Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
ISABELLE
T hree nights.
I’ve been here for three nights.
The snow isn’t letting up. We still don’t have Internet or cell service. Meaning I haven’t had access to call anyone…or watch my movies.
And that also means I haven’t been sleeping. I think I’ve gathered about three hours over the last three nights. I’m getting delirious. The voice in my head—the one whispering outside, outside, outside— is getting louder and louder. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.
On the second night, I thought I’d embrace my insomnia and try reenacting the “Good Mornin’” dance scene from Singin’ in the Rain . But there’s a reason why my acting goals are set on straight movies and not musicals—I have a serious lack of dance training. So I found out the hard way that doing a somersault over a couch is not as easy as it looks.
Turns out it’s not great to stay up late. Now I’ve got a bruise on my shin and I still can’t sleep.
All night long, I wondered what’s going to happen when I get home. This movie was supposed to be my big break, the realization of my dreams coming true. Sure, it was just a cheesy rom-com on the Family Entertainment Network, but it was a LEAD ROLE. Now what? Am I going to get blacklisted by the entertainment industry for rejecting a role I was offered?
Is my dad worried? What about Jen? I was supposed to come home three days ago. I never even responded to her first message about what Adam looks like in person.
I’ve probably lost my job at the Cheesecake Factory, too, since I never showed up and didn’t even call to find a replacement.
I’m not crying about that one. But maybe I should be, because that’s the only way I’m able to pay my share of the rent. No job, no movie to look forward to… I’m lost.
I lie in bed every night, my mind racing, but I feel like I’m suffocating. Even though the castle is huge, the walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I’ve never been so trapped in my life.
Brigette is hovering. She’s super sweet, and I feel endeared to her, but even she is smothering me.
Even worse, Adam isn’t speaking to me. Not a single word since he left the library—except to remind me we’ll have dinner at six p.m. every night.
I’ve thought about staying in my room and freezing him out, since dinner is the only scheduled event we have between us, but it’s almost become a game at this point. Can I get anything out of him? Even a change in expression?
So far, the answer is no.
I’ve said the most ridiculous things. I claimed I can ride a unicycle while juggling flames (not true). I also told him I can pick up most objects with my toes instead of my fingers (that one is true).
Not a single flinch.
Tonight is our fourth dinner together. I’m determined to make him crack. My lack of sleep is making me border on absurd.
“This stew looks delicious,” I comment. “Is it from Luthpaknia?”
I hoped making up a ridiculous name for a country would break him down. But I get nothing.
“The last time I was there,” I continue, “I rode a flying alpaca. Have you ever seen those before?”
His eyes stay glued to his bowl.
“Of course, that was after my time in the circus. I told you about that, right? I’m a lion tamer.” I tap my forehead with my index finger. “I should put that on my list of special skills… I bet it’ll be useful for my next movie.”
I can tell Adam is listening to every word but choosing not to react. It’s time to get even more ridiculous.
“After the circus, Angelina Jolie and I opened a chicken farm. It wasn’t super profitable, so we sold it to Jason Mraz.”
The side of Adam’s mouth twitches in a smile. I think he enjoys my name-dropping of celebrities. I take that as encouragement to continue.
“One of the hens got married to a rooster, though, and Stella Knight sang at the wedding reception. It was pretty fancy. All the roosters wore bow ties. And there were other people there, like Ryan Gosling and Tristan Jackson and?—”
Adam slams his spoon down on the table. His expression instantly morphed to the most intense fury I’ve seen on a person’s face.
Oh, crap.
Tristan Jackson.
AKA Hollywood’s golden boy, the victim of Adam’s fury last autumn. The unexplained secret that’s been looming over everyone’s heads for the last eight months.
Adam slowly turns his head to face me. “Never, ever , speak that name in this castle.” His voice is low and dangerous, sending a chill down my spine.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I forgot?—”
“Forgot what?” he snaps. “What do you know?”
“Nothing, I swear!”
He stands suddenly, his chair scratching the floor loudly. “Lionel, bring my food to my office.” He stomps past me and toward the exit.
“Yes, sir.” Lionel scoops up his bowl and follows Adam out the door.
I stare down at my food, too sick from nerves to eat any more. Of all the names I could have chosen, why did I say Tristan Jackson? I should have known better. That name has been running on repeat for the last four days. It’s the foundation of the mystery in this castle.
I have to get out of here. But a quick glance at the window shows that the snow keeps falling. It’s got to end soon. Because the longer I stay, the surer I am that I don’t want anything to do with Adam Stone.
Since this is my fourth night in the castle, I’m pretty familiar with the routine at each hour of the night. After dinner, I head to the kitchen and hang out with the staff. Around ten, the final few workers go to bed, so I head to my room, too. At midnight, there’s a clock that strikes somewhere down the hall. And at twelve-thirty, Adam goes to bed. I know this because he slams the door of his bedroom as he leaves the office.
So now, at one in the morning, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person awake.
I’m starting to go crazy. Being stuck in here feels like suffocating. I wish I could just step outside for a few minutes, but the snow hasn’t stopped.
Outside, outside, outside.
“Argh!” I cry out loud, throwing the blankets off my legs.
Maybe I should head over to the library. I can find a big nonfiction book about the Revolutionary War, and it’ll be so boring, I’ll have to fall asleep, right?
Would a British family even own a book about the Revolutionary War?
Regardless, I think it’s the best option right now. I don’t have my movies to put me to sleep, so boredom will have to be the answer. Pulling a robe around my shoulders, I suppress a shiver. I feel a sense of foreboding as I wander around the castle alone at this hour. Honestly, I could get murdered here and no one would know.
I’m pretty sure Adam hasn’t killed anyone but…after his reaction at dinner tonight, I’m getting a little nervous that Tristan Jackson won’t be on this earth much longer.
But lying in bed isn’t getting me anywhere. In fact, it’s making my imagination run wild. So I play my character game, embodying someone else to give me bravery.
“You are the owner of this castle,” I whisper to myself. “There’s no reason to be afraid of walking around your own home in the middle of the night. You have every right to go to the library.”
With an inhale and a nod, I open the door to my room and escape into the hallway. I’m wearing the pink bunny slippers and too-small pajamas, but I’m not about to change clothes in the middle of the night. My feet pad quietly on the floor, but every step sounds like a stomping elephant.
I make my way to the staircase. I’ve been to the library a few times over the last few days, mostly to read stories to Theo and peruse the shelves. There were a few romantic comedies that caught my eye, even one by Moira Kensington, but nothing has been able to hold my interest. Right now, I’m not looking for something interesting. Boring would be preferred.
As I pass Adam’s office, I notice the door is open just a crack. I halt in my tracks.
I know I’m not allowed in there. But he’s asleep, right? If I spend a few minutes peeking around, just to convince myself I won’t get murdered here in the castle, who could blame me? Especially after his reaction tonight, I need all the reassurance I can get.
It’s crazy how fast he flips. That first morning in the library, he almost seemed…normal, at least for a moment. Despite his crazy hair and beard, it was like he was telling a friend about his siblings and family. I saw a glimmer in his piercing blue eyes that wasn’t there before and hasn’t been there again.
But in an instant, everything changed. His eyes turned steely, and he hasn’t spoken to me since. Well, except to tell me never, ever to say Tristan’s name in this castle.
“Tristan Jackson,” I say out loud, a small act of defiance. I feel a smirk on my face, giving me another boost of confidence.
I place my hand on the door, pressing it open, and walk into the office. A few coals in the fireplace to my left still glow red, giving a little light to the room. I wish I had brought my phone as a flashlight, but the battery died, and I didn’t bring a charger with me. Let’s not forget the original plan was to stay for a few hours and then head back home. I use the faint glow of the embers to light my way, giving the office an extra-creepy vibe. Some pictures line the walls to my right—one of Adam, then, I’m assuming, each of his siblings.
I pause at Adam’s picture. The picture shows him as I remember him from the movies—strikingly handsome, with dark blond hair cropped on the sides and longer on top. Piercing blue eyes that gaze into your soul. A little bit of stubble to give him a rugged look. But his expression, especially in this dark, is stern and intense.
Has he always been this way? Is this how he got the reputation of Hollywood Hothead, even before punching Tristan on the red carpet?
I move on to the pictures of the other siblings. Henry, the next brother, smiles lightly and seems pleasant. Peter’s grin is a bit playful and mischievous.
I stop in my tracks at Lily. She’s stunning, with her long blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. But there’s a beautiful innocence in her expression, something that makes you feel hopeful.
I step back to Adam’s picture, taking a moment to study him.
“What happened to you?” I whisper, wishing I could ask him that question and get an honest answer in return. I set my fingertips on his cheek, letting them linger there for a moment.
Moving on from the pictures, I notice a shelf full of trinkets next to a gigantic desk with a computer. A sliver of moonlight falls right on the shelves, illuminating a few items. There’s a globe, an old-fashioned pocket watch that keeps ticking loudly, and a delicate glass red rose on a stand. I reach out my hand and gently touch the petals of the rose.
Well, apparently not gently enough. It wobbles and then topples off the shelf.
“Oh, no!” I cry out loud, bending down as quickly as I can to catch it before it hits the ground. In the process, I bump my rear end against the desk. Hard.
“Cheese and rice!” I cry out, rubbing my sore bottom with my free hand. But the important thing is that I caught the rose just in time, so I carefully set it back on the shelf.
Turning back to the desk, I notice that the computer screen is now lit up. I must have moved the mouse in the process of bumping into the desk. The light reflects off a picture frame on his desk—it’s the picture I knocked down in the study my first night here, complete with the cracked glass diagonally across the image.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I whisper, hoping I didn’t do anything to make it obvious that I was here. I scurry over to the computer screen, trying to see if I did accidentally set off anything suspicious.
The document on the screen looks boring enough, but my eyes catch on a few words.
Tristan Jackson
Lily Stone
Non-disclosure
Slander
Assault
“What are you doing here?” Adam’s low, rumbling voice makes me jump and squeal.
I glance up, and there he is, standing in the doorway. With the low light and the outline of his body, I could truly believe he’s a lion standing on its hind legs and not a man.
I swallow hard. How in the world am I going to explain myself to him?