Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
Idon’t know how it happens, but somewhere between Elliot’s endless chatter and Kai’s quiet watching, my body finally gives in.
When I wake, it’s with a dull ache running through me. My limbs are heavy, stiff, and my bruises throb. The room is dark now, except for the fireplace.
I push myself upright, groaning softly. My head slips off something soft—a pillow. One I don’t remember being there before. On the small table beside me sits a glass of water, beads of condensation still clinging to it, and a blister pack of paracetamol.
I blink, staring. Did Kai…?
The thought curls in my chest, unsettling and warm all at once, and I shake my head as if that could chase it away.
I swallow the pills, sip the water, and sit for a moment, staring into the fire. But sleep feels impossible now, so I get to my feet. My body protests every step, but I move anyway, padding quietly through the darkened hall.
That’s when I see a figure, half-shadow, bent over the drawers in the kitchen. My breath catches, heart hammering in my chest.
An intruder. Or worse. Him.
My hand shoots to the counter, fingers closing around the first thing I find—a mug—and I raise it, ready to throw.
The figure straightens.
“Don’t shatter that cup, it’s part of a set,” a familiar voice says dryly.
I freeze. “…Sue?”
She turns, one brow arched, a tin of tea clutched in her hand. “Who else?”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
“Oh.” The word comes out shaky, my grip loosening on the mug. I set it back on the counter before I actually drop it. “Yes. Of course.”
Sue eyes me for a beat, then sighs and shuts the drawer with her hip. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Felt like one,” I admit, exhaling hard.
For a moment I just stand there, bare feet cold against the tiles, staring at the faint ripple of steam rising from her tin. The adrenaline drains out of me in one rush, leaving only exhaustion.
I tell myself I should go back. Back to the couch, back to warmth, back to pretending there’s such a thing as sleep left for me. But the truth, the truth I’m only now beginning to understand, is that I’m exhausted in the kind of way even sleep can’t seem to fix.
I had forced myself into believing I’d be alright. That I could walk this off, cry it out, plaster over the cracks and keep moving. That some masked shadow lurking outside couldn’t change me, not really.
But standing here, my hands trembling against the counter, I realize that maybe it already has.
I rub at my eyes, blinking hard, swallowing the lump in my throat before it can take shape. I don’t cry. I won’t cry.
But I am tired. So very tired.
Beside me, Sue clicks her tongue. “You need more than tea.”
I glance at her, startled. She’s leaning against the counter now, arms folded, tin forgotten.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, too fast.
Sue raises an eyebrow.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. “I just… I don’t want to—”
“Cry?” she cuts in, and her tone is sharp, but there’s no cruelty in it.
I stare at the counter, unsure what to say.
Sue sighs, pushes off the counter, and walks to one of the higher cupboards. “Come on,” she says, voice softer now. “If you are going to unravel, you might as well do it properly.”
It takes me a moment to realize what she means, and when she sets down a bottle between us, my stomach twists.
“I don’t—” I start.
She’s already grabbing glasses. “You do tonight.”
It takes a lot of convincing, more hesitation than I’d like to admit, but eventually, somehow, I cave and sit down on the table opposite her.
She’s halfway through peeling the foil when she hesitates, her fingers hovering. “I am a very good drinker, you know.”
“Oh, me too,” I say quickly, nodding. A blatant lie, of course. The most I’ve ever had is a few sips at a family birthday or New Years. But Sue doesn’t need to know that. She really doesn’t need to know that.
“Really?” Sue’s eyes sparkle, definitely fully aware of my lie as she pops the cork. The sound echoes so loud I almost forget Kai is currently in the house and might be able to hear it, because we both freeze like guilty teenagers, glancing around as if Kai might materialize from the shadows.
When nothing happens and we both silently reassure ourselves that Kai in fact is asleep, Sue grabs two glasses from a nearby shelf, pours generously, and slides one across to me. I stare at the fizzing liquid.
“To being excellent drinkers,” she says, raising her glass.
“To being excellent drinkers,” I echo, clinking my glass against hers.
Ten minutes later, the bottle’s contents have noticeably diminished and we’re on our second pour. Or maybe our third. Time has become a bit blurry.
“You’re slowing down,” Sue says, tilting her glass in my direction. She’s got a gleam in her eye that I’ve never seen before, and I don’t know whether I should be concerned or excited.
“I’m pacing myself,” I retort, though the truth is my head is already swimming in the depths of the champagne. “You know, savouring the experience.”
Sue snorts. “Savouring? This is not a museum, Adeline. Drink!”
“Fine!” I tip my glass back and immediately regret it. The bubbles hit the back of my throat a bit too suddenly, I gag. “Oh god, is it supposed to feel like your nose is on fire?”
“Yes,” Sue says solemnly. “That means it is working.”
We’re both giggling now, the kind of uncontrollable laughter that makes my stomach ache and silently complain. Sue tries to refill her glass but misjudges and ends up pouring champagne all over the table.
“Oops,” she says, staring at the puddle. “I am… how do you say…” She waves her hand in a circle, searching.
“Clumsy?” I offer, grinning.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not clumsy. Ah… an idiot. I forget words in English when I am drunk.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I say, waving her off. “You’re just French.”
She narrows her eyes at me, though her lips are twitching again. “And you are very English.”
“I’m still winning, by the way,” I say since clearly this is becoming a drinking competition.
“Winning what?” Sue gestures at me with her glass, nearly sloshing champagne onto the floor. “You can barely sit upright.”
“Neither can you!” I shoot back. “You just drowned the table.”
She gasps, clutching her chest. “How dare you.”
“How dare I for what? I’m not wrong.” I laugh so hard I nearly spill my own drink. Why? I’m not entirely sure.
Just when I’m about to say something else, probably something stupid once again, the butler walks past.
Elliot had briefly introduced him to me before I fell asleep. I think his name is Merrick?
His gaze sweeps over the table briefly, clearly eyeing the nearly empty bottle, the flood, and our flushed faces.
Or, more precisely, eyeing Sue.
There’s also no mistaking the faint twitch of disapproval at the corner of his mouth.
He pauses, shakes his head slightly as though we’ve personally offended him, and then continues without another word.
“He hates us,” I whisper, watching him disappear into the next room.
Sue snorts into her glass. “He does not hate us. He is just… Merrick. Always judging, always…” She waves a hand. “Dignified.”
A sudden thought strikes me. “Wait. Is there something going on between you and Merrick?”
Sue nearly chokes on her drink. “What? No! Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” I say, grinning as I lean forward. “He so just gave you one of those looks.”
“He gives everyone those looks,” she says firmly, though the pink creeping into her cheeks tells a different story. She’s even redder now, if that’s even possible.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, swirling my glass. “So you’re saying you’ve never…”
“Adeline, stop this nonsense,” Sue says, pointing a finger at me. “It is… ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously plausible,” I counter, grinning. “You two would be so cute!”
She gives me another one of those looks. “You are very curious about me and Merrick,” she says slowly. “But what about you and Kai?”
I freeze, my glass halfway to my lips. “What? No. There is no me and Kai.”
Sue’s expression doesn’t budge. “You are here. That is not normal. Not for him.”
“It’s complicated,” I mumble, taking a long sip of champagne to avoid elaborating.
“Complicated,” Sue repeats, her voice dripping with scepticism. “That is a word people use when they mean…” She snaps her fingers, searching for the phrase. “When they mean ‘something is happening, but I do not want to say.’”
“Nothing is happening,” I insist, my voice rising slightly. “He’s… he’s—” I falter, hiccupping. “He’s Kai Steele.”
Sue takes another sip, staring at me suspiciously through the cup.
“Why?” I cry out, slapping the table and almost knocking over the bottle suddenly, making Sue jolt.
“His stupid face! And his stupid coat! And his voice? And his hair?” Oh, don’t even get me started on his hair.
“It’s…” I wave my hands in the air, searching for the words.
“The way it moves in the wind. It’s unnatural, Sue.
Unnatural! I mean—it’s entirely unfair that he looks like that! ”
I sob, clutching a napkin. “And… and sometimes, he’s…” I hiccup again. “He’s… nice? Like, weirdly nice? It’s so confusing, Sue.”
Sue’s brow furrows, her lips twitching. “I can’t believe it.”
“Men are the worst!” I sob, tears streaming down my face.
Sue raises her glass. “Except French men.”
“Except French men,” I agree, raising my glass too. “Cheers.”
“Cheers!” Sue echoes.
We both drink, and then…
“Wait,” Sue says, blinking. “Kai is a French man.”
My glass freezes halfway to the table. “What.”
“He is French,” she says, her tone too calm, like this is common knowledge. Like I’m supposed to know. Maybe it came up, and I just don’t recall?
“No!” I wail, throwing my hands in the air. “Why does he have to ruin everything?!”
Sue watches me for a moment, then sighs, her own eyes welling up. But before we can take another sip, a sharp cough breaks through the haze of laughter.