Eight
M y nerves are shot as Lina leads me to Alex’s door. I feel ridiculous in this dark green nightie, tits barely concealed by lace and silk, and the plate of cookies in my hand makes me look like a fucking elf.
“You’ll be fine,” she says gently. “He’s a good man.”
“You know, you guys have said that so many times I think I’m actually starting to believe it,” I tease. In truth, I wish he wasn’t a good man. I wish he were the devil personified. Then maybe he’d just take me and I could find my place here. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad about the dreams I’ve been having about Draven.
Hot, incredibly inappropriate dreams.
Dreams where he breeds me, makes me hold it in and breeds me again. Dreams where he puts me on my knees and takes all this uncertainty away. Ones where I’m cherished, appreciated. Dreams I should be having about Alex himself, not his younger, bastard brother.
Bastard, baby, murderer, psycho, dream lover.
God, that’s so dangerous.
“Just do it,” I say quickly, noticing her hesitation to knock. “Is my hair okay?”
The heatless curls turned out well, but add to the overall lunacy of it. Something tells me it’ll be lost on the heir to the Creed dynasty.
“Your hair is perfect. Trust me, it’s going to be great. What kind of cookies are these anyway?”
I can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious or if she’s trying to distract me, but I pull the foil off to let her take one.
“Try one. They’re chocolate chip with cinnamon and a little extra vanilla.”
She pulls her hand back to stop knocking, her smile fading as realization dawns on her. “Alexander is allergic to cinnamon,” she whispers just before the door flies open and the man himself is staring at the plate in my grasp.
“Did you bake for me?” He offers me a genuine smile that makes me want to melt into the floor.
It’s a good smile. One I’d like to see more of, but I’m about to make it vanish. “I... I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you had allergies.” But Draven did, and Draven didn’t tell me. “They have cinnamon in them.”
“Damn.” It’s gone as quickly as it arrived. “That’s okay. It’s just cinnamon, so everything else is fair game. Shay.”
Bowing softly, she takes the plate from my hand and backs away. “I’ll put these in your room, Miss Harbough. You two have a good night.”
I have half a mind to tell her to dip them in cyanide and take them to the bastard, but I don’t. I nod my thanks and step into Alex’s room for the first time.
It’s as plain as I expected — almost a carbon copy of mine, but greyed out. His furniture, bedding, curtains are all the same shade of slate grey, and I find myself a little surprised at the lack of green. If everyone here knows his favorite color, why is his room so bare?
“Would you like some wine?”
“That would be great, yeah.” Without anything to hold in my hands, I feel weirdly exposed. I should feel sexy and empowered right now, and instead I feel like I walked naked into a business meeting. “I won’t tell anyone if you’ve got a heavy hand.”
Chuckling, he pours us both a generous glass, then leads me to the small couch under the window. “Thanks for coming. How’d you get Leo to let you touch the oven?”
Shit.
“I didn’t. Draven did.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Draven? That’s... strange. He’s strange though, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Must have really wanted to taste your cookies.”
My thighs quench at the innuendo I’m sure he didn’t intend. With his silver, forked tongue, I’m sure he could end me.
“He stole a couple the night he came to get me,” I explain. “I used to make them for Jacob once a month.”
“That makes sense.” He takes a sip of his drink and then stares down at it. “Did he kill him?”
I’ve been waiting for someone to ask. It’s been a week now, his absence is bound to have been noticed. I have no loyalty to Draven, especially since he set me up for failure here tonight. My loyalty should be with my future husband. I won’t lie to him. “Yes, he did. I saw it happen.”
He nods quietly. “Yeah, I figured he did. He was convinced we couldn’t trust him, so I think he was waiting for a reason. Sorry you had to see that though.”
This isn’t going how I thought it would. Taking a slow sip that lasts a little too long, I try to figure out how to salvage this. Any of it. “He did what he needed to do in order to make sure I could be yours. I don’t regret it.”
When he meets my gaze again, all I see is regret. “I’m in love with someone else.”
Oh.
I can’t say I’m terribly surprised. I assumed it was either that or he was gay. Or both, I suppose. The knowledge makes me feel a little less undesirable which helps, but this just got a lot more complicated.
“Okay. I can work with that,” I say slowly. “I never expected you to love me, Alex. If you want to love someone else, that’s fine. I won’t tell. This can be... transactional sex to give your father what he wants. I’m better at that than you’d think.”
I also hate it, but that’s not his problem. It’s mine.
“God, I’m fucking this up.” Alex stands, draining his glass in two large swigs before he begins pacing. “I wish I was like Draven and could have orgies on random Tuesdays, but that just isn’t me. She’s all I’ve ever wanted, and now I don’t know how to be what you need.”
I’m sorry, Draven has what on random Tuesdays? It’s my turn to drink a little too much as jealousy coils in my gut twice over. These fucking Creed boys were a lot better when they didn’t exist. “I’m telling you, I don’t need you to do anything but knock me up. I’ll play the part of your doting wife, you fuck whoever the hell you want to. Save the romance for her, I don’t care. But your duty comes first, Alex. You know that. If she doesn’t, then does she even know you at all?”
“I don’t mean to be a dick, but you sound brainwashed. I’m so sick of everything being duty first. It’s been like that my entire life, and I just want to live.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair before he returns to the bar. “I hear you, though. We have to make something work.”
If we don’t, I’ll be the one who pays the price. I’m not naive enough to think otherwise. My life literally depends on this idiot fucking me and he won’t do it.
I really hate men sometimes. Especially the good ones.
“Is she into threesomes?” I ask. “Or is that a little too kinky for our gardener?”
His face pales.
Yeah, I’m right. Their body language made it pretty clear, but his favorite color solidified it.
“How do you know?” he asks, but he seems to think better of it when he just nods. “I know I don’t have the right, but can this please remain between us? I don’t want her in danger.”
Right, can’t risk the life of our precious gardener. Better risk my life, instead.
“What good would telling on you do me?” I ask flatly. “At best, he gives you free reign, allows her to give you heirs, and I get moved again. Probably somewhere worse. Worst case, he kills all three of us. Neither of those sound particularly sweet to me right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
Yeah, I bet he is.
“Apologies are useless. Just words meant to placate, and I don’t need placated. I need you to tell me what you plan on doing about this. At this point, I’ll take a fucking turkey baster over the gallows.”
The sadness in his eyes reaches a depth I haven’t seen for a long time. It’s his way of telling me, however silently, that I’m missing the point. It’s not that our gorgeous little gardener doesn’t want him fucking me. It’s that she doesn’t want me carrying his child at all.
So we’re doomed then, him and I. And I don’t even have it in me to argue with him anymore. I’d kill for that kind of love, that level of devotion. She’s a lucky woman, and he’s the unluckiest man I’ve ever met.
“We’ll figure something out,” he offers softly. “I just need time, okay? Please.”
Time isn’t something we have. He knows it, I know it, Ephraim knows it. But what else can I do? I’m just a pawn, and pawns go where they’re bid.
“Okay. Pour me another glass of wine so it’ll seem like I was in here long enough to actually do something, I’ll mess up my hair, splash some water on my face, and go back to bed. They won’t buy it for long, but they’ll buy it for now. You want time, Alexander?”
“Yes.”
“Then use it fucking wisely.”
FEbrUARY