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“You have my word,” I promise. I drop my grip on the door handle. “When the time is right I’ll tell her.”
Chapter Twelve
Ivy
Myheartistryingto race out of my chest as I wake to a dimly lit room. The lamp furthest from me was turned on while I was asleep and it pushes away the shadows, including the ones in my head.
There was something… I blink. Whatever it was… it’s gone now. Just a dream as slippery as my memories seem to be. My bladder is far more insistent.
I stumble out from under sheets where the fragrance of oatmeal and spice and musk lingers. Sheets that smell like Rogue Maddox because this is our bedroom.
He said he would move into a spare room. Was he not prepared for me to not remember who he is? Did he think that we could go back to the way it was before… before this room became only his?
I step behind the wall that partitions matching walk-in closets. His side full. Mine with only a few pieces of clothing. The ones Adira brought with him when he came to see me earlier. He’d unpacked them while he visited. While he told me that I can trust that Rogue Maddox is a good man. That Nicole is lying about Rogue hurting me. And that this apartment is the best place for me to recover.
But how can it be when it’s clear I don’t live here?
The bathroom is huge. It’s polished luxury but it’s warm and inviting. Unlike the cold perfection Nicole prefers.
This penthouse might not be my home, but with Rogue and Adira both agreeing that I can’t go to Adira’s, staying here is the only option when the other is going to my mother’s.
I don’t understand why I can’t go to Adira’s though. When I asked him, he didn’t answer the question. I guess I was so tired while he was here I didn’t realize.
I struggle with the button on my pants and wish they were sweatpants. Or leggings. I would kill for something with an elastic waist. But I manage to get them undone and down my legs so I can take care of business.
Once I’m done I move to the sink to wash my hands, which is much harder with the cast. I could use help. At least until I’m healed. I need to make the best of this situation.
I dry my hands on a small towel hung above the counter and check out my surroundings. There are two toothbrushes in a holder beside it. And the toothpaste I like. My sugar cookie perfume sits on the counter.
There’s more of me in this room than anywhere else. Huge bottles of my favorite shampoo and conditioner are on the floor in the shower. It’s expensive so I normally only buy the small bottles and make it last as long as I can, but these are already half empty.
I sit on the tiles inside the double shower and crack the lid on the conditioner. Lifting it to my nose I inhale the fragrance. It’s as familiar to me as Adira. Or my sugar cookie perfume. Everything else is foreign, including the man who is probably asleep elsewhere in the apartment.
As foreign as my best friend hiding things from me. I don’t know what I’m missing but I know Adira, and when I asked him about my relationship with Rogue it took him longer to look me in the eye than it normally would.
I put the conditioner down and stand. I’m desperate for a proper shower with my favorite products and water so hot I can barely stand it. The doctor said that I could get my stitches wet as long as I dried them thoroughly afterward.
The water makes thedushnoise when it comes out of the rain showerhead. I step out to undress. The hoodie comes off as easily as it went on. My pants aren’t too difficult considering I didn’t bother latching the button. The shirt is harder. And there’s no way I can reach behind my back and unhook the clasp on my bra. I forgot about the cast too. I can’t get it wet.
My eyes sting with my helplessness. So much for getting clean and feeling even remotely normal again. I’m alone with a stranger and a few security guards. I can’t ask for help. Can’t trust anyone because everyone else is on a different page. As much as I want to I’m not even sure I can trust my best friend.
The door opens and beautiful blues lock with mine. His hair is disheveled from sleep or perhaps from not being able to sleep. His gaze lowers to my chest before he course corrects. “Are you okay?”
“No, I…” I don’t know what I am. Who I am anymore. Am I the wife of the most famous playboy in America? Am I so depressed I would try to take my own life? Am I just the woman who can’t have a freaking shower the way she wants to?
I blink back the wetness that continues to threaten as he moves into the room. Blink at the startling realization that we’re alone. In the middle of the night. And I’m in my bra and panties.
“You want to take a shower,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. You should be able to do what you want.” His brow pulls tight in the middle and he touches the thin blue strap at my shoulder.
We both know he doesn’t mean that I should be allowed to leave. We’re only talking about a shower. I push anyway. “If that were true I would be allowed to go home. To Adira’s.”
“You’re having trouble with this, aren’t you?” His fingers trail down the strap where it crosses my shoulder until it hits the band that runs around my torso. Goose bumps break out everywhere that he touches. He tugs at the clasp and the material loosens as he steps back.
“Thank you.” I hold the cups in place with my hands.
