Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
IMOGEN
By the time Alexander dismisses me, my legs are shaking, and my heart is racing at a thousand miles an hour. Poor Will. I don’t even have his contact details to reach out and make sure he’s okay, and his boss at the stables is unlikely to give them to me, either. This is Alexander’s fault, but I’m not exactly blameless. I should have told him up front that I’d asked Will to help me. Maybe all of this might have been avoided.
Returning to my rooms, I flop onto the bed and grab my phone. It’s the middle of the night in California, but I need to connect with home. I pull up Emma’s contact details. God, was it really twelve days ago when I last spoke to her? I scan through my texts, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Almost every time, it’s me who instigates the conversation. Am I losing my tenuous connection to home? Is it so easy for Emma to forget me and move on with her life?
Me: Hey, you. How’ s it going?
Me: I miss you.
Me: Give me all the gossip. I’m so lonely here. I haven’t made any friends, and I’m no closer to pushing the Devil man into demanding a divorce. If anything, I’m getting further away from my goal.
Me: I’m scared I’m about to lose everything that matters to me.
My texts go unanswered. Not that it’s surprising given the time difference, but my chest feels empty. I’m trapped, alone, separated from everything that matters to me. And to make matters worse, it’s time to admit to myself that I’m attracted to my husband, the burning dislike that had driven me toward my goal waning.
Somewhere along the way, there’s been a shift in our relationship. Maybe it was the way he took care of Douglas’s daughter, or the respect and love his family have for him, or how patient he is with me when we’re playing chess. I’m seeing all these sides to him and, yes, some of them are troublesome, such as his callous dismissal of Will for something that wasn’t his fault, but others… they show him to be a multifaceted man, certain sides of which I’m drawn to.
I don’t like this turn of events. Not at all. I can’t be just a wife. I’m not built that way. I have skills to offer, yet Alexander dismissed my request to work without a second thought.
The day drags. I stare at my phone, willing it to light up with a response from Emma. It’s late morning in California, and those two tell-tale blue ticks show me she’s seen my messages yet hasn’t replied. Maybe I’m not as important to her as she is to me.
No, that can’t be it. There’ll be a good reason. This is Emma and me. Friends for life.
There’s no sign of Alexander when I venture to the dining room at six-thirty that night. I’m not sure I’ll manage to swallow anything, but my rumbling stomach urges me to try. As I sit down to fresh fish and veggies, my phone vibrates, and I wrestle it out of my pocket.
Emma: Babe, I’m so sorry. Things are crazy busy over here, what with the new job and everything.
Emma: Hang in there. You’re smart and you’re resourceful. You will figure this out.
I reply immediately while I’ve got her attention.
Me: I thought you’d forgotten me.
Emma is one of the few people I can be vulnerable with. Lord knows, I can’t let Alexander see I have a soft underbelly. He’ll use it against me.
Emma: Never. It’s just a lot, you know? New job and all that.
I refrain from telling her that, no, I don’t know. If I do, it’ll come across as whiny, and I’d hate that. Emma deserves to be happy.
Me: I was kind of hoping you might be able to make it over for a visit soon.
Emma: Oh, babe, I don’t know how. I can’t exactly ask for time off this early.
Disappointed, but unwilling to load guilt on her shoulders, I send a reply.
Me: No. Of course, you can’t. Forget it. I have to go. Talk soon.
I eat the rest of my dinner in silence, but on the way back to my rooms, I pass Alexander’s study. The door is ajar, and I peek inside. He’s fast asleep, sprawled on the couch beneath the window, one leg on the floor and both arms braced behind his head. As annoyed as I am with him for his treatment of Will, his vulnerability at this moment touches something deep inside me.
I walk over to him and crouch to pick up a cushion off the floor. He’ll wake with a crick in his neck if he sleeps like that all night.
“Don’t do it.”
I drop the cushion, startled by Nicholas’s sudden appearance. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He chuckles.
I shush him. “You’ll wake him up.”
He picks up the cushion and tosses it at Alexander’s feet. “Unlikely. He’ll sleep for twelve to fifteen hours straight.”
“How do you know that?”
“He’s an insomniac. Stays awake for three to four days at a time, then crashes for hours. I could blow a trombone right down his ear, and he’d sleep through it.”
Floored by Nicholas’s nonchalant admission, I gape at him. “You’re joking. ”
“Nope. Been that way for years. Come on. Help me get him to bed.”
“Why is he like that?”
Dark eyes land on mine, a reticence to share what he knows right there in the depths of his chocolate brown irises. “That’s something I suggest you ask him.”
“And you think he’ll tell me?” I scoff.
Nicholas hitches a shoulder. “Maybe. You won’t know unless you ask.”
“Considering we’re not even sleeping in the same room, I’m not sure a deep and meaningful conversation with the wife is at the top of his to-do list.”
Nicholas shows no surprise at my admission, which means he already knows. Of course, Alexander will talk to him. They’re obviously close. I wonder if he’s told him about Will.
“Did you know Alexander fired a groom the other day?”
Nicholas’s eyebrows pinch together. “What Alexander decides to do with household staff isn’t of particular interest to me.”
Bracing an arm behind Alexander’s back, Nicholas hauls him to his feet. Alexander’s head lolls, and he moans, but his eyes remain shut.
“Here, get on the other side of him. I’ll take most of the weight, don’t worry.”
I do as he asks, and we half carry, half drag him to his bedroom. It’s as masculine as I expected, with dark paneling, and navy-blue sheets. I bet he has the De Vil crest and the initials ADV stitched into them. He lands with a thud, and a soft moan spills from his lips. His eyes flicker open only for a second, then close again.
“Are you sure he hasn’t taken something? ”
“My brother doesn’t use drugs.” He growls, his gaze sharpening in obvious displeasure at my suggestion.
“It’s just… most people would wake if you shook them, let alone dragged them down a hallway and dropped them into bed.”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” He half smiles, but there’s no warmth to it. “Alexander isn’t most people.”
He’s got that right. Most people wouldn’t fire a hardworking member of their staff for helping their wife learn how to ride a horse.
“Maybe you should stay with him,” I say. “He might swallow his tongue or something.”
Nicholas lets out a single-note laugh. “ You’re his wife. If you’re that worried, you stay with him.” He sweeps from the room, leaving me behind.
In his unconscious state, Alexander’s features have softened. Awake, he’s usually scowling or smirking, both of which give him a broody, arrogant air that often infuriates me. But now, like this, I can appreciate the sheer beauty of the man without him catching me in the act.
Tentatively, I reach out and brush my fingertips over his stubbled, angular jawline, then run my thumb over his plump bottom lip. I’d never think of doing this if he were conscious, what with his mocking stare taunting me, but as he’s out of it, I’m feeling braver.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean forward and press my lips to his. The subtle scent of his cologne and, beneath that, the clean smell of his skin envelopes me. I linger there for a few seconds, my body pulsing with need, my eyes open, watching, waiting for him to wake and ask me what I’m doing.
I lean even closer, hungry for more. As I do, my elbow brushes his penis, and I freeze. He’s hard. Granite hard. Is that something that happens to men when they’re asleep? I’ve heard of morning wood. The girls at college would giggle about that when sharing their stories, but it isn’t morning. That’s definitely wood, though. A great big slab of it.
His eyes flicker again, and I stiffen, but all he does is sigh and fall promptly back to sleep.
I sigh, too. “Why did you have to fire an innocent man? Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone, then lower my voice. “Why won’t you just divorce me? We’d both be happier apart.”
Are you sure?
“Shush.” I let out a low chuckle at having a conversation with myself. If Alexander had agreed to let me work, maybe, just maybe, I might have considered the possibility of getting to know him better. But he didn’t.
Therefore, the plan stays. I just need to dial it up to eleven.
An idea pops into my mind. I break into a smile. Oh, this might work. If he didn’t wake up with me and Nicholas dragging him along the floor, or me kissing him, I doubt he’ll wake if I…
No, I can’t do it. It’s too much. He’ll go crazy.
But… but… how marvelous it would be if I could pluck up the courage.
A little devil on my shoulder gives me a nudge, and before I know it, I’m in my bathroom, gathering what I need.
Alexander is still unconscious when I return. The mattress dips beneath my weight as I sit beside him once more, but he doesn’t stir .
“Dearest husband, there’s a price to pay for everything, and I’m cashing in.”
“More coffee, Mrs. De Vil? Breakfast won’t be long.”
I smile at Lauren, a new member of staff that’s been assigned to Alexander’s part of the house. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Laur?—”
“What the hell is this?” Alexander bursts into the dining room, his jaw clenched and neck taut. His amber eyes blaze with barely contained fury, and his hands are fisted by his sides.
I smother a smile that’s desperate to break free, and narrow my eyes, pretending to give his question due consideration. “Hmm. It looks like a wax strip to me.”
“A… A what?”
“A wax strip. Sorry, did I not say it right? Must be my American accent and all.”
A muscle ripples along his jawline. “How do I get it off?”
How interesting, or maybe worrying, that he doesn’t ask who put it there. He knows it’s me. The question now is what will he do about it?
“You pull it. I’d do it fast if I were you, though. A bit like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
With a venomous glare aimed in my direction, he grips the edge of the strip, pulls…and yelps. “Shit! Jesus Christ! ”
I smile. “Welcome to womanhood. Fun, isn’t it?”
Storming over to the mirror that hangs above the fireplace, he inspects the damage. “My eyebrow is gone! ”
Faking compassion, I press my hand to my chest. “Oh, no.”
“Imogen, this isn’t a game!” he roars, yet the angrier he gets, the funnier I find it. “I have an important meeting in London this morning. How am I supposed to go looking like this?”
After pretending to consider his question for a few seconds, I say, “Think of it as a talking point.”
“My meeting is with the king’s private secretary.”
Rubbing my lips together to stop the laugh that’s waiting to burst out of me, I brandish my arm in the air. “Aha. I’ve got it. Get it tattooed back on. I hear that’s all the rage these days.”
Yep. He’s close to bursting a blood vessel. This is even more fun than I thought it would be. The only downside is that he still looks hot, even with one eyebrow missing, and the memory of pressing my lips to his last night warms me from the inside.
He bounces out of the room, narrowly avoiding a staff member carrying a plate of eggs and bacon for me. I catch Lauren’s eye, and I grin and wink. She barely hangs on to her composure. The stuffy butler standing in the corner clears his throat and sends a warning glare her way. She ducks her chin, but if I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight shake to her shoulders.
I’m not sorry for the lost eyebrow. He had it coming. Maybe having to explain to his father, siblings, and his business associates what happened to it might give him a little humility. And perhaps, if I’m lucky, it’ll give him a good old shove toward the divorce courts. That’s still my aim, after all.
I wash breakfast down with a third cup of coffee, then head back to my rooms. It’s gorgeous weather again, perfect for a walk outside. I may even take my drawing pad and sketch whatever I come across. I’m best at buildings, but I can draw a pretty decent landscape if the fancy takes me. It’s the first time I’ve felt like drawing anything since I got here, and a sudden rush of happiness courses through me. If I’d known bringing Alexander down to earth would have this effect, I’d have waxed his eyebrow a long time ago.
Grabbing a hair tie from the bathroom, I scoop my hair into a high ponytail, slather on some sunscreen, shove my phone into my back pocket, and slide my feet into a pair of sturdy boots. They’re a recent purchase made with my new credit card. In a corner of my mind, I’d half expected the online retailer to decline the card. It strikes me as something Alexander would do for fun, but the purchase went through without a hitch, and the next day, the boots arrived.
I pick up my pad when a blaring alarm sounds. I drop it, a jolt of adrenaline rushing through my veins. The intruder alarm! Charles told me about this the first day we arrived.
Oh, God, what’s happening? Who would dare break into Oakleigh, and for what purpose? My mouth’s dry, and my heart is double-timing it as I yank open the door to my bedroom and sprint for the panic room at the far end of the hallway.
The door is open. It must do that automatically when the alarm goes off. I launch inside. No one’s here. Why is no one here? As I wheel toward the exit, the door slides across, locking me inside.
Where is everyone else?
Alexander should at least be here. I only left him about ten minutes ago. And Nicholas, too. I don’t think he’s away on business, unless he left early this morning. Why am I the only one here ?
I try the door, but it’s locked. Hang on a second. Panic room doors open from the inside. I scan for a button or a lever or something.
There it is.
I jab the button. The door stays stubbornly shut. Oh, God, am I stuck in here? The stirrings of panic grip me. What’s going on? I press my ear to the door. Has the alarm stopped sounding? I pound on the door.
“Hey! Is anyone there?”
Nothing but silence greets me. I pummel the door again, pressing the exit button over and over. It’s no use. I’m stuck. What if I can’t get out, and no one knows I’m here? I’ll die in this space.
Slowing my breathing, I ground myself in the present. It’s fine. It’ll be okay. I’m okay. I have my phone. Sliding it out of my pocket, I call up my contact list. As much as it pains me, I tap on Alexander’s name.
Nothing.
It doesn’t ring.
Groaning, I realize why. No signal.
I check out my surroundings, my heart leaping at the phone mounted on the wall. Thank God. I lift the handset off its cradle. My parents told me about these. I think they were called landlines. A ringing tone sounds in my ear. It must connect automatically, probably to the police. That’s what happens in the movies.
Except it’s not the police who answer.
“Hello, Imogen.”
“Alexander?” I frown. “What… what’s going on? I’m stuck in the panic room. The alarm went off.”
“I’m aware, and you’ re not stuck.”
“I am. The door won’t open. I’ve tried the button thing, and it’s not doing anything.”
“That’s because it’s locked from the outside, and when you’ve had some alone time to think about your actions, I’ll open it. Until then, I suggest you take a seat. There’s water in the fridge, and a protein bar if you get hungry.”
Fury, sudden and hot, races through me. My fingertips tingle, my vision narrowing as everything around me blurs. All I see is red—a fiery all-consuming rage that blots out everything else.
“You… you locked me in here? ”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you why. You didn’t think I wouldn’t retaliate for the eyebrow incident, did you? This is me, showing you that your actions are unacceptable . This isn’t kindergarten. You are my wife. You are disobedient, disrespectful, you have embarrassed me time and again, and now you’re being punished. Next time you think about pulling a stunt like you did last night, remember what the consequences are.”
My muscles tense, coiled like springs ready to snap. “Open this fucking door. Right now.”
“No.”
“Open this door, or a missing eyebrow will be the least of your problems.”
“And if you don’t stop being a brat, a day locked in the panic room will be the least of yours.” He hangs up on me.
I grip the phone, then smash it against the wall. “You fucking bastard .”
I pace around the cell, for that’s what it is, my breath coming in gasps, my thoughts incoherent. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. A scream builds in my throat, and I let it go, screaming until I’m hoarse, but no one comes.
Ever since I set foot in this house, I’ve been cut off from everything and everyone I know, and I thought that was as bad as it could get. How wrong I was. Alexander hasn’t just dialed his retaliation up to eleven; he’s sent it skyrocketing off the fucking charts.
My energy wanes, and I fall in a heap on the bench that runs along one wall of the panic room. I’m stuck here, locked in this small space until Alexander decides to let me out, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it.