Page 81 of Speak No Claim

She sighed deeply, giving up faster than I thought she would have, but still managing to sass, “That’s a first.”

Using this as the distraction we needed, I changed the subject. “I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Mm-hmm… help me up.”

“Onyx.” She shook her head. “You can’t get out of bed yet. You need to rest.”

“Either you help me or I’ll do it myself and rip these stitches.”

She slowly made her way over to me, mumbling under her breath. “Eres demasiado terco, no me haces caso de nada de lo que digo.”

“Yeah, yeah, cuss me out later.”

“Hold on, let me get your wheelchair.”

“Fuck the wheelchair.”

I grabbed the cane that was next to it instead, finding it offensive that my father didn’t bother to wait until I woke up to go out of town. I knew none of the staff would tattle. They knew better, but I did wonder who cut off the security.

Caspian?

No, he wouldn’t be that clever.

Her uncle?

No, he wouldn’t be that fucking dumb.

That only left Jones… but why?

After I threw on a hoodie and we put on our shoes, we exited my bedroom. My thoughts ran rampant. It was probably the pain pills. Once we were outside, she tried to stop me, but I refused. Getting in the passenger seat of the golf cart, I nodded for her to drive.

“Where are we going?” she questioned, stepping in to sit.

“You’ll see.”

Arching an eyebrow at me, she coaxed, “Onyx⁠—”

“Just drive.”

Reluctantly, she followed my directions, and I tried like hell to pretend I wasn’t in pain when every inch of my back was throbbing.

Ten minutes later, we were pulling up to what I wanted to show her.

“What is this?”

I didn’t answer. Stepping out of the golf cart, I made my way toward the massive glass structure ahead of us. Hennessy followed me. I could feel her trepidation burning a hole in my back, acting as acid on my wounds.

The moment I opened the door, warm, humid air shot back in my face, carrying the scent of damp earth from the thunderstorm with it. Once I was standing aside, she walked in with wide eyes as soon as she saw what was around her.

“Qué lindo,” she breathed out.

“It is pretty.”

The greenhouse stretched further than we could see, its black iron framework disappearing among all the vines on the ceiling and walls. Plants exploded on every corner along with flowers, ferns, and literally anything under the sun, growing for centuries.

The sun was setting, pouring in through the ornamental stained glass panels with botanical designs. Color spilled everywhere, and I wanted to remember her this way, deep in thought.