16. Between Us
Chapter sixteen
Between Us
M y legs shake hard as we walk past the foyer and into the main hallway that leads to the double doors of the dining room. I wiggle my toes in the comfort of the plush rug as King opens the doors himself and ushers me through first with a hand on my back.
I walk slow, the only thing holding me up at this point is hunger. I haven't eaten today, and only ate once yesterday, but I can't even remember it because I was drugged.
At the reminder of my forced marriage I roll my lips and stiffen against his hand. I just can't believe the fucker actually did it. Drugged me to do it.
Who does that?
I get he's a smooth talker, successful, used to getting what he wants, and arrogant. But honest to God, what possesses a person to think they can just pluck a person out of their life and place them into theirs? What are my friends Brittany and Tiffany thinking? It's been almost three days since I saw them at the art gala.
And what about my mother and Melody?
Am I going to ever be allowed to see them again? And if so, when? When he's sure the Stockholm syndrome sticks?
The worst part about all of this is how I feel. Despite all the reasons why I should currently be hating him, be an incessant 'hellion' as he so likes to call me, I can't help but be insanely attracted to him. There's just something about King that calls to me. It's more than charisma. What King is is magnetic. Powerful enough to steal your breath and grant you life.
And he does it with nothing more than a look.
I sniff, lowering myself ever so carefully into the seat King holds out to me before scooting me in. He reaches around me and snags my napkin, shaking it out with a snap and placing it over my thighs in a move so smooth he must have done it a thousand times before. The thought makes my nose scrunch and my lip curl with jealousy. Thinking of him being with other women makes me feel evil. Like the demon he just called me in the bedroom.
I tighten my lips and look at him out the side of my eye, seeing him settle himself into his seat. Sweetie jumps into my lap and lays down, making biscuits on my thighs. I stroke her fur while King talks with Marriane who'd just come up behind me with two decanters. One for me, and one for King.
"Can we go ahead and have our salad and shrimp please, before the main course?" he asks Marianne quietly who begins pouring our drinks.
"Yes, sir," she says, however I tsk and lean forward grabbing the decanter out of her hand. All this being waited on hand and foot is starting to get a little suffocating .
"Thank you, Marianne," I say, giving her a little look that she returns with a secret grin for me.
She exits through a door that I presume leads to the kitchen, and as I pour my white wine, the fingers of my free hand strum anxiously on the tabletop. I put the decanter down as his phone pings from his pocket.
When he pulls it out to check a notification, I lean over fast and snatch it out of his hand and then slide it as hard as I can down the table. I turn my head back to his, and he furrows his brow as he watches it spin smoothly away, his hand frozen in midair as the device slides completely off the table and then clatters to the floor at the opposite end.
I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to say a word. His eyes flick back to mine.
He doesn't.
The silence swells between us as his hand hits the table with a thump, and we just stare rather blankly at each other. I pull my eyes from his incredulous ones, pursing my lips as I gaze into the gold wine in front of me. I count to one hundred before I trust myself to speak.
"Am I going to see them again?" I ask softy, keeping my eyes on my glass.
"Who?" he asks, his voice slightly confused. A log splits, punctuating the awkwardness between us.
Really?
"My family," I whisper, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. "Who the hell do you think I'm talking about?"
His head tilts, and a look of surprise passes his face. "Yes."
I tear my eyes away, glancing down at the empty placemat, rolling my lips, trying not to break down in tears. "You don't get to be on your phone in front of me when I don't even have a chance to have mine. "
"Okay. That's fine, Izzy." A couple minutes pass. "Isobel," he says. "I-"
Narrowing my eyes at him, I will the tears away as I ignore him speaking. "And if you ever drug me again I will slit your throat in your sleep."
His lips tighten as he regards me with a wary expression. "I'm sorry, Isobel."
I smoothly pull my hand back when I see him reach for it out of my peripheral. Picking up my glass, I take a sip, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes and proceed to give him a part of me that I hope fucks him up enough to grant me some humanity and understanding.
I clear my throat and stare into the fireplace across from me, letting my mind go back to a place that I have been determined to leave so far back in the past that it should be a blip in my memory at this point. I take a deep breath and then put my eyes to the mat in front of me.
Anywhere but at him.
"The first time I had sex, I fucked our landlord so he would forgive the two hundred dollars we needed to not be evicted," I say, blinking as the unwanted memories come flooding back.
King stays silent, but I can feel his intense stare boring into the side of my face. I refuse to look up.
"We'd moved nine times since I was four years old. Nine. Never had stability. I was a latchkey kid, and bullied half to death because of how I looked." I look over at him seeing him relaxed in his seat just staring at me. "Frizzy hair, weird freckles, knobby knees. Ugly."
I turn my gaze to the fireplace and shake my head seeing his head move as if to speak.
I don't need him to speak right now.
"I never knew a childhood. From the time I could remember we were always moving, I guess I know now that we were on the run." I take a deep breath and nibble my lip, remembering my sobbing as I searched for my clothes on the landlord's dirty bedroom floor to find my underwear. "I still remember the way he smelled." My nose scrunches. "Foul, like oil, cigarettes, and toilet water."
King clears his throat making me turn my face towards him, but I can't quite meet his eyes.
"I went to the bathroom afterwards and felt something funny down there, and as I was searching, I felt something strange inside me. I pulled it out and see it was the fucking condom he used. He left it inside of me. " I pause, fighting back a wave of nausea. I raise my eyes to him. "I went back out there and fucked him again for money to get a plan B pill because I did not want to get pregnant. I did not want to bring a baby in a world where all I knew was disappointment and suffering, and fucking endless goddamn packets of ramen noodles." I sway, tilting my head as I breathe hard trying not to be sick. "But they were twenty-five cents a pack, you know." I peek up at him, knowing my eyes are red. They always are when I try not to cry. "Like the cheapest thing you can eat, even cheaper than a can of fucking soft cat food. I bet you don't know what that tastes like huh?" I huff out a dry laugh.
"No," Hendrix says slowly. "No I uh… I can't say I that I do. But I know what dry ramen with the seasoning packet tastes like."
My eyes meet his.
He reaches for his glass and a pensive look passes his face. "After we met at the deli, and you told me the story of how you used to eat them like that I went straight to the store and bought a pack." His eyes meet my surprised ones. "I had to know how that would feel. Needed to be close to you." He grimaces. "I can't blame you for not wanting to eat noodles. But go on, I'm sorry for interrupting your story. You were saying how desperately you were trying to get away from them. "
His admission touches me, and my shoulders relax slightly. I nod.
"I tried everything I could think of to get away from those goddamn noodles, but every time I thought I had escaped them, I'd come home and there they would be. Like fucking roaches, or bedbugs," I spit out. "Just when you think you've eradicated the last one, four more show up then they multiply. Just like every freaking bill we had. If it wasn't one thing it was another and my poor, poor mom. I don't recall her ever sleeping because she was always working for pennies. I didn't realize that's why we were always so broke. She worked under the table so that my father couldn't find us. She was always gone doing some job, and that's why I could get away with fucking the landlord. I didn't realize that he was raising the rent so that we could never get ahead. And I was just selling myself for nothing."
I blink, trying to will the memories into the sweet spot of my mind. The place where I can think about it but it can't touch me anymore. I waver there, teeter-tottering precociously.
"And everything was so expensive," I whisper, feeling my eyes well with tears. My fingers brush along my wedding ring, over a diamond so big that there's no way my sixteen year old self would have ever dreamed to have something like this to wear. "There were days we had to walk out of the grocery store after shopping for an hour just to have mom's debit card declined because an unexpected bill hit. So embarrassing." I shudder. "I think the worst time was when I had to hold Melody, who was sick with the flu, while my mom stood in the line at the cash register trying to buy ingredients for chicken noodle soup and Tylenol, trying every card she had, but they were all maxed out." I meet his eyes for a split second before looking away again as shame fills me. "I stole the medicine from the store that night for Mel. And when my mom found out she gave me the beating of a lifetime about being a thief. So, I figured the safer option would be to use my body instead."
"Isobel…" King's voice is so thick with tension that I look over at him and see his blue eyes dark, haunted.
"Don't you dare fucking pity me," I say, narrowing my eyes at him. "I don't want it."
I look away hastily, sniffing and sitting up in my seat as the door to the kitchen opens with a slight bang. I hurriedly wipe my eyes and wrestle my face into a passive expression as Marianne brings out our food with another maid. King and I are both silent as they place our food down and disappear again.
Neither one of us touches it.
"So when I said I wanted safe, I wanted boring, I meant I wanted no reminders of what my life was before. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I wasn't with Christopher-"
King's face turns to stone. "Please do not say that man's name in our house-"
"For his money," I finish. "Because I was. And I will admit that to you with my head held high because I also thought he and I had something akin to love, and a partnership. I didn't feel used or betrayed until it was too late. I don't ever want to feel like I have to fuck someone to put a roof over my head. I don't ever want to feel like I'm one paycheck away from being on the streets because for all intents and purposes I lived that. But I worked my ass off to build something for myself. I pulled myself up by sheer fucking strength and willpower, and made something out of myself to be proud of. You of all people know what that's like!"
"I do." King stares at me as the silence swells uncomfortably between us. I lean forward slightly .
"So, can you honestly sit here at this table across from me, and tell me that you're taking it away from me?" My voice cracks, thick with tears as I implore him not to do this to me.
We stare at each other for what feels like endless minutes, that's really only seconds, as the fireplace crackles and lightning strikes the sky again, punctuating the magnitude of this awkward situation. But this time I don't jump.
His arms are folded and he's breathing deeply, rhythmically, as if he's meditating. But I know King's mannerisms by now, because this is what he does. He's a thorough man, and he turns over every loose stone until he finds what he wants and then closes his hand around it.
Like he did me.
I wonder how many pebbles he turned over in his precious hands, hands he doesn't like fucked with, before he decided I was the coveted stone.
"You will always be taken care of," he starts, but I sit back on a little moan, putting my fingers to my eyes and press as I try to beat back a panic attack that's looming. "You will never have to worry about money. You will still be able to have your hobbies-"
"My job is not a hobby!" I cry out, slapping the table with my hands, feeling my lips tremble as I fight with all my might not to cry. "King, I can't be a prisoner," I say tearfully. "I won't."
I'm met with silence.
I clench trembling fingers in my lap and squeeze. I can't even muster up the energy to go full on crazy on him like I'd love to because he fucked me so good that I physically can't. So, I slap my hand on the table once more and pin him with a dirty look. "What do I have to do? What will it take?"
"You will need to love me."
Recoiling my head, I stare at him in shock, my brows raising.
He tilts his head, and I feel all the blood drain out of my face and my heart stop at his words. Thunder rumbles, shaking the massive window panes behind me, and he doesn't move to speak or to attempt to distract me from his admission. As the thunder fades away and the quiet settles around us once more, we continue to stare at each other silently. Nothing breaks me from this spell he's cast me under, not even Sweetie digging her nails into my thighs.
I'm so shocked that I look away and scoot my salad to me and begin to eat it dry, buying myself time to think. It's not like I can taste it anyways. King begins to eat as well, except he pours dressing on his. Watching him eat out of the corner of my eye, I mull over his words. Love.
Fuck that.
I swallow my wine and sit back, biting my lip and giving him a slow once over. "What if I told you that I could never love you because of how you tricked me?"
King takes his napkin and wipes his face slowly before putting it next to his plate. He sits back in his chair and gets comfortable, crossing his legs and swallowing his scotch on an appreciative gasp. For some reason, the slight sound causes my thighs to press tightly together, and I think about how he quite literally just fucked me so hard I screamed my safe word. Jesus, it's a silly one that I might need to look into changing.
"Then, I would say we've found ourselves quite in a pickle. Because I'll be in my own personal hell tending to the every need of a woman who I love, who could never love me back. So, I'll be just as much every bit a prisoner as you feel you are."
My eyes go wide as my heart flutters uncomfortably in my chest.
He what?
My palms go sweaty and clammy and I lick my lips, truly speechless from the warm, stifling feeling that just filled my chest, enveloping my heart and stealing my breath. My mouth opens and closes, struggling to find what to say. But there's nothing to say. I physically can't speak.
What is King doing to me? What kind of power does he have over me that leaves me incapacitated and helpless only when I'm around him?
Startled out of my musing, I jump in my seat as the door suddenly opens again when Marianne and the other maid comes back out and presents us our plates with covered domes. Thankful for the distraction, I'm nodding my thanks as they reach to uncover them, fighting against the tears filling my eyes when King's stern voice brings me back firmly into the now.
"What the fuck is this?" he snaps.
I arch an eyebrow, seeing my zucchini alfredo that looks a lot like Fabian's, however this one has bits of andouille sausage and shrimp, is red tinged, and looks spicy. It's the cajun alfredo I'd told him I wanted. I smile then look over at his plate, seeing actual fettuccini. My hands fly to my stomach as I suddenly feel sick. My mouth waters, and bile rises in my throat at the sight of the mass of white noodles just heaped on his plate.
Stifling a groan in my throat, I swallow hard. Then swallow again.
Then again.
I refuse to vomit in front of King.
"G-Get it out of here. Look at her; she's green!" King's warm, broad hand envelopes mine as he hands off his plate to Marianne. "Didn't I tell the chef that I didn't want a single, fucking piece of pasta in our kitchen? What is this shit? Two staff incidents in one day, Marianne?" he says in an exasperated tone. "Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on ?"
I work to pat his hand, still caught up in a vicious mix of irritation, tiredness, sadness, and now desperation for him to just let it go and not be stern for once. "King, it's okay. It's okay," I say quietly, trying not to look at his plate.
Marianne hastily steps backwards away from me. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'm not sure where the mix up was. I will go correct it right away."
"Thank you. I'll have what Mrs. King is having. Never serve me anything different. TeIl Chef Gerard that if it's good enough for the woman of the house, then it's good enough for me." His eyes are tight on Marianne as she backs away, and I tighten my hand on his, fluttering my thumb across his knuckles.
"Hey it's okay, you can eat. Please don't be angry with her, it's not her fault." At his irritated look I recoil my head slightly, pulling my hand away and reaching for my wineglass to down the contents faster than what I'm used to. I have no desire to make his mood worse. I relish the refreshing crisp taste. It does a lot to make me feel better.
"You are correct. It's Carlotta's fault," he emphasizes.
I frown and lean towards him. "Who?"
"My house manager. She oversees the staff, organizes our security manual, makes sure all the new edits and protocols are in place. I will need to have a talk with her."
"Oh," I say shortly. Drumming my fingers on the table I lower my voice. "King, why do we need so much staff-"
I cut myself off as when the door opens and Marianne walks back up, looking rather timid. "Mr. King, I am sorry but the chef said he only made enough for Mrs. King to have seconds and-"
"That's perfect!" I interrupt hurriedly, seeing the color coming back into King's face. I can't have him going and beating the Chef next. "Bring it here for Mr. King. And… do we have any dessert?" I throw my biggest, brightest smile at the two of them. King looks at me warily, but it's working, because the color in his face is now fading back to normal .
"Yes ma'am, I think Chef Gerard said there's peach cobbler."
"Oh myyyy…" I trill. "Is it homemade? Oh, please tell me it's homemade!"
Marianne gives me a little smile, the same as she did this morning when she helped me get a pitcher of water to throw on my husband. "I think it is, ma'am."
"Okay, wonderful." I turn my attention to King, seeing him watching me carefully. "Can we hurry up and eat our food so we can have dessert? I um… I really want it first… but…"
"We can have dessert first if you'd like," King says quietly, trapping my thumb with his fingers. "If that'd make you happy." He presses down and I feel it all the way in my clit. "Okay," I say shyly. "Um, Marianne, can you keep this warm while we eat our cobbler? And can we get some vanilla ice cream too?" I hand her my plate, feeling guilty. Back at home I would have just walked the few feet to the kitchen and done it myself.
Marianne nods. As she turns to walk away she pauses, squatting down to pick King's phone up off the floor. "Here, sir," she says, stepping forward with it in her hand, but King just holds his palm up and shakes his head without uttering a word. Marianne stops dead in her tracks with a confused look, her eyes flickering from me to King.
"Put it back," he says.
She frowns. "On the floor, sir?"
"Yes, Marianne."
Marianne's brows raise and she bends, placing the phone back on the floor without another word, pivoting on her heel and disappearing through the door into the kitchen.
Only slightly appeased, I fold my arms on the table and look at him. "I'm going to make your life a living hell until you give me back my things and I can go back to work. "
"You don't even have to tell me. I already know," he grunts, and I bite back a wave of irritation because I really, really want my belongings back. I won't even tell on him at this point. I just want to be able to scroll, and text. "So you like peach cobbler, huh?" He has a secretive smile on his face that he's failing to hide from me.
"Yes," I respond. "But something tells me it's not a coincidence that he made it to go with our dinner."
He winks at me, taking another sip of his whiskey, preferring not to reply.
I don't know how King knew this, or maybe he didn't and it was just a bit of good luck, but peach cobbler is my favorite dessert. Marianne quickly comes back out with two personalized dishes of the hot, bubbly, perfectly flaky crusted dessert.
My mouth waters at the prospect of the sweet treat, deciding that my irritation with King will be put on hold while I no doubt make myself sick with an entire slice. In the meantime, I decide to dig for more information.