6. Wyatt
6
WYATT
The drive to the rehab passed quicker than I thought it would. I sat next to Jackson, who glowered at Matthias witheringly for most of the journey. Fortunately, he doesn’t recognize him, not from my engagement party, or from…before. Jackson’s too young to know what kind of past I share with him.
Our friendship existed on the neutral ground between our homes—where Matthias wasn’t one of the Buckinghams, and I wasn’t a child with drug-addled parents.
“You sure you want to do this?” Jackson asked me when I got him situated in the rehab facility. It was far nicer than I expected, with state-of-the-art equipment and a spa. I’m pretty sure the restaurant we passed was Michelin-rated.
“Yeah. I regret nothing,” I tell him, hugging him tightly and sniffling loudly when I finally walk away, leaving Jackson to heal.
It’s the first time we’ve been apart since his accident. Even just after it happened, I slept on the floor of his hospital room.
I’m not sure how I’m going to cope. Maybe it’s a good thing that I have this clusterfuck of a situation to distract me.
“He’ll be well taken care of,” Matthias says, and I just glower at him. Of course he will. That’s not what I’m struggling with. Anything is better than what my parents did…what I managed to do while we lived in that run-down, moldy apartment.
Everything is so different now, I muse as we take the turn toward Matthias’s home. My brows shoot up as we pause by a gatehouse with a barrier. A man inside holding a gun nods at Matthias and waves us through.
What the fuck is that about?
The car follows a wide drive, bright flowers lining the way. It looks light and airy, even through the rain, so different from the musty apartment Jackson and I shared. Even better than the apartment I had with Jen.
My hands are fisted on my thighs, the long drive to the house ominous. This is the beginning of the end for the next year.
With him.
My husband.
“You can wipe that glare off your face. You make this seem like it’s the end of the world, but it’s not.”
They’re the first words he’s spoken since I said goodbye to Jackson. “We’re not in public now, Matthias. You can control my mood then, but not when we’re in private.”
He smirks, like he thinks otherwise. He’ll see. I’ll fucking show him.
My teeth grind and I turn my gaze out the window, watching the rain fall onto the trees that line the drive. They’re gorgeous, old. They have a history , I think. Just like us. And just like us, he probably bought them.
A few seconds later, a sprawling estate appears, like something out of a gothic movie. Pillars and a wrap-around porch, a fountain in the middle of a circular driveway, and a house that seems to go on for miles.
“Fuck off.” This can’t be happening.
Matthias chuckles next to me, the sound dark and foreboding. “It’s a house you could easily get lost in, but don’t worry, I’ll always have my eyes on you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
But before he can answer, the car stops and a man walks up to the door, pulling it open.
“Mr. Buckingham and Mr. Buckingham, welcome home,” the man says with a small bow.
I jerk. I’m not sure which is worse, the confirmation that I’m taking his name, or that this is my new home.
My temporary home. I’ll keep reminding myself of that. Then everything will be okay.
The man nods and I step to the side, arching my head back and looking at this monstrosity. It’s really quite beautiful if I can bring myself to admit it, but fuck, I refuse.
I hate it. This cavernous, dreary place. I don’t want to go inside because then I know my life is really over. But his hand lands on my back and he leads me forward, bringing me up onto the marble porch and through the front door. There is a bouquet of flowers on a table in the expansive foyer and I can’t help my wandering eyes. Tall ceilings and chandeliers appear before me, not to mention a winding staircase leading up to the second and third floors.
He’s right. I could get lost in here.
That’ll probably be preferable to spending time with Matthias.
“Let me show you around,” he says.
I want to refuse, but I know saying anything will only prolong this and I just want to get it over with. Since the house is so large, I can try to avoid him. He may be watching me, but perhaps we could spend a lot of time apart.
A man can hope , I think as he leads me up the stairs to the second floor. We walk down a long hallway and then he pushes open a large door and I see a king-size bed. I don’t need to ask whose it is. Of course he brought me here straight away. To remind me of my fate.
Not that anything will be happening here, except sleep. Well, that and whatever mischievous tortures I can devise to annoy the shit out of Matthias. Hopefully then he’ll let me have my own space.
I shoot a glance at him and a ball of unease settles in my gut. The Matthias I knew as a child was stubborn, immovable.
Do I really think he’s changed that much as an adult?
I don’t answer that. Not even in my own head.
Swallowing, I turn my eyes back to the bed. Objectively, it’s very inviting. It’s huge, sitting right against a wall, with a sturdy headboard and very plush sheets. The comforter looks soft enough to wrap myself in.
It’s far more luxurious than anything I’ve used in months. I fucking hate it.
I force my gaze away and turn to the dresser and the expansive closet. There’s also a seating area with a huge television on the wall. And just beyond is an en suite bathroom.
I move toward that, wanting to get away from Matthias and the hand that’s still on my back. And what it means. What all of this means.
“You have your own closet,” he says as if I should be impressed.
I am, but I refuse to say it.
“I could have my own room.”
“No.”
I huff and take in the marble countertops and the large bowl sinks. There’s a walk-in shower with double shower heads and a claw-foot tub.
If this were anywhere else, I’d crawl inside and let the water soothe me, but since this is Matthias’s tub, his bathroom, his room, I refuse to use any of it. To enjoy it. I will hate it until I leave.
“Your things will be unpacked by tonight. It’ll be like you were always here.”
My nostrils flare and I clench my jaw. Well, fuck.
“Oh goodie,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
Matthias’s smirk is back. “Don’t be like that. Your life is going to change and for the better.”
I open my mouth to say something witty and rude, but he cuts me off. “Let me show you the kitchen. Jules should be there. He told me he’d be making you something to celebrate your arrival.”
I snort in annoyance. Who the fuck is Jules?
I don’t ask the question, but Matthias answers it anyway. “He’s my cook. A live-in chef. You’ll be well-fed living here.”
“I’m perfectly fine as I am.”
His eyes slide down my chest and I feel my abdomen curve inward. I feel every inch of lost weight and muscle mass.
Matthias blinks. “If you say so.”
I feel small and disgusting in that moment. I want to snipe at him that it’s not my fault. That I know I’m not at my best. That I could look better, could be better, but the circumstances of the past year have worn me down. I’ve lost weight. I’ve lost some of my hair. Even my skin looks sallow.
I’m a walking corpse.
But I say nothing. My fight and rage have vanished at his implication, pulling me down with it.
Matthias leads me down the hallway, explaining that these are the guest rooms. Apparently, he has parties and visitors.
I had a life like that. Once.
“My brothers come often,” he adds, and I purse my lips. I know he has five of them, but I’ve made it a point to avoid them over the years.
Just as I’ve done with Matthias himself.
Matthias continues talking as he leads me deeper into the house. “I also have an office in the east wing. I’ll show you that after you meet Jules. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”
I don’t say anything, just listen to the tap of our feet on the floors as we make our way back down the stairs. We move past the foyer and into the kitchen where a man is moving about. He’s wearing a white apron and a chef’s hat, his hands covered in flour, some lingering on his nose as well. He’s younger than I was expecting, probably around our age.
“Ah! Is this the husband?” he remarks, his words lined with a French accent and his green eyes sparkling with good humor.
Husband . I fucking hate that word.
“My name is Wyatt,” I say and then move forward, remembering my manners and holding out my hand. Jules shakes it, getting flour on my palm which I promptly wipe on my pants. Probably shouldn’t have done that. This suit must’ve cost Matthias more than my rent. Actually, I should pour the entire flour bag over my head, really make a mess.
“Wyatt, ah yes. Matthias has talked so much about you…”
I doubt that’s true but say nothing. Just let Jules move to the refrigerator and pull it open, producing a tray with small cakes on them. He grins at us proudly, blond hair peeking out from beneath his cap.
“Matthias said that you like strawberries and cream.”
I peer over at him and my eye twitches. “I used to.”
Jules frowns slightly. “Have your tastes changed?”
“Everything has changed,” I reply hotly, and Matthias runs a hand across his mouth.
“Not that much. Try one.”
Fuck. Jules never did anything to me, so I pick up a small cake and pop it into my mouth, flavor exploding across my tastebuds. I lied about strawberries. I fucking love them. But I just couldn’t afford them.
Suddenly, I hate Matthias even more. How dare he give me a taste of what I’ve been missing? I don’t need him to provide for me.
But you do. That’s why you’re here.
I ignore that thought. I’m not here because Matthias is providing for me, but because of The Firm.
In a year, I’ll walk out of his life just as I walked in—with just the clothes on my back.
At least Jackson will get the help he needs. The money in my accounts is a nice bonus too. It’s more than enough to get me back on my feet.
See, I don’t need Matthias. Or his stupid strawberries.
“I don’t like them,” I lie, wincing internally as Jules’s lips turn down at the edges. “It’s not because of your cooking. I’m just not a fan of strawberries. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Jules perks up again after my hasty explanation. “How about raspberries?”
“Sounds great,” I say, forcing a smile. It’s not his fault his employer’s a prick. “Thank you, Jules.”
I turn to see Matthias staring at me, his hands in his pockets. There’s amusement in his eyes, immediately getting my hackles up. “What?”
His lips twitch. “Nothing. Just good to see you’re as terrible a liar as you always were.”
With that, he spins on his heel and walks away.
* * *
Despite his offer to show me around his office, Matthias doesn’t return. I make small talk with Jules for a few more minutes before leaving to explore on my own. Fuck him. I don’t need Matthias to show me around. More than that, I don’t want him to. Knowing him, he’ll keep certain areas hidden from me.
He never has been one to be fully open, even as a kid.
I didn’t know better then. I do now.
So with that thought in mind, I explore every inch of the house. Every nook and cranny. I peek inside countless rooms, open closets, and even climb up the rickety ladder into the attic. Other than a small nest and a very angry pigeon, there’s not a lot up there.
I make sure to tilt every picture on the wall and any that I find with Matthias in them, I turn them completely upside down. I hope he sees this. I hope he knows how pissed I am.
He knows. He can still read you. Even after all these years.
The only area I steer clear of is the east wing, where Matthias said his office was. The longer I can avoid the man the better. To be fair, this house is so fucking ridiculous that I’ll likely be able to avoid him most of the time. Especially seeing as he has a day job.
Unlike me.
I think my job for the next year should be to make his life as miserable as possible, nothing with far-reaching consequences, but little annoyances that will make him grumble and grump.
That is what I’d like to do. I started with the pictures around the house. I need to figure out what else to do.
I want his eye to twitch when he sees it.
I move back through the expansive house, making sure to rearrange everything. When I get to our room, I turn all of his shirts inside out. It’s a long process, but worth it. I hope he shows up somewhere with all of his clothes on the wrong way.
I may even tie his shoelaces together.
I hope he trips.
When I’ve managed to subtly rearrange everything I can in the house, I wander outside, an umbrella over my head as I skirt the puddles on the ground. Even through the rain, like when I first arrived today, I find that this estate is gorgeous. Alive.
I find myself standing in the middle of the storm and just breathing in the scent of it.
I could grow things here, I think. I could have a garden. It’s the one thing my apartment with Jen never had, but here…all this space. I could. But I discard it. I won’t be here next year. What’s the point?
But a part of me silently calls out for it, to stick my fingers into the soil and to watch as things grow.
I turn slightly and move around the house, walking the length of it, my shoes muddying before turning back. I feel like I’ve been gone an era with how large the house is. But I wanted to see it from the outside.
It’s just as expansive as it is inside.
And just as opulent.
When I return inside, I make sure to take off my shoes and carry them up to his bedroom. Our bedroom , I think as I stare at the bed.
And in a fit of complete insanity, I smack the sole of my shoe right onto his pillow, leaving a muddy footprint for him to sleep on.
It makes me unreasonably happy.
I’m here to torment him, to make him wish he never agreed to this sham of a marriage. He’ll wish he never brought me into his house and forced me to sleep in his bed.
With that, I change my wet clothes and wander around the house once more.
What else is there to do but wait?