Chapter 37
CALISTA
Incoming call…
“You won’t fucking believe this.”
Fury laces Tahira’s tone, breaking the smooth undertones with a rage that goes far beyond the surface.
“Father has declared the marriage trials will be aired for anyone who purchases a ticket. As if my nuptials weren’t a laughingstock already.”
I tsk gently, pressing the phone to my ear as I wander deeper into my closet.
“Did you not expect Jaafar to embrace his moment of fame?”
“I expected him to respect my wishes. Not hire Harlow fucking Andreas to host a reality TV show.”
“A gladiator show would be more accurate. Aren’t the suitors allowed to kill each other?”
Running my hand along the material hanging beside me, I feel my way to the hidden frame. A jagged slab of wood I used to hide in as a little girl.
“They are not supposed to kill each other although there are no repercussions if they do.” She sighs, exhaustion flowing from her location across the ocean, “And I have still not found a suitor.”
The unspoken question hangs thick and heavy in the air, an unwelcome presence that I choose to ignore. Squatting down, I push the cubby open and study the marks.
The simple reminder of how little I have to lose.
“You’ve got time.”
“Not enough. The invitations have been sent out.”
I trail a finger over the damaged wall, casting my eyes around the tight space before pushing the door closed. Sealing the past in a compartment so it can’t chase me anymore.
A wondrous thought that has yet to prove itself true.
“I’ll make sure to check my inbox.”
“Calista.” Her tone sharpens, “This is my life we’re talking about. It’s not a fucking joke.”
“Being a bitch won’t change the outcome.”
It’s a harsh reminder and the silence that follows tells me so.
“We knew this was coming, baby.” The word feels sticky and uncomfortable on my tongue, “And nothing your father has done is anything less than we expected.”
“I just didn’t expect it to happen this fast.”
“I know.”
“Everything is out of my control and I…” She pulls herself short, leaving the rest of the sentence dangling just out of reach, “It doesn’t matter now. I called to ask you for Marlin’s number.”
My brows shoot towards my hairline.
“You’ve decided to ask Marlin Seaborn to be your suitor?”
“What? Oh, God no.” A disgusted sound comes down the line, “I would rather end up as a prize on some dimwit’s arm. No, I need his help collecting information.”
My feet pad silently across the carpet, the entrance of the walk-in closet marked by the cruel cut of hardwood.
“He’s currently preoccupied.”
“I’m not trying to steal your favourite pet. I need to pick his brain for a few minutes.”
“He keeps his phone turned off on the weekends.”
Tahira sighs, “Did you send him on another covert operation?"
The mirrors I had installed come into view, casting a raw and vulnerable eye over every inch of my bedroom. A necessity that became a convenience over time, the reflective surfaces were a trick I used to try and outsmart the men lurking in my bedroom.
Try being the key word.
“Not my doing, actually.” My eyes drift to each hiding spot out of nature, hunting and searching for the monsters waiting to jump from the shadows, “He wished to spend more time with that little plaything of his. You know how men get when they’re feeling romantic.”
When nothing reveals itself in the mirrors, I step beyond the carpet and onto the hardwood. Cold flooring sits unyielding beneath my feet, alerting intruders of my location with every pattered step.
“They are quite insufferable.”
Tahira’s voice grows muffled as she pulls away from the phone, a distant yell that doesn’t register with the sight before me.
The lump that has no business being in my bed.
“As I was saying, send along Marlin’s information and I will bring dresses for us to wear at the gala. Ridiculous how your mother insists everyone has to be in attendance from year-to-year.”
Midnight-coloured strands fan out across Christopher’s forehead, the steady rise and fall of his chest taking up too much space on my mattress.
“Calista? Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” My eyes drop to the dark lashes painting his fair skin. The slight part of his lips as sleep bids him a goodnight.
“Good. Then I’ll see you in a few days.”
The call ends and I remain standing there, standing and staring at the beautiful creature in front of me.
“I told you to leave.”
Nails click against the floor as Ronan trots into the room, his ears perked and his eyes flicking over me with a silent accusation.
“I told him to leave.”
He huffs, disbelief echoing loud and clear.
Pursing my lips together, I reach over and poke Christopher’s chest. Firm muscle and hot skin greets me, a tantalizing sensation for a woman who struggles to stay warm.
“Devil.”
Another poke.
“You’re not allowed to sleep here.”
Ronan huffs again, reinstating his position on the topic.
“Christopher.” Flicking the tender flesh on his bicep, I contemplate pulling out my knife and removing a layer of skin, “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Five more minutes.”
A drowsy mumble slips from his lips, his eyelids remaining firmly closed.
I sigh, sitting on the end of the bed and staring at the clock. Counting down the seconds until the bad boy returns to the place he belongs.
Five minutes go by. Then ten.
After thirty, I start counting the pieces of art lining his body. The number of ridges I can see, the uneven juts of skin that are too raised for a needle and ink.
Leaning over him, I touch the sharp edge of the rusty key tucked between his pecs. I caress the uneven piece of metal, the mystery that clings to Christopher’s scarred surface as though it’s the one thing holding him together.
“I wonder what you belong to.”
A murmur that does nothing to stir his sleeping form. I set the memento carefully back in place, smoothing the harsh ridges over with my palms. Flattening my hands against his chest, I tilt my head and listen to him breathe.
In and out.
A steady rhythm that doesn’t falter when I lie down beside him. When my fingers trace the gnarled branches erupting over his flesh, the slight pressure of my body molding itself to his.
I wrap myself around him, stealing the warmth from his soul as though I would dare to call it my own. Christopher remains silent and still, his peaceful form unaware that his light is bleeding out.
Draining from one vessel to feed another.
Tucking my head beneath the crook of his arm, I press my face to his skin and inhale. Breathe in his goodness, his kindness and his charm until all I can feel are the empty pieces rattling around inside.
The wet print of Ronan’s nose hits my back, a gentle nudge to let me know someone is standing guard tonight. A reassurance that helps to lighten my mind until I feel safe enough to let go.
“Don’t let them get me.”
The phrase I whisper to Ronan each night gets lost in the warm body beside me. Torn from its rightful owner, the responding growl doesn’t sound like the one I’m used to.
“You’re safe, darling.”
An accent tinges the words, the heavy weight of Christopher’s arms wrapping me up in the world’s warmest blanket. Chills recede as sleep weighs me down, melting my restraints until there’s nothing but his body heat washing over me.
“I promise.”