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“You can’t be this sheltered and deluded,” he huffs, his voice more than a little elevated.
“So if your father was able to successfully give you to Niccolò, what do you call that? Freedom? You’d be his property if I didn’t claim you.”
“You’re wrong, Lennon. Yes, he’d take ownership over my body and my free will, but never my mind. It’s the one thing I can control. I would never give that to someone who is undeserving—only the shell of me.”
He laughs. “Do you think he actually cares about your fucking mind? You’re a goddamn chess piece— an acquisition.”
His words hit their mark like a verbal slap. “I know my place,” I say softly. And it’s true. I’ve never felt of value to anyone other than what alliances my virginity will allow for my family. They could never fathom what it feels like to feel so insignificant. I don’t want to feel this right now.
“That’s just it. You don’t know your place,” he argues. “You still think it’s back with your family, complacent on allowing yourself to be given to Niccolò.”
“And how are you any different? You have ulterior motives of your own. Nobody actually wants me.”
He falls silent and pushes off the tub. He walks out, leaving me alone with the pain of that reality— the kind that the meds won’t help with. The tears begin to fall, and I let them. I’m so tired of trying to stay strong … tired of pretending to be okay with my father’s plan for me. I’m tired of not experiencing life or ever feeling loved. Even with the minor acts of rebellion to get a glimpse of the world, I’ve done what was expected of me over the past twenty years. I want a chance to be free to be myself. I don’t even know what that looks like. I’m still crying when Lennon walks back in. He doesn’t acknowledge the mental wounds he just poured salt on. Bridget enters after him, carrying shampoo and conditioner and some handheld spray hose attachment thing.
“Lean back,” he instructs, his tone unwavering.
I don’t trust my voice right now. I’m doing all that I can to hold myself together in front of this man. I lean back— his eyes never leave mine as he grabs the shampoo from Bridget. He uses a hand to cup some of the water from the tub and wet my hair. He pours a generous amount of shampoo into his palm and begins to massage it into my hair. I’m sure he’s only assisting with this chore to save the back of his maids and to keep his hired men from seeing me naked. I close my eyes as his fingertips apply pressure to my scalp. This doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.I’m a chess piece.
I open my eyes when I hear him tell Bridget to connect that hose thing. She attaches it to the faucet and turns on the water. He slides me forward and then leans me back with one hand supporting my head. My stupid freaking tears return as he rinses my hair because more than anything I want someone to genuinely care for me like this. I close my eyes once again—embarrassed.
“Wait in the other room until I call for you,” he tells Bridget.
A short time passes, but I know she’s gone. The water continues to stream down my hair, and then it’s gone. Unexpectedly, Lennon’s lips gently caress mine. My eyes widen as he licks the seam of my lips. He’s dropped the spray attachment into the bath water, but he still supports my head. I know this isn’t real, but I allow myself to get lost in his kiss for a moment before I begin to flail. Water sloshes over the top of the tub. Lennon pulls back and stills my movement. He retrieves the spray attachment and resumes rinsing my hair as if the kiss didn’t happen. He repeats the wash and rinse again, then walks over to the shower and turns it on.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s time for your shower. Unless you want to bathe in the dirt I just washed from your hair.”
“No,” I admit softly. I wasn’t planning on washing my hair. My ribs wouldn’t have allowed it. I’m forced to accept his pity or whatever this is. He’s the king of whiplash.
He grabs a huge towel and sets it along the edge before lifting me out of the depth of the tub and placing me on it. He dries me slightly to prevent excess water from creating a fall hazard for us both. I’m further shocked by him when he walks us both into the shower. He’s fully dressed in his T-shirt and joggers. He lowers me to my feet, and I instantly take pressure off my left ankle. He notices but begins to wash me. If I had any inkling of dignity left, it’s gone. He washes me everywhere. When he finishes, he places me where I can hold on to the travertine wall and turns off the shower.
He steps out first and removes his clothes and towels off. He wraps the towel around his waist. “Stay here until I get back,” he instructs as if that was necessary at this point.
He isn’t gone long, but I’m starting to tire and the meds are wearing off. Lennon returns with a new T-shirt and joggers on. He grabs another towel and steps in to dry me off now. He lifts me with his arms, but the jarring is a little more painful this time.
“Ahhh,” I cry out.
“The Vicodin is wearing off?” he asks. I nod. He brings me to the room, but there is no Bridget. He must have dismissed her on his way to change because I know I heard him tell her to wait in here. “Let’s get you dressed, and then I’ll get you some more medicine. You need to eat something too. I’m not asking.” He pulls back the covers with one hand and sets me on the side of my bed.
“Yes, sir,” I answer sarcastically. Just as I was starting to appreciate his gentler approach, his jerk tendencies rear their ugly head.He’s not asking, ugh.
“Careful, my little bird.”
That’s his only warning as he digs through my drawers to get me a tank and shorts—no underwear. I let him dress me—whatever is going to speed up this little dog and pony show.
“I will have Bridget bring you lunch, Vicodin, and another ice pack. I promised you mercy, and I will honor that, but don’t test my patience again.”
He guides my legs slowly onto the bed and then brings the covers over me. His harsh words are at odds with his actions. He leaves the room, and I’m happy for the reprieve. He’s intense and invokes things within me that I’m not yet able to decipher.
I don’t know how to be around him and that in itself is troubling. He has managed to slip past both my anger and fear. He’s a dangerous man, and I’m defenseless against him.
He’s going to destroy me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lennon
