Chapter 7 Willow
WILLOW
I wake up with my face pressed against the softest pillow I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s like sleeping on a cloud, but one that’s firm enough to contour to my face and cradle it gently.
I have no idea what time it is, and my head feels fuzzy. Every part of me is worn out and tired, and I’m sore all over—especially my neck, although the cuts on my torso and arms ache as well. With a soft groan, I roll over and blink up at the ceiling.
The room I’m in is unfamiliar, but I remember pretty quickly that I’m at my grandmother’s house.
My grandmother.
How is this not a dream?
Less than a day ago, I didn’t even know I had any living blood relatives. And now I have a grandmother.
I’m still reeling from that discovery, and the excitement of finding out I have a real family is tainted a bit by memories of everything that led up to my grandmother’s arrival at the hospital.
Despite the luxurious softness of the bed, I didn’t sleep all that well once we got to Olivia’s house.
My brain kept tormenting me with nightmares of Ilya hovering over me, cutting my skin and groping my body.
I tried to run in my dreams, just like I did in real life, but his strong arms wrapped around me and dragged me toward the flames, the scent of smoke and charred wood thick in the air.
I suck in a deep breath, relieved that this room smells more like lavender and furniture polish than soot and ash.
As comfortable as the bed is, I force myself to sit up.
Although the curtains are drawn, I can see light filtering in around them, and I have no idea what time of day it is or how long I slept, but I don’t want to just lie in bed all day.
And I definitely don’t want to fall back asleep.
Not with those memories lurking, waiting for me to close my eyes so they can drag me under again.
So I push the covers away and slide off the mattress, noticing that there are some clothes laid out for me on the chair off to the side of the bed.
I take them and head into the attached bathroom to shower and get dressed.
It’s a beautiful bathroom, all gleaming tile and shiny accents.
The shower is separate from the tub, and they’re both huge.
The whole space is almost bigger than my bedroom back in my apartment, and I stop to stare at it for a second, still coming to grips with the fact that I’m related to someone with so much money.
There are lights over the mirror, and I catch sight of my own reflection staring back at me. The mirror me grimaces, her lips pulling back in a wince.
I look worse than usual.
My skin is pale, but not in the way it normally is.
Now it’s almost like a pallor, making me look ghostly and sick.
My soft blonde hair hangs lank and dirty, matted from sweat and smoke and being dragged across the floor.
My eyes are a bit too wide in my face, and the bags under them are heavy and prominent.
The marks on my neck are dark and ugly, even worse now than they were when I first saw them at the hospital.
When I take my clothes off, I can see the bruises and cuts that Ilya gave me, adding to the mess of scars I already had from the fire all those years ago. The first fire I survived.
I also still have the tattoo that Malice gave me, right above my left breast. I clench my jaw when I look at it.
The night he gave it to me, I felt like it would be a permanent reminder of them. It was something I wanted, something to remind me that I wasn’t alone, and that even if our time together ended, a part of me would always belong to them.
But now it feels like all the other scars on my body—a mark of something or someone that hurt me.
I stare at it for a long moment, tracing the stylized two and four with my eyes in the mirror. I still don’t know what those numbers mean or why Malice chose them to put on me, and I guess it doesn’t really matter now.
None of it matters, I remind myself bitterly, a new ache springing up in my chest. None of it mattered to them, so you shouldn’t let it matter to you.
Shaking my head forcefully, I try to banish those thoughts. I don’t want to think about the Voronin brothers at all. The sooner I can get them out of my head, the sooner I can get on with my life—whatever that might look like now.
I step into the shower, determined to enjoy a peaceful moment in this luxurious bathroom.
The shower head is one of those rainfall ones that I always saw being installed in the home improvement shows I like to watch. The water pressure is perfect, and it heats up to the right temperature in just a few seconds.
A far cry from the clanging pipes and long wait for hot water back at my place.
There’s a cluster of fancy looking bottles along a built-in shelf in the shower, and I help myself to them, taking my time to wash my hair, wanting to get every trace of ash and soot out of it.
I scrub myself down, wincing when soap and hot water hit some of the fresher cuts, and when I step out to dry off, I feel a bit better.
More human, at least.
The clothes that were laid out for me don’t fit quite right, as if someone just guessed at my size. And they’re not really my style. The straight legged linen pants and the button-up shirt are more expensive and conservative than anything I usually wear, but they’re clean, and that’s all I need.
Once I’m dressed, I leave the bedroom and step cautiously into the hall.
A woman is walking down the corridor, and we almost collide as I pull the door shut behind me.
“Oh, shit!” I jump in surprise, my hand going to my heart as my pulse leaps. I’m still more jittery from last night than I realized.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman says, a look of chagrin crossing her face. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She’s older than me but younger than Olivia, probably in her late thirties. She has a basket of cleaning supplies in her hand, and as my heart rate starts to slow to a more normal level, I realize she must be a maid.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I should have been paying attention. Um. Do you know where my—um, where Olivia is?”
She smiles, giving me a polite nod. “Yes, she’s downstairs. Would you like me to show you?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” I shake my head quickly. “I don’t want to interrupt your work or anything. I can find her.”
“As you like. Just let someone know if you need help,” the maid tells me before continuing on down the hall.
I only have to walk a little way in the other direction to find the staircase.
It’s a sweeping thing, with dark wooden banisters on either side that have been polished until they gleam.
The stairs are covered in a rich carpet, done up in maroon and gold, and I almost feel bad stepping on it as I head down.
‘Downstairs’ turns out to be the main floor of the house, and it’s massive. The entryway alone is bigger than my apartment, and a cut crystal chandelier presides over the whole thing, throwing rainbows across the walls and the floor as the sun streams in through the windows.
The walls are decorated tastefully with art, paintings of meadows and oceans that have clearly been done by expert hands.
I make my way cautiously through the house, trying not to feel like an intruder. When I find the kitchen, I poke my head in, locking eyes with another person who must work for Olivia as he sorts through produce in a bin.
He raises an eyebrow, and I wave awkwardly and leave before he can ask me if I need something.
After wandering down a few more hallways, I find a sitting room, and Olivia is there. She’s seated in an armchair, a book in her lap. The room is bright, with large windows that line the walls, and there are plants hanging from the ceiling near the windows.
When she sees me, Olivia smiles and beckons me in. She looks me over, her gaze lingering on my neck.
“I’m glad to see that you’re awake,” she says. “I was just going to have someone go up and check on you to make sure you didn’t need anything. How did you sleep?”
“Not the best,” I admit. “Not because the room wasn’t comfortable or anything!” I hurry to add, because I don’t want her to think her hospitality wasn’t good enough for me. “It was probably the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. It was just… everything else.”
She nods. “I understand. You’ve been through so much. It would be strange if you weren’t still feeling the effects of it all.”
I swallow hard, because she’s right. There’s so much weighing on my heart and mind right now.
Olivia gives me another soft smile and gestures to the sofa across from where she’s sitting. “Have a seat, Rosely—Willow. Make yourself comfortable.”
That’s easier said than done, considering I haven’t been in a place this fancy in my entire life.
When I sit down on the plush sofa, it doesn’t creak and groan in protest like the one in my apartment always did.
There are no springs jutting up from the bottom, and no saggy cushions that dip in the middle.
It’s comfortable as hell, and I lean back, trying to enjoy this while it lasts.
Olivia watches me closely, but she doesn’t seem like she’s waiting for me to fuck up or anything. Instead she looks pleased, like she’s glad I’m settling in.
“You have a really nice house,” I tell her awkwardly. “I’ve never been anywhere this amazing before.”
“Thank you.” She glances around the room, setting her book aside.
“I’ve put a lot of time and effort into it.
I’m glad you like it. I didn’t want to come off as pushy or moving too fast when I invited you to stay the night here, since we’ve just met, but the thought of you going back to your apartment alone worried me.
I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if something had happened to you and I hadn’t at least offered you a place to stay. ”
I nod, glancing down at my lap. “I appreciate it. It was nice, waking up and not feeling alone.”
When I look up at her, she’s gazing at me with kind eyes, and I offer her a little smile back.