Chapter 14 #2
The house is ridiculous, that’s the only word for it. The entrance hall could host the bloody wedding with the scale and grandeur of it. A sweeping double staircase curves upward with portraits lining the walls.
Creepy. The pictures give me the heebiejeebies. A whole procession of cold-blooded maniacs from the past, if Maggie is to be believed.
We’re ushered through into a sitting room. Plush sofas and heavy brocade curtains soften the dark walls, and the roaring fire warms my cold hands.
I keep my smile on as our small group makes stilted but polite conversation. I smile until my face aches.
When someone asks what I do. Maggie smoothes it over with easy lies and distraction. The same when we are asked how we met.
Evan chats, draping an arm easily over his bride-to-be’s shoulders. If I didn’t know what I know, I’d believe he was quite pleasant.
Maybe that’s how he gets away with it?
Maggie stays close to me. She’s playing the part well, laughing at the right moments.
But I can feel tension rolling off of her.
Can see how it stiffens her movements. She takes tiny sips of her drink, fingers tight around the glass like she’s trying very hard to remain in control of the situation.
As if I might just run off mid-espresso martini, with limbs flailing like a cartoon character.
The urge to reassure her tickles me until I remind myself that she abducted me, and that empathising with your captor was Stockholm syndrome 101.
I can’t imagine what she must have seen growing up to do something so drastic just to appease her father. She doesn’t look like she belongs amongst the family.
Eventually, Eliza snakes an arm through Maggie’s and drags her back to the hallway. I follow. I don’t really want to be stuck with Maggie, but it had to be better than staying in the room. ‘You’ll want to get settled and freshen up. Maggie’s suite is ready.’
Suite?
‘You’ll be staying together, obviously… Dad had the notion that maybe Roman should sleep in one of the guest rooms, but don’t worry, I nixed that real quick.’ Eliza nudges Maggie with her hip and grins.
Maggie’s smile falters. ‘Eliza—’
‘Relax,’ Eliza says sweetly. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of sprucing it up a little. But don’t worry, I left your favourite pillow.’
Maggie turns beet red, and Eliza raises a brow at me.
‘Not that you probably need the pillow when you’ve got Roman to play with… right?’
‘Eliza,’ Maggie yelps, shooting me a sorry glance.
It’s a good thing I’ve had a drink.
The suite itself is fucking massive. Why Maggie ditched it for a pokey London flat, I had no idea. High ceilings, a sitting area, and massive windows overlooking the front drive. The bathroom looked far newer and sparklier than the rest of the furnishings.
And in the centre of the room, only one bed.
One enormous, four-poster bed. All crisp white sheets and weird drapes.
I stop and look at Maggie. If she goes any redder, I think her head might explode.
‘Thanks, Eliza. It looks… lovely.’
‘I’ll leave you two love birds to it,’ Eliza says from the doorway. ‘See you bright and early for shooting.’
The door shuts with a soft click.
‘Please say it’s laser tag. Or clay pigeons. Not people.’ Our bags are already on one of the couches, and I slump down next to them.
‘Of course it’s clays, we’re not monsters.’ Maggie stands awkwardly with her hands clenched at her sides.
‘So, that’s the family,’ I say, reaching over and grabbing a packet of shortbread from a tray on the coffee table. It’s like a hotel.
‘Other than my brother. But getting him to socialise with the family is more difficult than getting me here. I know they’re a lot.’
‘That’s an understatement.’
Maggie paces while I crunch through the little packet of buttery biscuits. ‘We don’t have to share the bed. I can sleep on the sofa.’
‘Do you trust your sister not to barge in and find you there?’
She makes a miserable noise. ‘I can sleep on the floor, behind the bed. just in case.’
‘You’re not sleeping on the floor.’
‘Why do you care? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me uncomfortable after what I’ve done.’
Seeing her in that sitting room, stressed and faking with her own family, lodged some kind of pity beneath my ribs.
‘I just don’t want to explain to your psychotic family why your back’s wrecked before the wedding.’
Getting ready for bed is awkward. Teeth brushed in silence in a bathroom the size of a studio flat. Pyjamas changed in the bathroom, avoiding each other. Maggie’s are covered in tiny sausage dogs. Some are wearing hats. Bonkers.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The very far edge.
There’s a vast expanse of bed between us when she gets in.
The room is dead quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the wind.
I want to yell at her for taking me here.
To make her apologise and promise to take me home first thing.
To find a phone and call the police. I’m not certain that her family claims are true, and that she’s not just using them to make me behave.
But if they are true… is there more danger in trying to escape, or in just seeing this out?
I clear my throat. ‘So.’
‘So.’
‘When’s the wedding?’
She swallows hard and keeps her eyes on the canopy above us. ‘In six days.’
I snap my head toward her. ‘Six days?’
‘Yes.’
Six days in this oversized cage with my kidnapper. Fuck me.
‘What the hell are we supposed to do until then?’
Maggie fidgets with the hem of her pyjama shirt. ‘There are parties. And rehearsals. And games.’
‘Games?’
‘It’s a whole thing. Society weddings. They don’t just do everything on one day. There are events upon events. Some family, some extended guests.’
‘Fuck.’
Maggie’s eyebrows rise.
‘Not like that. Jesus, Maggie. I don’t even trust I’ll wake up in one piece.’
Her face flushes.
‘Yeah,’ she whispers. ‘Me neither.’
‘That doesn’t fill me with confidence,’ I say.
‘If you’re looking for confidence, you’ve got the wrong woman. I can give you zip ties and anxiety, maybe even some slightly burnt cookies. But for confidence, you need my sister. It’s one of the many reasons everyone prefers her.’
I roll on my side, facing Maggie.
I want to tell her that what she thinks about herself isn’t true. That given half a chance, someone would love to date her. But remembering who she really is… I can’t commit to that thought. The cute but odd neighbour isn’t who I thought she was.
Instead, I close my eyes, blocking her out, and hope to see the morning.