet, I saw his clothes on the rack across from mine. The sheets always smelled like him. There weren’t vases of flowers because he didn’t care for them in his private room. They were replaced with glasses of scotch that he left behind on tables and nightstands.
He was quiet. Quieter than usual.
But I was too.
After we attended the funeral, we didn’t speak for two days.
Fender worked in his office while I read a book on the couch during the day, we had our meals together, and every night, he slept beside me like dropping his guard was the easiest thing in the world.
It was what I’d always wanted—just under the wrong circumstances.
We sat together in his living room, the TV above the fireplace showing the game. In his sweatpants, he sat with one ankle crossed on the opposite knee, his elbow on the armrest, nursing the glass of scotch on the table beside him.
I read my book.
He kept drinking and drinking, and then he took it to another level when he opened a brand-new bottle and refilled his empty glass.
I’d never seen him drink like this—unless he was at the camp. I shut my book and looked at him.
After he took a sip, he turned his face to regard me, like he felt my stare because he could see it.
“You’re drinking too much.” It was a mystery to me that he wasn’t stumbling around everywhere, losing his footing and knocking over furniture in a stupor. Whenever we kissed, I could taste the scotch—even in the morning.
He kept up his deep stare.
“I know it’s hard right now. I’m depressed too. But…it’s not good for you.”
I knew how much things had changed when he didn’t tell me off for telling him what to do. He poured the contents of the glass back into the bottle, tightened the lid, and then ignored it.
I couldn’t believe it. “Thank you.”
His eyes turned back to the TV.
I stared at the side of his face, the chiseled jawline that made a pronounced shadow down his neck, saw a man who was so hard but so gentle too. Our last conversation about my sister had disappeared from our minds, but it lived on in my heart. Because I knew he would do the right thing—eventually.
There was no doubt.
I left my book on the table then scooted closer to him, my arm hooking through his, my cheek moving to his shoulder.
His hand went to my thigh, and he turned to look at me, his thumb brushing over my skin.
“Are you okay?”
The stare lasted a long time before he gave a nod. “He knew the protocol. He knew to stay in the safe room with the rest of the staff. He chose to go after you, something I never would have asked him to do. You’re my responsibility—and I would have gotten you back on my own. I can’t carry the guilt of his decision.” His eyes flicked away for a moment. “But the loss does hurt. He didn’t deserve that. I got the revenge he was owed, but it’ll never be enough.”
With his arms behind my knees and his heavy body on top of mine, he rocked into me, his gaze on mine, his dark eyes filled with a deeper level of commitment than before. His lips would kiss me between moans. His eyes would saturate me with a look of love. His hips would drive him farther inside when he needed more. He made me his every night, made me feel like there had never been anyone else but him.
It made me forget the life I’d had before this.
It had always been this way.
He already loved me with everything that he had, but now he loved me much deeper than before. He loved me every night like it was our last night on this earth. He loved me like he could lose me any moment.
We lay together once it was over, and despite the heat of our bodies, he held me close. His arm was draped over my stomach as he lay beside me, his face close to my cheek on the same pillow. His large body was a wall beside me, blocking the window from my view.
My arm rested on his as I turned to look at him, to see this handsome man protecting me with his massive body. Every night, I was wrapped in his protection, wrapped in his scent, his possessiveness.
He opened his eyes and met my look.
I stared, my fingers drifting over the endless muscles of his arms. “Je t’aime.”
He stared for a few seconds before he pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Je t’aime, chérie.”
I loved my new home in this very spot—right next to him. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you.”
A new look entered his eyes, a gaze I hadn’t seen before. Windows opened to his soul, and the softness underneath was truly visible for the first time. “You never have to worry about that.”
“Why?”
“Because if I die, there’s no one to protect you. So, I can never die.”
A week later, Fender held a party at the house.
He stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the sleeves of his tuxedo, his eyes down on what he was doing, his jaw cleanly shaved, his shoulders broad in the jacket. Tall. Muscular. He looked good in anything, but he looked particularly good in that.
I took a seat in the armchair in my gown and waited for him to finish.
When he was done, he turned to me and stopped.
I looked up and met his gaze.
His eyes combed my appearance, taking in the sight of me with my hair and makeup done, wearing the gold gown that matched the sconces of his palace. I was the trophy—so he wanted me to be gold like a trophy. He walked over to me then extended his hand.
I took it and let him pull me to my feet.
His hands went to my hips, and he squeezed me as he looked into my face, his eyes drilling holes into my appearance. Sometimes he stared at me so hard that he looked furious. But now he backed me up to the wall, undid his trousers, and lifted my dress.
My back planted against the wall, and I felt my thong leave my body. “There are already people downstairs—”
He hiked up my leg and shoved himself inside me.
The back of my head tapped against the wall, and I released a moan at his abrupt entrance. My hands clung to his shoulders, and I lifted my leg farther to rest it higher on his arm, feeling him pound into me right away.
Hard. Fast. Territorial. He was like a dog marking his territory. His eyes burned into mine as he fucked me hard, fucked me in a way he hadn’t in weeks.
My arms wrapped around his neck, and I moaned as he took me up against the wall, plowing into me, forcing me into a climax even though I hadn’t been ready for it just a minute ago. I did my best to steady my tears so they wouldn’t ruin my makeup.
He finished with a moan, giving me a load like he hadn’t just done so that morning. Then he pulled out and got re-dressed as if nothing had happened, his dick still hard and forced into his trousers.
I lowered my leg and breathed hard against the wall, needing more than a second to recover.
“Chérie.” He moved to the door and beckoned for me to join him.
“I just need to clean up.”
“No.”
I stilled at his answer. “I look like I just—”
“Exactly.”
When I saw her across the room, I almost couldn’t believe it.
Dressed in a beautiful gown with her hair done, her makeup heavy, and having a strong posture that defied her labored imprisonment, she practically glided across the floor, her arm in Magnus’s.
I turned to Fender. “My sister is here.”
His mood immediately soured at the mention of her.
I squeezed his arm in gratitude. “Thank you.”
He continued to ignore me, drinking the champagne that he said tasted like cat piss.
Magnus approached his brother, ignoring me the way Fender ignored Raven. They greeted each other in silence, with notable hostility, as if something had happened between them when Fender was at the camp.
Raven stood there, her eyes down, trying to disappear.
All I could do was stare because I couldn’t believe she was there, right in front of me, looking more beautiful than she ever had. “Raven, you look so beautiful.” Everything was perfect, from her earrings to her eye shadow. A whole different woman.
Raven looked at me—and all she gave was a nod.
Why wasn’t she talking to me?
Magnus had his arm around her waist, wearing a tuxedo like his brother. “I’m going to put the girls in the parlor so we can speak in private—”
“No.” Fender squeezed my waist to secure my position against him, like leaving him was not an option, not in any scenario. His resistance probably came from his hatred for my sister, but it was deeper than that, from a fear that would fill his heart always.
I leaned into him. “Mon amour, please…” My face came close to his, so I could share a whisper no one else could hear. “I’ll just be in the other room.”
Fender took a drink to cover his fuming anger. “You’re lucky I permit her in our home at all.”
Something had happened at the camp to make him hate her even more. He never told me about it, so he either forgot in light of Gilbert, or he just didn’t want to spend his time discussing her. Either one was possible. “For me…” He loved me more than life itself, and he would give me anything I asked for—in time.
He looked at me head on, his look icy cold. But he gave a nod in agreement.
Because he was weak for only one person—me.
I kissed him on the cheek before I whispered to him, “Thank you, mon amour.”
Magnus guided us across the foyer and into the parlor, a room neither Fender nor I ever used. His palace was big and luxurious, but most of it was vacant. There were never visitors, so the rooms were filled with the same energy you would find in a museum after hours.
Raven and I moved to a couch, and Magnus stayed near the door.
I couldn’t believe she was here, next to me, looking like an
old-fashioned movie star. Every moment I had with her was a gift, a gift so pure it usually brought me to tears. The connection between us, even at our worst, was unbreakable.
She gave a slight smile before she opened her arms and pulled me in.
I held her and squeezed her tight, my face in her shoulder, holding on to this feeling as long as I possibly could, soaking up every single moment. The hug lasted a long time because it was the only way to truly share the way we felt about each other. Words were insufficient.
When we pulled apart, she looked at me. “You look so gorgeous, Melanie… Wow.”
I shook my head. “That dress was made for you. Magnus can’t stop looking at you—along with everyone else.”
She gave a slight smile. “I guess black is my color.”
A long stare ensued, full of questions neither one of us wanted to ask.
I went first. “How are you?”
She didn’t answer the question directly. “I like being in Paris with Magnus.” She told me she was allowed to go shopping and get coffee on her own, that the two of them had a relationship built on a bedrock of trust. She wouldn’t run and put him in jeopardy—and he knew that. “What about you?”
I wanted to tell my sister the truth because I told her everything, but the shame was too big to conquer. If I told her the way I really felt about Fender, her reaction would be explosive. She would probably hate me the way she hated him. “No complaints.” I took the path of a coward and shared very few details of my life, of the deep and profound connection I had to the man who slept beside me every single night. We were unmarried, but he felt like my husband, a husband I’d had for years. He was everything I could want in a man—except one thing. How could I possibly justify that when my sister was his prisoner? It made me feel like shit just thinking about it. “He’ll let you go. It’s taking me some time, but he will.”
She released a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, that will never happen.”
“It will.” Confidence burned in my voice, because I knew him better than she did. I knew his heart—because he’d given it to me.