Chapter 6 - Selene
Watching them cook is heartbreaking. It reminds me of how Simon and I used to love cooking together. He was so patient when he was teaching me, as patient as he is being with the kids right now.
And watching their little face light up now, it aches deep inside me because I don’t get to see them smile like this. Not at my father’s house, and not while we were running for the past two months.
I’m still exhausted from it. Since we got to Simon’s home, I have been sleeping too much.
But I can’t help it. There hasn’t been anyone to look after the kids while I sleep—until now.
There hasn’t been anyone else to read to them or spend time with them, and while I am loath to admit it, I am so, so grateful that he is interested in getting to know them and being a dad for them.
I watch in slow motion as Solenne spills the entire bag of flour over the kitchen floor.
I wince as it hits the ground, and Solenne and Arron both freeze, terrified of what will happen next.
They grew up watching my father react to mistakes.
And he reacted with intense and immediate anger.
Sometimes he would lash out, sometimes he would scream at them. Sometimes he would hit me.
I find that I’ve also tensed, gritting my jaw and waiting for the inevitable.
But Simon is not my father. Not in that way.
He doesn’t seem to notice how terrified the children are in their frozen state.
He laughs. A genuine, kind laugh, as he leans over to scoop Solenne off the floor and out of the center of the mess.
“Oh dear. You’re making it snow inside the kitchen,” he says, chuckling as he places her sitting on the edge of the counter.
“Don’t move, little monster. I’ll grab the broom. ”
Solenne glances at me, her eyes wide and rimmed with tears.
Arron is staring at Simon.
Simon notices the tension and looks from me to the kids. Solenne bursts into tears. “I sorry!” she yelps, scooting back on the counter.
Simon knots his brows and hurries back to her. “Sweetheart, hey, it’s okay. It’s really okay. It’s just flour. We can clean it up quickly. I’m not angry at all,” he says, picking her up and hugging her.
Arron looks confused, but some of the tension drifts from his little body.
He climbs down from the chair and looks up at Simon, cautiously saying, “I can sweep.”
“You can?” Simon says. “Do you want to help me clean it?”
Arron nods, and Simon sets Solenne back on the counter to watch. She wipes her eyes and starts giving instructions on how to clean, saying they missed spots. I go to find a mop and a bucket to clean the floor after it’s been swept.
By the time the flour is back to how it was before, the kids are laughing again and have forgotten about their moment of fear.
Their fear breaks my heart.
Years of living with my father made them that way. I did everything I could to shield them from him and his terrible moods, but I could only do so much. They still saw things they should never have seen.
My heart softens now when I watch Simon return to the cooking, making sure the children feel involved. And my heart breaks a little too.
I remember how gentle he was with me. I’d come here after I’d fought with my father, and I was angry and upset.
And he’d make it all disappear. He’d had a long day in the office, dealing with Bratva business.
We made the world a better place for each other.
We helped each other escape. We made life seem magical.
All the work, all the family drama I was dealing with behind the scenes, it didn’t matter when we were together.
It all faded away to inconsequential nothingness.
My heart was always warm when I was with him. I was always smiling.
Tears still the back of my eyes, and I clear my throat, blinking rapidly to drive them away.
“You, okay?” Simon asks. He leaves the kids to sprinkle grated cheese over the top of the Mac and cheese. He walks over to me and stands too close, and it becomes harder to breathe. My heart starts racing, and my cheeks heat.
I nod. “Sure, um, shall I set the table?” I say, already moving to gather the plates and cutlery because I need to escape his closeness.
He doesn’t answer, but he watches me like a hawk. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again.
I force a smile onto my face, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m great. Just a bit tired still,” I say.
He nods, but in his eyes, I can see he doesn’t quite believe me.
Dinner is messy. It always is. The twins manage to get more pasta on their clothes and hands than into their mouths. Simon isn’t bothered in the least, though. When I fuss over them, trying to wipe things up, he stops me. “Leave them. We can clean it after. Let them enjoy their food.”
“They are going to get tomato sauce on your chairs and the floor,” I say nervously, knowing how my father would react to something like that.
Simon shrugs. “And we can wipe it off. The floor is tilted. What harm is it going to do?”
I try to settle down and enjoy my dinner too, but my head is a mess.
It’s a mess because I can’t stop thinking about Simon.
I can’t help but appreciate how he is with the twins.
I can’t stop remembering how amazing he was when I knew him five years ago.
I keep looping back in my mind to how he’s keeping us prisoners here, how he is controlling my life against my will…
but my heart is disobeying my mind and making it hard to remember that I am supposed to hate him for what he’s doing.
After dinner, Simon bathes the twins while I get them out of their dirty clothes. He fills the tub with bubbles and the blue bath bombs he ordered online for them, and they splash and laugh, making just as much of a mess as they did at dinner.
I can’t help the sad smile that touches my lips. I wish they’d had this freedom to be kids all their lives.
With the smile comes a surge of sadness, and I have to step out of the bathroom to catch my breath.
There was a time when Simon was my safe space. He was my everything. But now, after his conclusions about me, I don’t think he will ever trust me again.
And how can I trust him… he threatened to take my children from me. He has us locked up. That’s not something a man does when he cares about you.
I lean against the wall outside the bathroom and fight with myself. My thoughts churning back and forth between what I wish was real and what is actually real.
I hear the children laughing loudly, and my heart melts with happiness at the sound.
I walk back into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe. He is pouring bubbled water over them and laughing so warmly that my heart can do nothing but melt at the sight of it.
Melting… and aching. Aching for what I want but I can’t have.
They play until the water gets cold, and when Simon suggests topping it up with more warm water, I have to step in and stop him. “They will be overtired soon, and then you’ll never get them to sleep,” I explain.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think about that,” he says, smiling at me, melting my heart all over again.
“Come on, you two rascals, let’s get you dry,” I try to push a singsong happiness into my voice as Simon lifts them one at a time out of the water, and I wrap them in giant fluffy white towels.
Together, we work to get them dried off and in their pajamas.
And together we tuck them into bed, and I think to myself how many times I have dreamed of doing this with him.
How many times I have wished that he could have been there with me to watch them grow, to enjoy these simple, beautiful moments.
Within a few pages of the bedtime story, they are both fast asleep. Simon follows me as I tiptoe from the room and pull the door quietly closed behind us.
For a moment, we stand in the dark hallway outside their room, and I don’t know what to do or say.
He reaches out to touch me, but then changes his mind and withdraws his hand.
“Good night,” I mutter quietly, turning away from him. But I hear him following me, so I stop and try to go towards him again.
“Are you okay, Selene?” he asks. His words are so genuine that they break my heart.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I snap, hating the way my voice sounds, but unable to be anything but fierce in order to protect my heart.
He steps closer to me, and I’m forced to take a step back, my back pressing against the wall in the soft light.
I gasp when his scent washes over me.
“I’m not asking to start a fight with you. I really do care if you are okay,” he says gently, reaching up to touch my face. I turn my cheek to the side and scowl at him.
“I said I was fine,” I snap, my heart racing so fast at his touch that my knees have gone weak and my skin has become hot.
“The whole night you’ve hardly said anything at all,” he murmurs, his voice almost husky.
I look up at him and instantly regret it as our eyes meet. Caramel pools of gold. Intense and piercing into mine. He’s too close. He’s far too close.
I bite hard against my lip as my chin automatically lifts and my mind imagines pressing my lips against his mouth.
Horror strikes through me when I realize what I’m doing.
“I’m tired,” I huff, pushing him away from me.
My body is humming so intensely I don’t know if I’m excited or terrified.
“Selene, come on, talk to me at least. What’s bothering you?” he says, stepping back to give me some space.
“What’s wrong with me?” I scoff, shaking my head, redirecting all the need and warmth and confusion I feel all into one thing—anger.
“What’s wrong with me is that I’m a prisoner here.
And what’s bothering me… well, quite frankly, it’s none of your business!
” I blurt out, fists clenched at my sides, and my eyes narrowed.
He sighs and pushes his hand through his hair in frustration.
“Fine,” he says quietly, disappointed, agitated.
“Fine,” I snap angrily, still glaring at him, my eyes dropping to his lips.
Lips I remember kissing.
“Good night then,” he sighs.
I scoff, shaking my head. I don’t say goodnight because I don’t trust my voice to come out steady. Instead, I push past him and march towards my bedroom while every fiber of my being screams at me to go back and kiss him.