Chapter 12
My heart raced as I tossed in my bed.
Despite the heat in the room, I was still so cold.
I had turned the furnace up before going to sleep, as well as the gas fireplace in the room.
For anyone else, this room was probably stifling, but I was still cold.
The banging of the flask still sounded in my ears.
My ribs ached where they had been broken, even though they were long healed now. The doctor called it psychological phantom pain.
I knew what it meant.
It meant my body had healed, but the scars on my mind could be permanent.
There was no way to know yet. I did know they hadn’t even healed over.
The same nightmare played over and over in my head every single night. Half of it was memories from the accident. Half were gaps that my own brain filled in from a mix of horror and guilt. My throat was raw, and I didn’t know if I had been yelling in my sleep again or not.
All I knew was that everything was so cold and aching every single time I woke up from that nightmare.
Part of me was scared that one night I would fall into a deep sleep, that same nightmare replaying over and over in my head, and I would never wake up.
I was terrified that I would be trapped in that frozen hell forever.
That I would never again feel anything but a cold, dull ache.
Then Lucian Manwarring had touched me.
And the memory of his warmth, his strength, his power, and my own strange longing to return to his arms, washed over me.
Even as the nightmare still tried to keep its hold with the insistent, terrible clang of that damn flask against the car metal.
My eyelids fluttered open.
The banging didn’t stop.
It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t still in my head.
It was coming from the front door of the suite. I grabbed the plush hotel terry cloth robe from the chair by the bed and wrapped it around me to answer the door.
It was barely eight in the morning. I had no idea who would be at my door.
No one even knew I was there.
I had told the staff that I was going on a vacation and that they would be paid to keep the house up. My friends all thought I was at my parents’ estate.
I didn’t want anyone to know that I was too weak to face my demons.
Or the devil, Lucian Manwarring. Not yet.
After the accident, I hated being at home.
I’d tried, but it was too painful.
Every moment, I expected to see my mother around the corner on her phone, laughing and gossiping to one of her friends, or my father barking orders to a business partner.
The home that was once filled with so many happy memories was just a painful reminder of what I didn’t have anymore: a family.
The banging got more insistent until I ripped open the door, half expecting Lucian to be there with an incredulous look on his face.
Ready to tell me what other freedom of mine he was taking the liberty of stealing.
Perhaps he had commandeered my jewelry. Maybe he’d decided that the degree I’d pursued was not worth my efforts, so he went ahead and shredded it. Maybe he had taken it upon himself to decide that I had too many shoes, and he was going to sell them all.
Or maybe he just wanted to prove he had more power, so he was here to take my cell phone and ground me like a child for a month because he could. Because I came to my senses and ran before he had the chance to push me further than I was comfortable with, he was going to punish me.
My cheeks heated at the memory of his belt on my ass.
Most men of our class and his age sought company outside the marriage bed, and their preferences generally went to much younger women. Most men Manwarring’s age would have had two or maybe even three girls my age or even younger on speed dial. That wasn’t unusual. It was almost expected. God knows every wife looked the other way.
Lucian didn’t even have a wife to answer to, let alone any other women.
He hadn’t even broached the topic of marriage with any number of suitable women since Charlotte and Olivia’s mother died when they were children. The gossip mill ran rampant with conspiracy theories on why he remained a bachelor even with three children to raise.
Everything from keeping a harem in the basement to preferring the company of men. Though that last one had been disproved several times.
He just didn’t seem to want a wife.
That, of course, had not stopped every mother with an eligible daughter from practically throwing the girls at his feet every single year.
He never even noticed.
Didn’t seem interested in marriage—until now—until me. Lucky me.
I swung the door violently open. “What?”
The hotel manager was there, dressed in his freshly pressed suit. Classic black and white. The staff here always dressed impeccably in suits that were tailored to perfection, but just mundane enough to be a uniform. I gave him a kind smile. He had always been one of my favorite people.
I ran a hand over my face, then through my hair. “I’m sorry. I mean, good morning, Augustus. What brings you by so early? I’m not due for my breakfast or a wake-up call for another hour.”
Augustus had been the manager at this hotel for nearly a decade. Since my family had such a large account with the hotel, he had always handled our reservations and accommodations personally.
It was so weird to see him at my door.
Usually he was in the lobby, behind the desk, or tending to the guests. The way he guided the other staff to everything always reminded me of a conductor.
He signaled to the bell hops when to get luggage, directed the housekeeping to each room, and he oversaw everything with such incredible fluidity that it all seemed as if it was done by magic.
“I’m sorry, miss.” He shifted on his feet back and forth for a moment and then looked at the door frame just to the right of my head. “I’m afraid we have a bit of a delicate problem.”
Whatever it was, he did not want to be there. He wouldn’t look me in the eye or use my name. Every other time he greeted me, it was always ‘Hello, Miss Stella.’ ‘Good morning, Miss Stella.’ ‘I hope you have a wonderful day today, Miss Stella.’ He had always greeted me with a bright, sincere smile and respectful eye contact.
I didn’t know if he was embarrassed for me or just uncomfortable with whatever the delicate situation was.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“There is an issue with your bill, ma’am. Payment for your suite has been declined.” He still wouldn’t look me in the eye.
Immediately, the shame and horror of having my black Amex cut at the table returned.
My lungs burned, and tears gathered in the corner of my eyes. Suddenly him not looking me in the eye made sense.
He was sparing me the embarrassment of having him witness a particularly hard moment in my life.
Staff like Augustus, and those he trained, saw everything and nothing at the same time. A spill was made, a maid was there cleaning it before the person who had made the mess noticed. Luggage needed to be handled, a bell hop was there as you exited your doors. A man brought a hooker to his room, the staff were too busy to notice. The same man’s wife came in, and they hadn’t seen him.
In the hotel business, discretion was the better part of valor. I used to laugh when he said that to staff. I would joke with my mother about what they must know. I didn’t understand what my mother meant when she said, ‘they will never know anything, at least nothing anyone will ever hear.’
“I can get you another card,” I said, regaining my composure. “My family has been coming to this hotel for years. You know that I will pay. I am just having an issue with my credit card company. I will have the new card today.”
“I’m afraid that will not be possible.” Augustus raised his hand, cutting me off.
That was when I remembered.
I had never had a card on file for this room. The second I arrived here, fresh from the hospital, still heavily bruised with bandages holding my body together, so many orange bottles of pain pills and antibiotics rattling in my purse, my hospital ID bracelet still on my wrist, Augustus had greeted me with a look of horror.
He had practically fawned over me, without breaking that distinct, professional distance people in the service industry maintained at all times.
Everything from back then was fuzzy, at best, but I remembered him guiding me to a chair in the lobby and sitting me down so carefully. I had a cup of the most amazing chamomile tea brought to me while he called my family’s money manager to arrange payment and had housekeeping arrange one of the long-stay suites.
He even had the house doctor go over the care instructions the hospital had given me. The doctor was so sweet, taking all my medications, verifying the doses, and having them delivered when it was time for them, with either water or food, depending on the medication.
The doctor had a counselor come in and hold grief counseling sessions in the comfort of my room so I didn’t feel alone while I healed.
Augustus even had the kitchen prepare my favorite meals—meals that were designed to help me heal—a perfect blend of comfort foods and nutrition.
Now, I was being kicked to the curb with nowhere to go. That didn’t make sense.
“My card was never on file,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Augustus.
“No, ma’am.”
“The bill had always been sent to my family estate and handled with a very generous gratuity.”
“In the past, that was how it worked,” he confirmed. “And your family’s generosity has never gone unnoticed.”
“What changed? The money manager is the same. You called yourself to ensure there would not be an issue with payment. Are you worried that I won’t be as generous? Is that why you’ve come banging on my door before I even had my coffee?” My words and tone were far harsher than I had intended. But it was what it was.
I was cold, tired, and still reeling from yesterday’s embarrassment, and today’s indignation added more than I could handle.
“Ma’am.” Augustus’s eyes hardened as he looked at me directly. Apparently I had crossed some line, and I was no longer entitled to the faux feeling of privacy. “It is quite simple. I received a call this morning. The funds for this room are no longer available. You have ten minutes to pack your things, and then security will be up to escort you from the building. With or without your belongings.”
“Who called you? They were lying.” I stomped my foot like a petulant child and was immediately embarrassed.
My mother and I would have mocked someone who was behaving how I was.
She would be ashamed of me.
“The call was made by your trustee, Mr. Manwarring. He informed us none of your extravagant lifestyle will continue to be covered. He did ask that I relay a message.”
“What’s the message?” I bit out.
My blood pressure was rising, and my hands balled into fists as more cold tears built behind my eyes.
He cleared his throat. “You were a bad girl for not asking him for permission.”
With that, Augustus looked down his nose at me in disgust, turned on his heel, and walked away.