Chapter 10
TEN
Nevaeh
“Where is he?” I whisper, my face practically touching the cold glass of the window. My reflection is like a dark mirror, showing a fidgety woman draped in a long nightgown. Her eyes are rounded with sadness, almost misty, as they search the grounds for any sign of him.
She’s still recovering from what’s happened in the last forty-eight hours.
But, more importantly, I’m worried about Caelian.
I’m waiting for the bright headlights of his car to pierce the darkness outside my window.
He’s furious with me. More furious than he’s ever been before. He couldn’t even share a room with me. Dinner ended early because he couldn’t stand being in my presence.
When he bathed me last night, I’d felt the difference in how he touched me. He barely looked at me, and the few times he did, I caught the unmistakable flicker of betrayal.
I’m not sure how I can fix this. If it’s even possible for us to return to before.
We’d figured our marriage out—or so we thought. We were happy.
And then Mom showed up, bringing outside world problems into our home. I was coerced into doing what I’ve done so many times before.
Sacrificing myself for the survival of our family.
I haven’t even begun to process Mom and Dad’s real motives. They’ve sold me a specific story for most of my life. I trusted and believed them, but it seems what I was told wasn’t the whole story.
Mom and Dad aren’t who I’ve always thought they were.
Trying to reconcile that revelation with the fractures in my marriage to Caelian feels impossible. How can I ever get him to see I wasn’t acting out of my own accord? I was manipulated and fed lies.
He won’t even be in the same room with me…
“Where are you?” I whisper again. If possible, I lean closer. My breath fogs up the glass. I wipe my palm against the smooth, cold surface and strain my eyes peering at the inky darkness.
In typical Caelian fashion, his staff refuses to give any details.
Umberto had nothing to offer when I asked him where Caelian was going off to. Ms. Poitier told me she wasn’t allowed to disclose, and Matteo laughed and made sure I understood he’d never blab on his boss.
I sigh and finally turn away from the window.
I’m left no choice but to take matters into my own hands. Caelian would be even more furious if he learned that I am. But what else am I supposed to do other than wait in this room for hours on end? What if Caelian never returns?
Nero’s men are probably scouring the city looking for me and my parents. There’s a good chance they’ll run into Caelian.
I cross the room to the armoire on the other side.
After slipping into a change of clothes, I check that my most important possessions are still zipped inside my backpack—my snow globe, my wallet, my laptop—and I slide it onto my shoulders.
Moving onto the dresser, I pick out what I’m looking for among the perfume bottles and hairbrush.
A tiny metal hairpin that’s exactly what I need if I’m going to get out of here.
I’m no pro at picking locks.
During my espionage training with the dance company, we learned extensively how to undo many different kinds of locks. I was never very good at it, even if I was deemed adequate enough by the instructors.
Vague memories of my spy training flit in and out of my mind as I stick the hairpin into the keyhole and give a twisty motion.
Like with my previous escape attempts from Caelian’s estate, I haven’t thought about what I’ll do once I make it out the front door.
I’m trusting in my luck that maybe I’ll be able to stow myself away in one of the vehicles belonging to his crew.
They switch out shifts around dawn. The night shift goes home while the day shift comes on.
The door creaks, but I’m ready for it. I pause the second it makes the squeaky noise, listen for any reaction, and then slip the rest of the way out.
The second-floor hall is empty. I scurry toward the staircase, holding my breath as if it’ll make me invisible. I’ll breathe later… once I’ve been reunited with my brutal capo of a husband.
The man who I’ve begun dreaming about. If he had any idea how much he’s come to mean to me…
I make it onto the first-floor landing.
Ms. Poitier appears just as I’m darting for the foyer. Any surprise she feels about catching me downstairs quickly dissolves for scolding. She puts her hands to her waist and raises her brows.
“Care to tell me what you were doing?” she asks. “Where were you going dressed like that?”
I stand my ground and answer bluntly. “I’m going to find my husband.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“By yourself? With no transportation or earthly idea where you’re going?”
“Yes!” I snap, taking a frustrated step toward her. “None of you have been helpful! You refuse to tell me what’s going on, and Caelian’s been gone for hours.”
“Do you really think, honey, that you’re in the position to act up? Think very hard, very carefully. What do you imagine will be Mr. C’s reaction if he finds out you’ve been causing more trouble? After all the mess you’ve already created?”
Ms. Poitier renders me speechless with her withering accusation. My attitude fades for the warmth that embarrassment brings. She’s made a valid point I’m not sure I can refute.
“Come,” she says after a few tense seconds pass. “I’ll make you some tea.”
Suddenly she’s maternal. She slips an arm around my shoulders and steers me in the direction of the kitchen. I let her ease me onto a stool as she slips straight into fussing with the kettle.
“I understand why you’re feeling antsy,” she says, rising on tiptoe to rummage through the cupboard. “You know you’ve messed up big time. You want to try to fix it with Mr. C.”
I sigh. “He won’t even look at me.”
“He’s very, very, very angry with you.”
“Believe me, I can tell. In the cell he was… a little terrifying.”
“I’m sure you and he got up to some, ahem, things in there,” she says.
“You were the woman who first came in? The one who stripped me down?”
Ms. Poitier’s gray brows knit as she sets down the teabag and mug on the counter next to the stove where the kettle heats up. Her every nuanced reaction clues me in on how she feels about the matter, from the natural frown she takes on to the way she avoids glances in my direction.
“It wasn’t my first choice of how to handle things,” she admits. “But it’s what Mr. C ordered.”
“I’m not mad.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I gave him a tongue-lashing too. Big ol’ brute is so dang moody all the time. He drives me crazy with his little temper tantrums. You should’ve seen him when you were gone. He was so upset.”
“Upset?” I ask, leaning forward in interest. “Cael?”
“Honey, you don’t know the half of it. That man was beside himself. I suppose I should cut him some slack—it was his first heartbreak.”
“I broke his heart?”
Ms. Poitier’s laugh is sharp and unfiltered. She shakes her head carrying the steaming kettle over to the mug. The hot water pours into the cup and turns into a pale brown tea. She adds a dollop of honey still with an amused air about her, then sets the mug out for me to taste.
I’m much more interested in receiving a straight answer out of her.
“So… that’s a yes?”
“Honey, let me break it down for you this way,” she says, folding her arms onto the counter. “He’s got a dead heart. It started to beat again for you… but then you killed it. Give him time to come back to life.”
“But it’s terrible knowing it’s changed. Things are so… different between us.”
“You’ve had a lot of ups and downs. Enough to last you both a lifetime. That’s for sure.”
I stare absentmindedly into the mug of honey ginger tea. “My mom insisted we had to save my father. She told me our survival depended on it.”
“You’re naive.” Before I can take offense, Ms. Poitier holds out a hand to signal she’ll explain.
“Don’t give me those sad eyes, honey. You know you are—and you can’t even be blamed for it either.
You’ve spent your entire life holed up and protected by that contract.
It’s left you very blind to things you should see clearly. ”
“You mean like my parents lying to me?”
“Among other things,” she says. “But you’re opening your eyes now. You’re… trying.”
“I need Cael to forgive me.”
“It’s going to take time, baby. Men in his line of work take loyalty very seriously. Add on the fact that Caelian is a lone wolf by nature and rarely attaches himself to anyone. But he married you—you were supposed to be it for him. Then you ran away.”
My chest aches hearing my mistake repeated back to me. Ms. Poitier’s not doing it out of malicious intent, but it’s no easier to listen to.
I slump on the kitchen stool just taking it in.
“Don’t pout, honey,” Ms. Poitier says. She pats my hand. “He’ll come around. Most likely.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s in love with you. Contrary to what men want you to believe, they don’t get over a woman they’re truly in love with so easily.”
The heavy footsteps of several men pound the hallway floor outside the kitchen.
Ms. Poitier and I abandon our conversation at once and go seek out the cause for the commotion.
“He’s back!” yells Johnny, one of Caelian’s members of security. “But it’s not looking good.”
I move to follow him. “What’s not looking good?”
“Mr. C. He’s in pretty bad shape.”