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Insanely bored.
If it weren’t for Sable’s regular interval of visits, I probably would’ve lost my mind by now.
The only way I’d successfully been able to keep track of time was going by the meals they brought. Now that I was willingly eating and no longer threatening violence to every person that entered the room, I was being served three full meals a day, along with the snacks Sable snuck in to me. My meals had evolved from prepackaged sandwiches and bottles of water to full-course meals.
Breakfast ranged from heaping piles of softly scrambled eggs sprinkled with chives and freshly shredded cheese and greasy, deliciously thick-cut bacon with a smoky flavor that nearly melted in my mouth, to açai bowls packed with sweet bites of fresh fruit and crunchy nuts.
I frequently shared lunch with Sable. After our last disastrous conversation, she had entered the room the next day with her usual bag, subdued and quiet even as she asked me if she could look at my head wound. As she’d removed the soiled bandage and cleaned up the slowly healing gash, I had blurted out an apology for my behavior.
Thankfully for me, Sable was my polar opposite and didn’t even consider holding a grudge—she forgave me in a heartbeat.
Without meaning to, I fell quietly into an easy routine. When I first woke up in the morning, I would stretch; just something easy and simple as my concussion still left me woozy if I moved too quickly. It kept my body limber and felt good to move around with purpose in the limited space I had. Typically, by the time I finished, the morning guards would be bringing in my coffee and breakfast and I’d finish it up before hopping into the shower.
At some point, Sable must have gone shopping for me because now the dresser drawers were lined with clothing. Nothing fancy, just comfortable athleisure wear and—finally!—undergarments and socks. The room was typically chilly, the marble floor even more so, so having socks on my feet was a creature comfort I was pleased to have. I wiggled my cloth-covered toes now as I stood before the mirror in the bathroom, brushing my teeth to scrub away last night’s cottonmouth.
Eoin’s healed bite marks stood out starkly on the skin of my throat.
I eyed them as I got ready for the day, wondering when he would visit again. For every three or four visits Sable made, Eoin would swing by the room, bearing gifts of books or hot chocolate. We never spoke much beyond my murmured thanks, but he still sat with me while I drank the warm beverage, watching me with those piercing mossy eyes until I placed the thermos back into his palm, and he would glide out of the room, leaving me in a cloud of that delicious scent of his.
I had the distinct impression he was forcing himself to stay away… and I wasn’t sure that I liked it. The pull I felt toward him was dangerously magnetic. And I tried, desperately, to pretend as though I didn’t notice when we were within the same vicinity.
Every day I dressed, every day I ate, and every day I watched the wound on my head heal with the passing of time. It was scabbed over now, the knot having retreated and leaving behind only a faint, yellowing bruise.
I had grown up inside the gilded cage of the La Rose mansion, and at some point, I’d had the realization that I had simply traded one prison for another. At least here, the guards looked at me and treated me like I was a threat, someone to be wary of, rather than a nuisance like Lupo and the rest of my father’s men.
If I let myself fall too deeply into my thoughts, I remembered that my father was likely searching for me. That he was probably waging war somewhere in New York to get his little girl back. But life was so simple in this room—I didn’t have to worry about anything anymore. So, I let the distressing thoughts of my family float away anytime they emerged.
In this room, I was safe.
In this room, I only had to worry about myself.
Eoin
Chapter Seventeen
“Yer not goin’ ta feckin’ believe this.”
Declan’s voice drew my attention, my eyes flicking up from the paperwork I had laid out in front of me. My chair made a light squeaking sound as I leaned back, pushing the papers away. “Let me guess, t’is ’ave somethin’ ta do wit’ Ottavia?”
Our time together over the last week had been—dare I say—pleasant?And my men have eased up a bit, no longer fearing for their lives. Or at least notasmuch. The spoiled princess had seemed to accept her reality check and, it appeared, allowed the companionship Sable offered. All that being said,I wouldn’t be surprised if the woman woke up and chose violence.
His wide shoulder leaned against the doorframe, large arms resting over his chest. “Yes an’ no.”
My eyes narrowed on him.
“Mattia ’as finally decided ’tis time ta address Ottavia bein’ here.”
I sat forward when he didn’t elaborate, my annoyance apparent as I eyed him. “Care ta explain?”
Declan stood, arms dropped at his sides. “Tha guards ’ave two men waiting ta talk to ye outside.”
“Two men?” I questioned, starting to stand from my seat. Mattia really thought he could sendmessengersto discuss his daughter? Either he was a straight eejit or—no, there was no or.
He was just an eejit.
“Mmmhm,” he hummed, moving aside for me to pass through into the hall. “Messengers.”
I scoffed, headed for the front of the house. The iron snake doorstop banged along the dark wooden door when I opened it, the guards standing just outside scuffling to move out of my and Declan’s way. Another set of guards stood at the bottom of the stone porch steps, guns pointed at two men who shifted side to side on their feet.
