“No, you had nothing to gain from this union except to silence your curiosity, maybe. But even so, if you married her to piss off the Bishop, you wouldn’t have kept her identity from the Exodus. You acted from the heart and cloaked your good intentions.”
My head shakes. She’s still talking, but her words sound echoey and far away. She’s wrong. The Bishop didn’t kill Cecilia’s father. He’s alive. I have him locked up in my basement.
But Cecilia said…
I squeeze my eyes shut as a blinding zap of pain assaults my skull.
“He died, Darian. Years ago.”
“No,” I say forcefully.
Greta falls silent, watching me peculiarly as I open my eyes.
I wince as another stab of pain steals my breath. “Her father isn’t dead. He’s alive.”
“Alive?” Greta sounds confused. “What do you mean, boy?”
“He’s not dead,” I say firmly, gauging her reaction. No one has ever believed me—not Sinclair, not Cecilia, not this lady. I even dragged Sinclair to the cellar, and he stared at van der Meer with the most bewildered expression, tinged with so much sadness, before he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug, promising me that everything would be fine, that we would keep it a secret between us.
Greta looks at me like she’s trying to understand—as though I’m not making sense. Her features soften with realization, and she dips her chin to her chest.
“You know,” she says carefully, “I lost someone I loved too—my daughter. That sweet girl was the most precious thing in the world.” She lifts her teary eyes. “A loss like that damages you. Sometimes, we suppress the things that hurt. Or we imagine ways to change the past. I sure do. And sometimes, it feels very real.” Her voice softens. “On bleak days, I imagine I got my hands on the men who killed my daughter.”
“Is Cecilia dead?” I ask, changing the topic, afraid of the answer.
My instinct tells me Lauren lied to hurt me, but a niggle of doubt lingers, and now it’s all I can think about.
Greta’s brows rise to her hairline. “Dead? No, boy, she’s alive.”
Thank fuck. Slumping with relief, I blink back tears and jiggle my knee—as much as I can with my ankle tied to the chair.
I don’t know what I would have done if Lauren had told the truth. It shouldn’t surprise me how deeply Cecilia is buried in my soul and how much I’ve come to care about her in such a short period of time. Lately, I’ve found myself looking forward to her smiles, dry humor, and the angry flare in her eyes when she doesn’t get her way. I’d do anything to enter my house and findher throwing my artwork over the banister again or annoying me with her questionable taste in plants.
I flick my still-sopping hair out of my eyes, trying to control my chattering teeth. Greta notices. “I suppose we need to get you a warm blanket before you freeze to death.”
“Or you can untie me.”
“Not yet, boy. We’re not done talking. You’re still a flight risk until I know you can be trusted.” She stands up on her old, rickety legs just as Lauren appears in the doorway and says, “You’re needed in the office. It’s urgent.”
The old lady grabs hold of her blinged-out walker and makes her way to Lauren. “I’m watching you, young lady. If you touch the boy, I’ll find out.” She casts a glance at me, and then says, “Find him a warm blanket. He’s shivering.”
Lauren’s jaw tightens, her eyes flashing with anger. If looks could kill, Greta would be a heap of de-fleshed bones on the floor. She stays silent, waiting until Greta has left before turning her hard gaze on me. “What’s so special about Cecilia, huh?” Crossing her arms, she shrugs and walks closer. “She’s nothing special beneath all that money and prestigious bloodline.”
I don’t bother with a response because her question is absurd at best. Cecilia is the damn sun in my universe, and she doesn’t have to lure me in because I was hooked from the first moment I saw her polishing glasses in the cottage. The way she looked at me with her big eyes. I knew then that I had to have her, and I also knew I could never let the Bishop’s son sink his filthy claws into her and kill the fire in her bold eyes with his suffocating, cruel nature. Just the thought of him bruising her flawless skin with his fists made me want to go on a murder spree.
I didn’t understand my violent emotions where Cecilia was concerned then, and I still don’t. She’s an enigma. Lauren doesn’t hold a candle to her.
“Aren’t you at least a little bit tempted?” Lauren asks as she slides her leather skirt higher up her thighs to expose her bare pussy, but I don’t even spare the dark curls a cursory glance, my eyes on her face. “It can be our secret.”
“Cover yourself up,” I reply in my most dismissive tone.
She huffs and drops the skirt. “Fine. Be a bore.” As she inspects her nails, she says in a tone that raises my shackles, “So maybe I can’t touch you, but there are other ways to hurt you, Darian.”
“Yeah? What’s that? Good old waterboarding?” I’m back to trying to wriggle free of my restraints.
She looks up from her nails and scoffs. “Waterboarding? No, thank you. I like methods that are a bit more unorthodox.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks to the entrance, hand hovering on the light switch outside. “You shouldn’t have rejected me. Enjoy the dark, Darian. Try not to think of Mommy and Daddy too much.”
The doors slam shut, and the light goes out, flooding the room with darkness.
