Chapter 11 #2
“Why do you care?” I asked as she opened the door.
She peered back at me. “About your style?”
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If I’m something different for Cade?” It was so hard to say that name that didn’t roll off my tongue as delicately as Emerson did.
She faced me, the morning sun from the window reflecting in her eyes.
“I’ve known Cade since he moved to this province.
” That didn’t make me feel better, and I imagined a torrid affair between the two in their youth.
The idea had envy clamping down on my insides.
“He takes, and he uses. He doesn’t keep. But you, he’s keeping.”
“I’m just a pawn to get what he needs.”
Eyes flicking to the tray from breakfast, she said, “You’ve been here for three days, Miss Shelton. How many times have you seen Cade?”
“I… A few,” I admitted.
Her mouth lifted into a smile that held no judgement, only kindness. “Cade doesn’t care if his enemies are fed or cared for.”
“He expected Riley and had clothes and this room for her, not me.”
“I’m not privy to what his intentions are or why he does things, but my guess is she held value.
A trade is only worth it if the goods aren’t damaged.
Whatever he wanted by taking her necessitated keeping her cared for.
But I can guarantee she wouldn’t have left this room to eat breakfast with him, nor to share his bed. ”
“I’m not sleeping with him.”
“I know, but Cade doesn’t care if his hostages have nightmares, Miss Shelton. In fact, he prefers they do.”
I stood staring at the door long after she left, not sure what to make of her or her words.
It seemed strange that she would tell me those things and talk as openly as she did.
She didn’t know me, other than what Emerson must have told her.
And he trusted her enough to tell her about my nightmares, unless she had found out another way.
I trudged to the bathroom, rubbing my temples to halt the headache all this thinking was causing.
Emerson was a mystery to me, and his relationship with this woman—a beautiful, elegant woman who knew a lot more than an average employee should—had me confused and irritable.
Not that I should have been irritable about any of this.
I was a hostage, not a guest. Reminding myself of that didn’t help.
Resting my hands on the bathroom counter, I looked at my reflection.
The messy curls, the crust in the corner of my eyes that I wiped away quickly, and Emerson’s oversized T-shirt.
Definitely different from the women I imagined he had slept with.
That slither of envy pierced me again, and I grimaced.
Why did I care who the mafia boss who kidnapped me slept with?
This was temporary and once Greyson and my uncle saved me, I would never see him again. It was as simple as that.
But if it was that simple, why did my chest hurt at the thought?
Jill returned a few hours later with bags of clothes, which she dumped on the bed.
Breaker brought in a new tray of food, then hurried from the room.
I dragged in a breath, savoring the smell of the soup that sat next to a turkey sandwich on wheat.
My mouth salivated just at the thought of digging into it.
Jill was going through the bags, pulling clothes out in a flurry. I picked up a T-shirt that said princess on it and quirked my brow. “And this seemed like my style?” I asked, missing my clothes even more.
“They don’t have many options at the gallery that scream punk goth girl.”
I gave her a wounded look. “I beg your pardon, but I am not goth. I like to think of myself as cute and quirky.”
She let out a sound like a snort before throwing a pair of jeans and a shirt at me. This one, at least, was a half-shirt. “Try those on. And…” She sorted through another bag before pulling out a few bras. “…these.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said, grabbing one from her. “These girls were getting sore hanging free for so many days.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she grumbled, tossing a handful of panties into a pile. “I’ll get these washed up. The rest you can deal with as they are. Go on, get dressed.”
I walked into the bathroom and did as instructed, not bothering to argue. The bra fit perfectly, as did everything else. “How did you know my size?” I asked, zipping the jeans up as I emerged.
She crossed her arms and looked me over. Again, I felt like I was some experiment she was evaluating. “I have a knack for clothes. I went to school for fashion before I came to work for Cade.”
“Why did you change direction?” I asked, taking the designer rip in the jeans that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe and widening it until my knee was hanging out.
“You did not just rip those,” she scolded.
“I did,” I replied, going through the pile of clothes.
There were cute shorts, more shirts, and a few tight ones in colors I loved.
I may have looked hardcore to some, and I got that sometimes at work with my tattoos and piercings, but black wasn’t my only favorite color.
I loved pinks and purples and—I dropped the clothes and yanked the dress buried at the bottom, pulling it out and staring at it—dresses.
I adored dresses, but never got to wear them.
Riley’s bridesmaid’s dress was the first dress I’d worn since I was a child.
I held the dress up, knowing my eyes were large as I considered just how Jill had known I would love it.
Black silk edged with pink. It was the type of dress that hugged curves but, in a flattering, delicate way.
Falling to my ankles with a slit that ran up to the mid-thigh, I could just imagine it with a pair of strappy pink heels.
Just like the ones Jill pulled from another bag.
“Just in case,” she said, taking the dress from me and hanging it in the walk-in closet I had paid little attention to. There was nothing in it. Jill had bought no dresses for Riley’s stay. Only for mine.
“In case of what?”
She shrugged. “You never know.” The smug look on her face told me she had already planned out when I might need it.
Again, I wondered if Emerson knew how devious his housekeeper and personal shopper was.
“Why don’t you work on putting those away?
” She pointed to the bed. “Just leave the things you don’t want and the ones I bought for the other woman in the chair, and I’ll get them later. ”
Steady steps to the door had me acting irrationally. When had I acted rationally since I’d been here, though? “Can you stay longer?” I asked, suddenly desperate for company.
She looked back at me, her eyes scrunched.
“It gets lonely in here and Em…I mean, Cade doesn’t let me out unless he’s here.” She gave me an amused grin when I started to say Emerson’s real name. “All I have is the book Breaker gave me.”
“Breaker gave you a book? I highly doubt that.” A few strides and she was picking up the book he had given me the day before.
“Hmm.” It was all she said before she turned to me.
“Share your sandwich with me and I’ll stay.
But don’t tell Cade I wasn’t cleaning or I’ll take all these clothes back and make you wear the clothes that were already here. ”
“It’s not a pretty sight,” I said, cringing.
“Must be something,” she commented, grabbing the sandwich and holding half out to me.
We sat on the bed and talked, and for a few minutes I felt normal again, like I wasn’t locked in the estate of a brutal mafia boss.
A man I couldn’t talk about without an annoying heat entering my cheeks.
It turned out Jill differed greatly from what I had first judged her to be.
She’d married one of Emerson’s men right out of college, which led to her emersion into this life.
That was all she told me before she questioned me about my life.
I kept my secrets to myself, talking about school and Riley, my uncle and the years I’d spent trying to find myself.
But nothing before then. And nothing about my nightmares.
Those were my secrets to keep. Ones I wouldn’t give up, no matter how comfortable this facade of normalcy was.
And that was all it was. A moment to forget I was a prisoner with no way to escape.
It was easy to forget and every time I was with Emerson, that reality slipped away, just as easily as it did with Jill.
But when she left, and I was alone in my luxurious cell, surrounded by mounds of expensive clothes, that reality returned, along with the heavy reminders that this wasn’t right.
That I needed to stop forgetting I was nothing more than a pawn to Emerson.
A means to an end, no matter how it seemed I was becoming more than that.