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5
24 February
Xavier Hall
As Rowan lowered himself into the chair they’d placed in the bathroom, he shrugged into yet another T-shirt and mutilated pair of sweatpants. The outfit had become his uniform. Violet had brought a stack of pants to him, customized for his bionic leg. The right side had been cut into shorts, the left leg long. It made dressing easier and didn’t put any pressure on his brace.
Aside from his flat, his dogs, and his horse, he missed his clothes the most. He could rail against his biology, but growing up with a platinum spoon in his mouth, he’d gotten used to the finer things in life. He thought of Tristan teasing him mercilessly for his fastidiousness, and a ghost of a smile appeared. He missed his friends too. He didn’t let himself think about them or his old life because invariably, loneliness would rip through him.
The chair he needed for the shower ridiculed him. The walker he needed to traverse five steps on his own taunted him. The wasted-away physique he saw in the mirror depressed him. And the exhaustion. It was nearly impossible to get a full night’s sleep. He was hardly ever alone. And yet, he’d never been so isolated.
He knew it was his own stubbornness preventing him from reaching out to his friends. He just wasn’t ready to accept his fate, and he sensed talking to them would force him to peel the blinders away to see the new reality of his life. Instead, he ignored them. And in doing so, he’d found himself relying on a fifteen-year-old child he’d refused to acknowledge until eight weeks ago.
Violet spent countless hours in his room. He figured she was hiding out, too, avoiding something and using him as an excuse. He wasn’t mad at her for it. She was about the only ray of light in his increasingly dark world. Last week, when he’d refused to watch the Hartesfield United game, she’d opened one of the books on her phone and started reading to him. He’d hardly paid attention at first, but then her melodic cadence had eased the pain, and he’d tuned in. So, he was getting a lesson in Regency romance books. There were moments when he wanted to put his hands over his ears and scream, La-la-la-la-la. But Violet was a persistent little shit, and when she’d figured out he was embarrassed by her reading the sex scenes, she’d made sure to read with as much emotion as possible. And it wasn’t like he could escape.
He pulled his crutches toward him and exhaled. Then, he pushed up on his good leg and steadied himself. Sweat broke out under his arms and on his forehead. He paused and took two slow, deep breaths. With a look to measure the distance between the bathroom and the recliner he was aiming for, he took a cautious step. His leg throbbed as he swung it minutely, keeping pace with the planting of his opposite foot. It was laborious to take even a handful of steps, and he lamented the past when he could move his body in whatever way he wanted. Timing, patience, and sheer willpower helped him make his way. It was getting easier but still, the fucking indignity of his injury pissed him off. There were moments when he was accepting, but then he would have to think about trying to sit up or scratch his knee or take a piss. The reality of his situation would slam into him, and bitterness would pump through him like the pain meds. Instead of the numbness, heat and shame would burn a path.
He was a fucking mess.
And what he needed to do, the favor he needed to ask, weighed on him.
Requesting Juliana Marguerite Elizabeth Altamirano to come see him was the most desperate fucking move he could make.
Juliana’s legendary beauty was ethereal. Tristan had once described it as otherworldly. Rowan hadn’t commented at the time, but he’d secretly agreed. Looking at her was like looking into the sun. Awe-inspiring but blinding. He’d not given it much thought, but now, with all the damn time in the world to let his mind wander, he wondered what it was like for her.
Did she relish it? Did she take advantage of bringing people to an abrupt halt? Did it make her feel powerful? Or did it make her feel like an exhibit at a zoo? What price did Juliana pay for her flawless physical aesthetic?
He’d hardly spent any time with her. Her little stunt at the press conference in July had felt like the greatest violation. She cut through the joy and excitement of the moment, and as those good feelings seeped through the jagged opening, he wanted to make her pay. The fallout for him was ridiculous. Yet she seemed to sail through the explosion without any sign of soot on her reputation. It fit her persona—impulsive, attention-seeking, spontaneous. And when Ele had begged for Rowan’s forgiveness for Juliana’s actions, she had painted Juliana as this avenging angel, coming to Ele’s aid. It was hard to reconcile the image. And superimposing a Mother Teresa-like image over all that beauty seemed particularly unfair for the rest of the mortals on Earth.
He reached for the package of wipes on the table. He took one from the opening and mopped his forehead before he crumpled it up and dumped it into the garbage can. He glanced over to the clock, and noting the time, he began to sweat all over again.
Juliana’s red sheath dress still looked crisp and fresh, but her makeup was dull. Pulling her tools from her small purse, she reapplied her eyeliner and swiped some gloss on her lips. She had no idea what Violet wanted from her, but she felt like she needed to don her shields. And Juliana’s greatest defense mechanism was her face. Perhaps it was shallow or even insecure of her to think of her looks as her greatest asset, but she’d spent her life hiding her true self behind the facade of her freckled face. It was her natural inclination and had yet to fail her.
With a deep breath, she left the bathroom.
And found Violet leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for her.
Those striking brown eyes looked her up and down before locking on Juliana’s.
“Everything okay?” Juliana asked.
Violet looked uncomfortable. “It is,” she responded even though she sounded unsure.
“Are you sure?” Juliana pushed.
Violet’s hands nervously twisted. Then, she seemed to pull herself together and pushed off the wall. She tilted her head. “This way.”
Juliana followed. She hadn’t had a chance to explore yet. So, she took advantage of the opportunity to take in the manor. “Do you know when this wing was built?” she asked.
Violet looked at Juliana over her shoulder. “Um,” she said as she looked around, “I think this is the newest construction—1929.”
“What about size? How big is this place?”
“The house is one hundred fifty thousand square feet.”
“I imagine the utility bill on this place is like the gross domestic product of a small nation.”
“You are not lying.” Violet agreed. “The duke refuses to open it up to the public to defer the cost. He says it’s our home, and people shouldn’t be able to walk through your home even if it means generating revenue.”
“I get that,” Juliana said. “I haven’t ever known the difference, but it can be odd to see random people in your house. Even if it’s not where you really live. It’s like my home is divided into all these parts. The public part, the government part, and the private part. And although they are all separate and there are these safeguards to keep people from seeing our part of the house, it can be unnerving.”
Violet shrugged. “I don’t intend to live here any longer than I have to, so it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.”
“Where do you want to live?”
Violet’s eyes sparked with excitement. “I want to go to New York. I’ve been fascinated with the city since we went there when I was younger.”
Juliana smiled. She remembered her first time in the city. And all the times after. “New York is amazing. I love visiting, but I don’t know if I’d want to live there.”
“Why not?”
Juliana was a master at keeping things to herself. Her secret wishes and dreams were wrapped up tight and stowed away, kept safe and secure in bunting. But this kid, she seemed genuine, and Juliana found herself speaking. “Maybe it’s the way I grew up or my time globetrotting, but I’d love to live somewhere obscure. In the country, away from all the glitz and energy of the city.”
Violet stopped walking and stared at Juliana like she was crazy. “Why?”
Juliana had reasons. After inserting herself into the limelight over and over again, she wanted some privacy. The city was a telephoto lens pointed directly at her, snapping shots and exposing her for all the world to see with its billboards and curious onlookers. Even though she was only twenty-three, her whole life had been played out in front of the world, and she was ready to hide away and live the rest of her life in relative obscurity.
She shrugged. “For the quiet.”
Although Violet clearly disagreed, she nodded her head. “I can understand that.”
Then, she abruptly turned and picked up the pace through the corridor until they reached an elevator. She pressed the button, and Juliana followed her when the doors opened. The elevator dropped two stories and opened into a hallway that looked completely different than everything else she’d seen. It had been recently renovated, and it was all cool grays, dark hardwood floor, and soft lighting. They walked a few meters and stopped in front of a set of double doors. Violet paused before she reached for the doorknob. She looked back at Juliana and seemed to hesitate.
“You’re not at all what I thought you would be,” Violet said.
Juliana smirked. “I get that a lot.”
Violet smiled. “I bet.” She seemed to be thinking about what she wanted to say. “I wasn’t sure this would work. But now that I’ve met you, I think it might actually be the perfect plan.”
“Plan?” Juliana asked, studying Violet.
Nerves jangled in Juliana’s stomach. She was here for a reason, and she couldn’t stray from her duty. She didn’t know how deep-seated the roots of independence were, but she needed to find out. She needed to help her grandmother. She needed to be needed.
“Look,” Violet said, “you are going to be shocked by what happens when I open this door and you walk inside. And I wouldn’t have thought it before I talked to you, but I think your presence here might be the best thing that could have happened. I just ask that you keep an open mind.” Violet’s eyes welled with tears before she blinked them back. “You might be the only person who can help him.”
Before Juliana could ask what Violet meant or figure out what was going on, Violet turned and opened the door. Juliana shot her a confused look but walked through the opening anyway. She moved into the space that was packed with gym equipment. She couldn’t name any of the machines, but she could tell it was well appointed. As she skirted the parallel bars, she continued through a kitchen, which opened to a large living room. There was a television mounted on the wall and plush seating everywhere. Her gaze traveled through the space before landing on a bed. The lavish comforter couldn’t disguise the railings and the traction device hanging above it. She was in a fancy rehabilitation area. Her confusion grew.
“Juliana.”
She knew that voice. Her eyes swung to the recliner. There was a walker in between, a garbage can, a mini refrigerator, and a table filled with medicine bottles, gauze, and a basket of snacks.
Reclining in the chair, his leg in a monstrous brace, sat Rowan Beckwith. And his gaze was locked on her.
