13. Snow
Chapter thirteen
Snow
I don’t look away from the man in the doorway as his gray eyes assess me carefully, lingering on my lip.
The family doctor. That’s what Saint just called him.
Just how many of them are there?
Five. I have counted five men so far.
There’s Saint and Angel—it still baffles me that two people can look so alike but be so different.
I’ve never met a pair of twins before.
Angel’s nose is a little more pointed at the tip, and I use it as a visual guide whenever he enters the cell.
I won’t be hoodwinked again.
Then there was the green-eyed male, the one with the most unconvincing Angel wig that I had ever seen. It seems they all have a habit of pretending to be Angel around here.
I almost feel bad for poor Angel, as he seems to be some running joke, but then I steel myself, telling myself that these men are not my friends.
Saint is wholly prepared to do as Prince says, and I try not to think of him.
I can’t rid his mismatched eyes from my mind. The sheer hatred I found inside them…
Prince hates me for what my father did to him, and he vows to make me pay.
I wonder when I will finally break in this place.
My days are numbered.
I don’t even know why they bother sending the doctor. What’s the point in mending me if Prince is just going to try and break me again.
Well, I guess that’s the keyword here.
He can try.
That’s one thing I guess Regina has taught me. I can be steadfast and strong, just like her.
The doctor steps forward, reaching his hand out. “Dr. Knight Diamante. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Snow.”
I don’t shake his hand. Instead, I keep my gaze on the ground, ignoring the pounding in my head.
The doctor lowers his hand when he finally realizes I’m not going to shake it, then gestures to my split cheek.
“That looks pretty bad, but not to worry. We can stitch that up.”
I inhale, but I don’t meet his eyes. “All right.”
Saint vanishes to collect a first aid kit, and when he returns, he hands it to the doctor.
I study him from the corner of my eye as he gets his supplies together. Like the others, he has the aquiline nose.
He has a fair amount of facial hair, and just the right amount, too. I have the notion to reach across and brush my hand against his cheek, feeling the prickle of his stubble.
My heart thunders, and I shut my eyes when he finally turns my way, needle and thread in hand.
He has an apologetic look in his kind gray eyes, but I know better than to trust one of my father’s former enemies.
The sad thing is, I won’t even know who their father was because Daddy kept me far, far away from his business dealings.
Knight grips my cheek, and I almost laugh at the irony of his name.
He really is my knight in shining armor, coming to my aid as he stitches up my split cheek.
Maybe he can save me from this wretched place, too. If he's as chivalrous as his name, then perhaps he can help me escape.
It's just unfortunate that Saint is in the room with us. If I ask Knight to help me, he will tell Prince.
Knight lifts my chin. “This may hurt, Snow. I’m sorry, but I will try to make quick work of stitching up your cheek.”
He cleans the area, and I wince.
Knight regards me again with those kind eyes, and I wish he would just stop pretending.
I know what he is, doctor or not.
None of them can fool me.
At least Prince is more honest in that regard. He never shies away from showing me exactly who he is.
Knight stitches up my cheek, and I close my eyes, fisting my fingers the whole time.
When he’s done, he checks my other wounds and cleans those up, too. Saint did what he could, but his attempts were crude.
Again, Knight looks at me with those sorry gray eyes.
He's handsome. Of course he is.
They are all.
But I still hate them, and I shouldn’t be attracted to them one bit. But I can’t help stealing a quick look at the doctor as he cleans the cut on my lip since he’s in my direct line of sight.
However, his eyes blow up when they settle on my lips, and then his breathing grows labored.
Next, his thumb brushes my uninjured cheek, and the gesture is almost affectionate. My heart stutters, and then his eyes meet mine.
Suddenly, I feel as light as a feather, and all the stresses and heartache of the past few days have gone when I gaze into those eyes.
There’s a good soul in there. Even if he is a monster.
He gives me a wide smile, and my body betrays me when I spy a set of gorgeous dimples on that stubbled face.
I resist the urge to reach across and place my finger on one.
He may be a doctor, sure, but he has a way of mending your soul, too.
“There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
I close my mouth, shaking my head.
His thumb trails my cheek again, and then he remembers himself, turning to Saint.
“Where else?”
Saint sighs. “Her ribs. Just beneath her right breast.”
That’s right. Prince left a nasty bruise there.
The doctor closes his eyes, trying to collect himself, and then he mutters. “Of course.”
I’m not sure what that is supposed to mean, but then he meets my eyes, smiling broadly again.
“Lift your top, Snow. Let me assess the area.”
My heart pounds, and I do as the doctor instructs, lifting my threadbare shirt so he can assess my bruise.
Saint turns away. But Knight stops breathing when he casts his gaze on the tender skin beneath my right breast. Thank God I have a bra on.
An old, torn-up bra, but still something to cover up.
Yet it doesn’t do much to hide the swell of my oversized breasts, and the doctor shuts his eyes, trying to gather his composure.
I’ve had this bra since I was sixteen. So, my breasts have grown rather considerably.
When he gathers his composure, he puts on his professional hat again and assesses the bruise with his fingers.
I wince, but only slightly.
Though the mild pain has nothing on the burning sensation his fingers leave, and a part of me wants him to reach his fingers up a little further, right toward my breast.
My nipples harden, poking through the old, thin bra, yet the doctor doesn’t break.
He just assesses the bruise, and once he’s done, my skin feels cold where his fingers once touched.
He gets to his feet, and I don’t miss the bulge in his pants.
My cheeks heat up instantly, and I look away.
“It should heal up in a few weeks. Nothing to worry about.”
My heart won’t stop thumping, and I wish he would come back and put his healing fingers on me again.
I’m needy for his touch.
But he’s already marching toward the door, and he doesn’t even spare me a glance as he turns to Saint.
“We’re done here.”
Well, there goes my chance to ask for help. Now, I will have to plot my own escape.
Saint peers at me quickly before he reaches across, opening the door for the doctor, and before I know it, Knight has gone.
Saint follows him out, and soon I’m alone once again.
A heaviness fills my chest.
Seeing that I have nothing else to do, I grab my thin blanket and drag it over myself as I lay back on the hard bed.
These moments are the worst, wondering when Prince will return to exact his revenge, and I close my eyes, falling into a restless slumber.
But all I see are those mismatched eyes.
Eyes that despise me.