Page 43 of Outcast’s Vow

“Yes, he would do something like this.”

I’m led inside the wellness center. The outside cold and all my suspicions of Baptiste’s intentions immediately melt away as the glow from salt lamps, the gentle sound of water running over rocks, and the smell of timber infuse my air.

So, this is what Baptiste meant.

The smiling staff member runs me through the program for my personalized spa day. She asks me all about my preferences for a massage, what I would like, and even what music I’d like playing in the background. It would be easy to refuse all this. To spit it all back in the face of my conceited husband. But I must confess I know I’m going to adore this.

First, I’m taken into a steam room filled with eucalyptus mist. My mind clears, and I inhale deeply through my nose. All my stress dissolves.

This is the lack of freedom I was worried about? This is what he calls captivity?

And then it’s time for my massage. I start with a foot soak and scrub, and then we move on to a deep tissue massage all down my back muscles, combined with hot stone therapy. And then it’s a facial. The staff practically sculpt my skin, hydrating it and brightening it to a glowing finish. Then another massage. This time a scalp one with warm oil with a focus on my temples. It’s pure bliss.

Goddamnit, I’m enjoying this.

I’m served herbal tea afterward, and it’s only then that I finally speak after the spa marathon.

“I can pay for everything today,” I tell the staff. “And I’m definitely leaving a big tip. That was incredible, thank you.”

“Not to worry, madam,” the receptionist informs me. “The check has already been settled, including the tip.”

I blink once in confusion.

And then I get it.

No.

“Mr. Tremblay?” I ask tentatively, knowing full well what the answer will be.

“Yes, madam.”

“Oh.”

After that indulgence, I step back out into the winter wonderland. The butler is waiting for me by the limo.

“This way, Mrs. Tremblay.”

“What could possibly be next?”

We’re driven through the resort and into the ski town, this time to the main street where there’s a row of expensive designer stores. Like at the wellness center, there is a staff member waiting for me as we pull up outside one of the high-end boutique stores. She’s dressed in a designer suit.

“Hello, Mrs. Tremblay,” she says. “I’m Paige. I’ll be your personal shopper for today.”

I shake her friendly hand.

“Nice to meet you, Paige.”

“On instruction from Mr. Tremblay,” the butler assures me over my shoulder.

“Of course it is,” I reply, not even looking back.

Goddamn it, he’s anticipated my pride.

Paige takes me into the store. It’s effortlessly glamorous in here. Two assistants appear with more wine and chocolates.

“Mr. Tremblay gave us strict instructions to pamper you,” Paige informs me.

I nod.