Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Levi
The next morning, I make her a full breakfast. Toast, eggs, grits, and a bowl of fresh fruit.
The drip coffee is nearly ready, and I put the cream and sugar on the table, peeking through the open door to the bedroom to see her stirring.
I left it open so I could keep an eye on her, still too nervous about whether or not she’d run to give her any real privacy.
I slept on the couch, not that I ever got much sleep, and she fell asleep on the bed almost as soon as her head hit the pillow after dinner.
It's been a long few days for her, and now I have to press her one last time. Hopefully, with a full night’s rest, a shower, and a belly full of food, she'll see reason and be willing to open up a little more.
“Levi?” she calls out. I put slack in her chain last night so she could sleep comfortably, but not enough that she could leave the room.
“Coming!” I call back, making my way inside the small bedroom.
Her red hair is loose around her shoulders, a change from its usual braided or bun-tied state.
It makes her look a little wilder and a little less prim to see the way it falls in curls around her neck and down her chest. She tugs the hem of my T-shirt lower around her thighs to keep it from riding up, but it doesn’t change the fact that her long legs are on full display and her nipples shadow through the soft white cotton of my shirt. For a moment, she looks like mine.
“Can you let me out of here? I need to use the restroom.” Her voice is still raspy from sleep, and my mind wanders with thoughts of what might be possible in a different universe.
“Yep.” I clear my throat when I realize I’m still frozen in the doorway and set to work. “Your bra and panties are dry. I brought them in this morning and set them on the sink in the bathroom,” I explain as I undo the locks to free her from the bed.
“Thank you.” Her brow furrows with a question as she inhales the coffee and buttered-toast scent that’s working its way into the bedroom. “Did you make breakfast?”
“Yes. I made us breakfast.”
“It smells amazing.” Her stomach grumbles, and she runs her palm over it in circles.
“Well, the bathroom’s open, so you can get ready. I’ll have it on the table when you’re done. How’s your ankle? You need help getting there.”
“Better this morning. The ice helped. The rest of my body is sore though.”
“Hopefully some rest today helps. No climbing out windows.” I tease her, and she smiles back.
She gives me a small grin and then crosses to the bathroom.
I finish up breakfast and get the table ready while I wait for her to come back, pouring myself a cup of coffee and scrolling through my phone for information from Grant and Charlotte.
She didn’t waste any time getting to work on the archival materials I brought back.
When Zephyrine emerges from the bathroom, she’s slightly more buttoned-up than before.
Her hair is braided again, and she’s less sleepy-looking.
I pour her a cup of coffee, adding cream and her requisite three scoops of sugar.
Her brow lifts in curiosity, and she has to smother a small smile that threatens at the corner of her mouth.
She takes a big gulp as she sits down and lets out a happy sigh.
“Who knew room service in captivity was so bougie?” She grins over the rim of her cup.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask as I watch her snatch up the buttered toast from her plate and add a dollop of jam.
“Would have slept better if I wasn’t chained to the bed, but otherwise, yes.” She takes a big bite, and her eyes close for half a moment while she chews. I ordered in her favorite sour cherry jam. The same kind she ate every day at the convent.
Every morning, her routine was the same.
Except Sundays, when she added an extra helping of eggs and bacon.
She told Father Levi it was to help her get through the multiple Masses and tours of the crypts, and she always piled a couple of extra pieces of bacon on my plate for the same reason. Small indulgences she called them.
“Well, maybe if we can come to an agreement, we can do something about that.”
“Maybe.” Her eyelids flutter, and she lets out another soft sigh of appreciation as she chews her food. “This jam is delicious. Almost tastes like the one we have at the abbey. What kind is it?”
I set the jar in front of her, and she looks at me in surprise.
“You remembered that?”
I nod.
“This, the coffee, and the pot pie last night.” She gives me a mock look of suspicion. “If you’re not trying to poison me, then what is this? A last meal?”
“I'm trying to make you see this doesn’t have to be painful if we don’t want it to be.”
“I see. So you’re buying me off with treats then for my cooperation?”
“For your trust.”
“By reminding me you stalked me for weeks?” She gives me a cynical look.
I laid the last big secret out for her last night, even admitted some of my own sins.
I’d crossed the line by listening to her at night, but I also hadn’t lied when I said I don’t have regrets.
I’d do it all again. Now, though, I have to accept the consequences of those choices, so I’m feeling her out this morning to make sure it didn’t completely obliterate a chance for us to work together.
“I prefer to think of it as keenly observing details.” I take a long draw off my coffee. She might have slept. But I didn't. Not as much as my body needed. So it’ll be caffeine and crisp mountain air to keep me going today.
“A stalker would say that.” Her tone is flat, but when I look up, she grins at me.
“Then I’m a stalker. But one who takes the time to make you the recipes you like and order your jam. That should count as a peace offering.”
“What does peace look like to you?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee-flavored cream as she waits for my answer.
“You tell me what you want, I tell you what I can do for you, and we come to a deal that makes us both happy.”
“Since when does what I want factor into it?” She hikes her eyebrow as she takes another bite of toast, with an extra smear of jam on it, and then washes it down with coffee.
“Always, as far as I’m concerned,” I answer without thinking.
I want to give her whatever her little heart desires.
I want to spoil her rotten and see her amused smiles.
She deserves a reprieve from the hell she’s endured and her contemplative austerity at the convent.
I also happen to believe the path to my family getting the answers we need lies in the exact same direction.
“Doubtful.” She gives me a look over the top of her toast that challenges me.
“So tell me, what do you want, Zephyrine Schaefer?” I lean back in my chair, assuming she’ll ponder all the options.
“Freedom.” She doesn’t need time to think.
“Besides that,” I grumble.
“No, I don’t mean this.” She looks down at the lock on her wrist. “Well, this too, but I mean free. Really free. From my father. From my husband. I want a divorce, or an annulment really. If I had that, I could take my final vows as a nun and put all of this to rest. Have a life I can call my own. Finally.”
“You want to be a nun?” I’m surprised.
She never seemed very good at it, not with her vices or her spirit.
The kind of spirit that remained untamed despite everything she’s been through.
If the abbess couldn’t do it in the years she’s already had, I can’t imagine she’ll ever be the picture-perfect angel they want.
I assumed she was just hiding out there, that it was somewhere safe she could hide.
Or at least somewhere her husband was willing to settle on.
“What’s wrong with that? There are worse things.” Her countenance turns stormy, and she flicks a glance in my direction before she finishes off her coffee.
“Yeah, a priest for one,” I hedge.
She glares at me and bites off another piece of her toast with the kind of vigor that has me wondering if she’s imagining it’s my head.
“It’s quiet. The convent is beautiful. I get to do work that helps people. Most of the nuns are friendly. I’m happy there.”
“You’re happy there? You sure? It didn’t seem like you quite fit in.” I don't believe it. Happy nuns don't share her taste in extracurriculars.
“Just because I’m not perfect…” A flash of hurt across her face makes me regret my question.
“That’s not what I meant. I just assumed it was a place you were hiding, not a place you’d chosen. If you chose it, then I’m glad you were happy there.” I’d try to be happy for her anyway.
“I chose to visit the abbey because my grandfather spent time there.”
“Did he take you there when you were younger?”
“No. He kept a diary of where he was during the war and his travels afterward. When I ran off, trying to get some time away from my husband, I used the diary as a travel guide. I followed in his footsteps through some of the cities and towns. It led me to the convent. He talked about visiting old friends there. Visiting the archives. The food. The nuns. The time in reflection. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about because he loved it there. I could tell the way he wrote about it. He spent more time there than anywhere else.” She looks lost in memories for a moment before she returns to me.
“And I love it there too. Despite my shortcomings.”
“But it could be a place you visit rather than a place you live under the watch of the abbess.”
“I feel safe there. Or at least I did before.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Seemed like a real drowning risk to me.” I try to crack a joke. Not that I’m very good at them.
“Ha!” She mocks me with a fake laugh, but her eyes light in amusement. “I meant to thank you for that.”
“You were a little too busy torturing me to thank me.”
“Did you die though?” A little smirk plays at her pretty lips.
“Not for lack of trying.”
“How’s it looking?” she asks, grimacing a little as she remembers.