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I scramble on the floor, pulling myself up until I’m standing in the window. Home means memories. I don’t want them. I want here. With him and whatever this is. Even veins in faces are better than home. My hands grab at the curtains, yanking them open with a flourish. Ice and storm laden skies look back at me, cold and desolate. That’s what I am now. Uncaring. I’ll stay here, rest in its distraction until I’m ready to deal with the world I left behind. “I’m not going home,” I mutter, inching myself to the glass. My face rests on it, eyes drinking in the landscape, as my hands palm the cold. “Take me to Malachi. I’ll ask if I can stay. Pay for it if I have to.”
There’s nothing but a snort behind me, as if I’ve said something funny. I haven’t. This place is real to me now. I don’t care for monsters with veins in their faces anymore. I’d rather that than the thought of an empty apartment and gravestones. Let alone the memory of a disloyal husband. “I’m not finished with my distraction, Gray. I want more.”
“Hannah, you can’t stay here without me. There are rules that you won’t-“
My body whips round, eyes and mouth cutting his words dead. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. No man does. Fuck you, Mr Rothburg.”
He stands there, perfectly still regardless of my nasty words, with only the slightest raise to his brow. Perhaps he’s annoyed about them, or perhaps not. I don’t care. I am Hannah now. Not Mrs Tanner who does as she’s told. I will not be ordered, coerced, or tormented with memories I don’t want. I will stay. On my own if I have to.
I look at the door, not caring for his opinion of anything, and then head for it. It’s open and I’m out into what seems to be a grand hallway, as much lavish wealth on show as there was in the bedroom. My bare feet move swiftly, hurrying me along the hall until I come to a wide staircase in the middle of a circular room. I hover, peering around, and then keep moving down towards wherever Malachi might be.
Hard wood floors feel cold under my feet when I reach the bottom of the stairs, no sound in the air to lead me in any direction. I keep walking, head ducking into more rooms so I can find whoever Malachi is. I knock my head with my hand, trying to remember his face clearly. I can’t, but who cares. It isn’t until I turn into another room and find a man fully kitted out in black sprawled out on a couch that I fully remember him. He turns his head to look at me lazily, a glass of something in his hand. It dangles in his grip, as if he’s not bothered about it in the slightest.
I look him over, taking in his size, his looks. Handsome. Of course, he would be. No one isn’t here. Maybe that’s the money they all have.
“Mrs Tanner,” he drawls. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I want to stay.”
He smirks and looks up at the ceiling, the glass coming to his mouth. The liquid’s drained before he raises his body upright, long, heavy booted legs falling to the floor. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you want to stay? I’ve already told you, you can’t have him. Not really.”
“Have who?”
“Gray Rothburg.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that. He wants to take me home. I’m not going.”
He stands and refills his drink, another glass being offered to me at the same time. I nod and move closer, quiet feet taking in the luxury around me as I walk. Plush velvets line the furniture, ample cushions making this room seem even more decadent than the bedroom I was in. I look up and around. Walls decorated with old paintings, more gilt frames and old wealth scattered around. It’s huge. All of it. Luxury on top of luxury, aged canvases and furniture.
“Would you like some clothes for the game, Mrs Tanner?” he says, passing me a drink. Not really. What do they matter here? And what game? I walk again, dismissing the question, and start touching things and fondling objects that seem hundreds of years old. Aged wood creaks beneath my feet. Heavy, silk curtains frayed at the edges. “And when does your husband’s insurance annuity pay out?”
“You had veins in your face.” He did. They were live and filled with blood, black blood. Black eyes too. I glance back at him, taking in the smooth lines of his darkly tanned face, the eyes that follow me wherever I go, and then go back to fingering a porcelain vase. Eyes are still the same. No veins, though. “They were prominent. Like they were above your skin. Why did you have those?”
No answer. No discussion about veins in faces. He just gazes at me, a slight smirk on his lips as if I’m amusing him. Maybe I am. I don’t care about that either.
“In about a week or so,” Gray’s voice says. I swing to look back at him, staring as he crosses the rugs to get to Malachi. What’s in about a week or so? He looks briefly back at me, more dark eyes covered with a frown. “I’ll cover her monetary costs until then if she wants to stay.”
They seem to look at each other for an eternity, no words spoken. Malachi ends up tipping his next drink down, a small chuckle coming out the moment he’s done it. I don’t know what about, but the time gives me a chance to look at them while they think. Attractive, both of them. In different ways. One dark and unreadable, his muted, heavy features giving nothing away but some sense of malice beneath the veneer. The other more open with his attitude given his home around him, I would assume. Both arrogantly aware of their looks, though. Both probably conceited because of it.
I laugh quietly at that, unsure why I am doing given my near naked state in this extraordinary place, and sit on a large chair. I’m not going anywhere. I’m bedding in here, relaxing in the peculiarity and engaging in a new me.
Living a new life.
My feet curl up under me, shoulders rubbing against the soft burgundy velvet. I’ll drink this drink, wallow in my own mood, and wait. Not moving. Not leaving at all.
“Alright, Mrs Tanner,” Malachi eventually says.
“Hannah. No Mrs Tanner. Not anymore.”
He nods and comes over to me, eyes looking over my body again. “Gray’s explained the rules?” My gaze flits back to Gray. No, no rules have been mentioned.
“Malachi gets what Malachi wants. I was trying to explain,” he says, brusquely. The drink hovers at my lips, unsure what that means. “You’ll pay in more ways than one to be here, Hannah. Especially if he lets you stay in the house with him. If you must, choose a room downstairs.”
My gaze comes back to the man in front of me, suddenly understanding the undertone. He towers over me, sleeves rolled up on darkly tanned forearms. They’re covered in an array of leather bracelets. Some black. Some red. I end up looking at his fingers, wondering what they’ll do to me, what they’ll ask of me, and then gaze at his face again. I sip the drink, not caring for the thought. More of those pills and I’ll be fine. I’ll just linger in it all, enjoy whatever eccentricity comes with these rules that I don’t know anything about yet. Anything, as long as I don’t have to go back.
