10. Elena
10
ELENA
W hen I wake up, Atlas slides a tray of hot food toward me.
“Peace offering?”
The warm apple pastries, crispy bacon, and fresh coffee would buy a lot more than this level of forgiveness. Atlas should have saved this in case he runs over my foot with his car.
I rip apart a pastry. “Yeah, all right, I forgive you for forcibly taking care of me.”
I’m not sure how much of that Atlas can understand because, with half an apple pie already stuffed in my mouth, it comes out more like, “Yahawbigh, I fobi boo bor borciby taggingare of be.”
Atlas looks suitably charmed. “I’m glad to see your appetite hasn’t been affected.”
“Fuck you, I’m tall.” I swallow before I say that so it comes out nice and clear.
“Yes,” Atlas says drily, “I understand how that works.”
I know he truly does understand, because he brought me four apple pastries and eight strips of bacon instead of the half slice of toast that my uncle thinks is all a girl should eat for breakfast. I’m not joking—once, I asked him for a second piece of toast, and he turned and said with real horror, “ Another piece?” like I’d asked him for a second mortgage.
How generously Atlas feeds me is in the top five things I like about him so far.
Locking me in here with him last night is not.
Sternly, I say, “You’re going to cause trouble for me.”
“You’re already in trouble,” Atlas replies in his low, blunt way. It makes everything he says come out extra menacing, which I am not appreciating in this moment.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah? How long have you known this author?”
I shove aside the tray and push myself out of the bed. This time I’m strong enough to stand. My head swims a little, but that might just be anger.
“That’s none of your business.”
Atlas stands up, too, which is a lot more intimidating. But his voice comes out surprisingly soft.
“I know it isn’t.”
It’s the gentleness of his voice that makes me look up at him. Where I expect to see anger and stubbornness, I find…understanding.
But also…he’s the size of a house.
I’m bigger than most women—five foot ten in flats and not willowy.
Atlas is the only man who’s ever made me feel truly small. I’m little next to him, like a fox next to a bear. The feeling of shrunken-down vulnerability is strangely intoxicating.
He touches my arm. His palm spans almost the entire space between my elbow and shoulder; his fingers wrap all the way around. He’s holding gently, but there’s no real chance of shaking him loose.
“This isn’t business.” He looks into my eyes. His are oddly beautiful in his broad and brutal face, deep set and almond shaped with irises as dark and glinting as a cut gem. “I care about you.”
“What?” I’m shocked and far too elated. “You’re not supposed to. I’m engaged?—”
“Where’s your ring?”
“He hasn’t…” My voice hitches, and I say way too fast, “He’s getting me one.”
Atlas’ snort of disdain tells me everything about what he thinks of that. Sensing weakness, he demands, “Do you love him?”
“I—” Fear and pressure become another flash of rage. “Now you’re a detective, too? I won’t be interrogated! Or trapped in this room!”
Atlas is just as angry as me but better controlled. “I’m only trying to protect you.”
“It’s not your job to protect me!”
He stands there, blocking my way, nearly as broad as the infirmary, immovable as a mountain. “Yes, it is.”
A sudden knock on the door makes me jump. My throat tightens up.
Lorne is here.
My fiancé can either sense the heat in the room or see it in our faces. In response, Lorne becomes quiet and careful. Which somehow makes him seem more menacing.
“What’s going on in here?” He glances between us, smiling slightly. I’m still not sure I like his face shaved clean like this. It makes his lips look strangely naked.
“Nothing’s going on.” I snatch up my purse from the nightstand where Atlas considerately placed it. “I was surprised when I woke up here.”
The lie comes easily. Truth and safety walk hand in hand, and some of us have rarely felt safe enough to tell the whole truth.
But Lorne has noticed my mostly devoured breakfast. He frowns.
“Sorry, baby, I wanted to be here.” He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me possessively close. “Your friend here wouldn’t let me visit.”
Atlas looks down at Lorne’s hand, gripping my hip like a pale spider. Now he’s frowning, too.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Before Lorne can move, Atlas says, “Olivia tells me you asked her to keep a bottle of wine in the back.”
The accusation is obvious, if unspoken. Lorne is ready with one of his own. He bites back, cold and just as angry, “I thought it would be safe there.”
The two men glare at each other.
I push between them, forcing Atlas to stand aside. “I was tired, that’s all. You’re making something out of nothing.”
Atlas looks like he wants to say more, but I touch him lightly on the chest, a gesture hidden from Lorne by my body. “I’m fine,” I say softly. Then I drop my hand and step back.
Lorne takes my elbow. “Let’s go, Elena.”
He steers me out of there like I was the one slowing us down.
Before we’re even back to my room, Lorne lets out his anger.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” He turns on me suspiciously. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing. We barely spoke.”
But Lorne saw the empty breakfast tray. He knows I must have been awake at least long enough to eat.
“He’s got a thing for you,” he says accusingly, as if it’s my fault. Maybe it is my fault.
“That’s not true.”
The lies keep stacking up. I don’t want to fib to my fiancé, but Lorne’s shoulders are stiff with rage, a vein pulsing in his temple. I’m terrified of what he might say or do if I admit the worst of it.
I care about you…
Even the memory of what Atlas said brings a flush to my face. Lorne seizes on my reaction as evidence.
“Then why are you blushing? Are you attracted to him?”
“No!”
Lies, lies, lies.
Lorne grabs my upper arm, his fingers digging in. His breath has a sharp, acidic scent as he hisses in my face, “I see the way he looks at you.”
Frightened and frustrated, I snap back, “How about how Olivia was looking at you ? Maybe she’s the one who slipped something in my drink so she could bat her eyelashes at you uninterrupted.”
“Who?” Lorne says with convincing confusion. His lip curls as he sneers, “Oh, the waitress. All the waitresses flirt with me.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better.
But it does seem to please Lorne in some perverse way. He relaxes a little, letting go of my arm. Though that might owe more to the fact that the woman in 602 just exited her room, throwing a concerned glance at our tense position.
Lorne tilts his head, smiling at me in a way that makes the back of my neck prickle. “I like that you’re jealous.”
I’m not sure it’s jealousy I’m feeling, exactly…more a sense of hurt and disrespect.
But I guess I’m a huge fucking hypocrite, because I’ve disrespected Lorne, too. Not by flirting right in front of him, but definitely with the naughty thoughts in my head. Not to mention a particularly graphic dream I had last night…
I shove that thought aside, like I have to repress all thoughts of Atlas. Especially when Lorne is watching.
Calmly and deliberately, I say, “I didn’t come here for Atlas. I came here to be with you.”
Mostly true.
Now Lorne’s face finally softens, his smile returning, the steel going out of his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Elena. I was just so worried about you all night. Are you really okay?”
It’s the first time he’s asked me that question. The first time he’s checked in with me at all. His expression seems sincere and searching, but my heart closes up like a clam.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I really think I was just tired.”
Another lie. The dizziness that swept over me was not a normal level of exhaustion. I’ve never passed out like that in my life. But I don’t want any more conflict. And I especially don’t want Lorne or Atlas pressuring me to visit the hospital or, worse, contact the police.
That’s the one thing I definitely can’t risk.
No worries of that happening with my doting fiancé. Lorne is already snapping back into productivity mode. “Glad to hear it, because I do need to get back to writing. I already missed an hour of my morning.”
Sorry to inconvenience you.
“No problem,” I say. “I’ll go take a shower.”
“Wish I could join you.” Lorne lifts his eyebrows suggestively.
He leans forward to give me a quick kiss.
His lips feel nice, but the acidic flavor in Lorne’s mouth has lingered. He doesn’t taste good.
Perhaps thinking the taste comes from me, Lorne pulls back, wrinkling his nose. “You’d better brush your teeth, too. See you at dinner!”
Before he’s taken more than a few steps down the hallway, he turns and reminds me, “Don’t forget to buy some new clothes.”
“I will,” I promise, though I’m more nervous than ever to go shopping in Grimstone.
I unlock my hotel room door using the old-fashioned brass key engraved with 609. When the door swings wide, my hand flies to my mouth.
Bloody letters four feet high drip down the walls, shouting: GET OUT!