Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
REBECCA
A few days ago, while exploring Oakleigh’s many rooms, I came across a vast library stuffed with books way above my level of literacy intelligence.
But the smell of the place, with the real fire throwing out much-needed warmth and the comfy couches with scatter cushions and snuggly blankets, and it fast became my favorite room in the house.
Usually it calms me. Today, I’m restless.
Tobias returned to Oakleigh the day after I spent time with Alice.
Before I could talk to him about how bored I am, though, he rushed off again to somewhere overseas.
Even the wives are occupied with their work, Imogen as an architect, Vicky running her own interior design business, and apparently Grace is starting up a music school for underprivileged kids.
I envy how certain they are of their careers, how clever and educated, and how driven to succeed they seem.
To make matters worse, I’m still in limbo on the custody case, and it’s driving me mad.
I want it done, dealt with, over. I’m in no position to demand anything from these people who owe me nothing yet are going out of their way to help.
Instead, I’m left rudderless, at the mercy of courts and lawyers and things out of my control.
I stare at the pages of the book I’m pretending to read while Isla plays at my feet. It’s a biography of someone important. I’m on page twelve, and I couldn’t repeat a single word I’ve read. The words blur together, meaningless, my mind elsewhere.
Isla hums out of tune as she stacks blocks, her small fingers precise and deliberate, a tiny frown on her forehead from intense concentration. She’s built a tower nearly as tall as she is. I should be marveling at it, praising her, but all I can think is what am I doing?
It’s been weeks since we arrived at Oakleigh. Weeks of safety, of not flinching at every sound, of watching Isla slowly unfurl like a flower that’s finally getting water and sunlight. I should be grateful. Dammit, I am grateful.
I’m also going stir crazy.
“You’re not reading that book.”
I startle. The book slips from my hands, and I save it from falling to the floor at the last minute. Tobias stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, a lopsided grin on his face.
“You’re back. How was your trip?”
“Long.” He jerks his chin at the book. “No good?”
“No, it’s great.”
“What’s it about?”
I glance down at the cover. “Churchill.” I’ve no idea what made me pick it. Maybe because it had a red cover. I like red. It’s always signified strength to me.
“Which one?”
I blink. “There’s more than one?” God, I’m dumb.
“You’re holding a biography of Randolph Churchill, Winston’s only son.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Right.”
Tobias takes his hands out of his pockets and crosses the room to settle into the chair opposite mine, his movements easy, unhurried. He smiles at Isla, who’s holding up a blue block for inspection.
“That’s brilliant, sweetheart. What are you building?”
She points at the tower, then at him.
“For me?” His face softens, and something shifts in my chest. If I wasn’t so broken, so destroyed by Marcus, I’d have melted for this man.
A man who is kind to a child who isn’t his, who looks at her the way Tobias is looking at Isla, is a diamond—one to keep and treasure.
Probably just as well I’m sworn off men for good, considering his sexual preferences and aversion to touch.
“Such a clever girl, Isla. I’m honored.”
She beams at him, then returns to her construction.
He turns back to me. “You’re bored.”
How is it that he can read me so well when we’re still getting to know one another? I should deny it, put on a brave face and tell him I’m fine, perfectly content to sit in this beautiful house and have staff cater to my every whim. I don’t want to add more problems to his overflowing plate.
Except I can’t lie. I spent five years pretending while I was with Marcus. I’m tired of it.
“I’m going mad,” I admit. “I’m not used to doing nothing.
Marcus had particular ways when it came to the house, and making sure I adhered to them kept me busy.
Here, though, you have staff to do everything.
I don’t even know where the kitchen is if I want to make a sandwich.
I feel like I’m a dead weight, just hanging around, taking up space. ”
“You’re not taking up space. You’re recovering. And the kitchen is on the ground floor to the left of the staircase. You can’t miss it.”
“I’ve been recovering for weeks. Everyone here is so busy. At some point, I need to be something other than the tragic widow you swooped in and rescued.”
“I like the idea of swooping and rescuing.” He grins. “Let me ask you this. What did you want to be when you were younger?”
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Where I come from, you don’t have wants. You have survival. That’s it.”
He studies me, his gaze steady. “All right. Different question.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What do you wish you knew how to do?”
That stops me. I open my mouth, then close it again. “I… I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well, then, now’s the time to think about it. There are no wrong answers, Rebecca. Nothing’s off limits.”
I set the book on the table beside my chair, buying myself time.
What do I wish I knew how to do? I’ve spent most of my life focusing on survival, more recently on getting through each day without angering Marcus or drawing the wrong kind of attention from him.
Of staying quiet, submissive, and making myself as small as possible.
I’ve never considered what I enjoy or what I might like to do with the rest of my life.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I confess.
“Let’s start with what we know. You said you were waitressing when you met Marcus. Was there anything about that job you enjoyed?”
“I didn’t hate the people. Most of the customers were nice. I liked chatting with them, making them feel seen.”
He nods. “So, you’re good with people. Customer service. What else?”
I shrug helplessly. “That’s it. I left school at sixteen with a sum total of three GCSEs to my name, and they weren’t stellar grades, either. I can’t do anything.”
“You managed a household under the most trying of circumstances for five years.”
“Badly.”
“You raised a wonderful daughter, who clearly adores you. That’s not nothing. You’re resourceful, organized, good under pressure, a multitasker. Those are valuable skills.”
I want to believe him, but years of Marcus’s voice in my head makes it hard. You’re useless. You can’t do anything right. You’d be nothing without me.
“Can you use a computer?”
“Basic stuff: email, internet. Marcus didn’t allow me to have social media.”
“Right.” His jaw tightens briefly, then smooths. “What about typing? Numbers?”
I shake my head. “Marcus handled all the finances. He gave me housekeeping, although it was never enough for what we needed.” I lower my voice for Isla’s benefit. “I think he used it as a way of punishing me when I couldn’t manage.”
Something dark flashes across Tobias’s face. If Marcus was alive, I think Tobias might murder him. Instead of his obvious anger scaring me, it makes me feel protected.
“I got good at making it stretch. I’m an expert at meal planning on a budget. I can tell you which supermarket has the best deal on tinned spaghetti and what time of day they mark down the fresh stuff.”
“That’s financial management,” Tobias says.
“Maybe not in the traditional sense, but it’s a skillset.
Budgeting, prioritizing expenses, making tough choices with limited resources.
” A muscle flickers in his cheek. I think he might be grinding his teeth.
“I can promise you’ll never have to live like that again. ”
His phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, swipes at the screen, then flicks the little button on the side to silence it. For me. He silenced his phone to concentrate on me. It’s a heady feeling.
“What interests you?”
“I-I honestly don’t know.” I nibble my lip. “I’m not being very helpful, am I?”
“When you have free time, what do you gravitate toward? Reading, cooking, art?”
“Other than these last few weeks, I haven’t had free time since I met Marcus. Even before then, I can’t remember gravitating toward anything.”
The admission hangs between us, stark and sad. Our lives are eons apart, yet for some reason this man still wants to help me. To marry me and save me from a life of struggle. Whatever he says about this deal benefitting both of us, I’m getting the better part of it by a mile.
Isla knocks over her tower and giggles, oblivious to the weight of the adult conversation going on above her. Thank goodness.
Tobias is quiet for a long moment. When he eventually speaks again, his voice is gentle. “You’re allowed not to know, Rebecca. You’re allowed the time and space to figure this out.”
I’ve never had a single human being show me as much understanding and kindness as this man here, and I’m not sure what to do with it. Surely his patience will run out at some point, and his kindness will turn into harsh words and back handers.
No. Not every man is like Marcus, just enough of them to make me wary.
Will I ever truly recover from the years of abuse, even with the expensive therapy Tobias is paying for?
The problem is, I don’t trust myself to make good decisions.
Marcus duped me, and for all I know, Tobias could be doing the same.
Vicky said he was the best when I asked her if he was a good man, and she has no reason to lie, but I don’t trust my gut.
I haven’t exactly got a great history with following my instincts.
I really should talk to Jane about these thoughts. Maybe next session.
“I feel so useless,” I whisper. “Everyone here has a purpose whereas I… I just exist. It’s not enough.”