6. Rose
Rose
I glare out the window as the streets begin to thin out, the cars on the road lessening around us as we drive on. There’s so much I want to say, but I know he’s not going to hear me out on a damn word.
"You’re really doing this?" I demand, finally breaking the silence between us
"Doing what?" he replies.
"Taking me to your place."
"Of course I am. That’s what I said I would do."
"We can just go somewhere to talk," I suggest. "It doesn’t have to be your place. I don’t even know where you stay in the city. I wouldn’t want to get stuck there overnight—"
"I have drivers on call," he cuts me off bluntly. "You need to go anywhere, you can."
I press my lips together. He’s not hearing me right now.
"You don’t even know if this baby is yours," I remind him again. "I know you feel like you’re sure, but—"
"I don’t feel it. I know it."
"I’m not lying about being with Petar around the same time I was with you," I tell him. "Haven’t you looked into his business enough to figure that out?"
He palms the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Whatever I’m saying, it’s not getting through to him.
"That doesn’t matter to me."
"Well, it matters to me!"
He falls silent once more, and the rest of the drive goes by in silence.
Eventually, we pull up at the large gate of what looks like some estate. The wrought-iron wrenches open to allow his car up the drive, and I can’t help but be a little impressed when I see the place he has waiting for him.
"This is your home?"
"While I’m in Chicago," he replies as he brings the car to a halt at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the front door.
The house looks like something out of a gothic romance, the tall stone reaching towards the darkening sky, the large windows looking out onto deep green grass.
Two guards stand at the door, and when he nods to them, they open it.
He looks back as I hurry after him, matching his pace as I cross the threshold.
Inside, it’s just as beautiful: dark polished wood floors gleam beneath soft golden lighting, and a few pieces of art decorate the walls. He pulls off his coat and drapes it across the banister, and I realize I’m just standing there in the doorway, gaping around at this place in wonder.
"This way," he tells me, and I hurry to follow him just as he turns the corner to a corridor that leads off the main entryway. At the far end, a door is sitting slightly open, and he nods to it.
"That’s your room. Make yourself comfortable."
"I thought you said that I was just coming here to talk," I protest. "Not stay the night."
"No, you said you would come here to talk," he replies evenly. "But you’re not walking out of here. Not until I know everything I need to."
A cold shiver runs down my spine, and I shift my weight from foot to foot slightly, wondering if he can see the color draining from my face.
"I don’t know what you mean,” I say. “I can’t stay here. I don’t even want to talk now. Just let me go home. You said that you had cars on call here, right? Well, call one of them now. Tell them that I want to go back to the city."
"You’re staying here."
He strides into the guest room, and I follow him in to continue the conversation—as one-sided as it is, I have to try to make him listen.
He flicks the light on, and I briefly glance around.
For a moment, it strikes me that this place is much nicer than my apartment and that I could do a lot worse than to stay here for a while.
There is a large double bed with plush sheets and pillows, a far cry from my drab single, and an en suite bathroom.
I can see from here that it has a large bathtub.
But I brush that temptation out of my head, reminding myself of my task here.
The moment I let him see that there is any part of this I like, I’ll lose.
He will take that as all the invitation he needs to keep me here.
I can already feel my freedom slipping away in my grasp, and I search for something, anything, that will give me a way out of this.
"I... what about my clothes?" I ask, plucking at the skirt I am wearing. "I can’t stay in these forever, can I?”
"I’ll send someone to your address to pick up your things," he replies.
"You already have my address?"
He doesn’t answer, and a wash of discomfort runs through me. This man knows so much about me, while I know next to nothing about him. Apart from the fact that he is locking me away in this room like some kind of prison warden.
"Just... just let me go," I stammer, taking a step towards him. I am distinctly aware of how close to the bed I am standing, though it isn’t like the last time we were together. No, I had climbed on top of him in that plane, wrapped myself around him, taken every inch of him into me. Now that I’m standing a little closer to him, I can almost feel the heat of that memory creeping up the back of my neck, the feel of his hands on my body all too vivid for my liking.
And, even if it’s just for a second, I am certain that he can feel it, too.
That thing between us, that thing that brought us together that night on the plane.
That thing that I try to hide behind my mask, but that comes leaking out of me whether I like it or not.
It might not be easy to put into words, but with us standing this close to each other, it was becoming hard to worry about something as silly as verbal communication.
"Your things will be here by the morning," he tells me calmly. And, with that, he makes a move for the door.
I know it’s petty, and I know it’s stupid. And I know I shouldn’t be trying to provoke this man when I know all too well that he’s the one with all the power in this situation. But I can’t help myself. Before I know what I’m doing, I lash out with something I know will sting.
"If you’re hoping that I’m going to have sex with you again now that I’m under the same roof as you, you’re mistaken."
That makes him stop in his tracks. For a second, he just stands there in the doorway, staring off into space.
At first, I think he hasn’t heard me. I don’t for a second intend to repeat what I said.
If I get away without him having caught on to that part, I will consider myself goddamn lucky, that’s for sure.
But then he turns slowly and closes the distance between us again, those steely gray eyes piercing through mine. I hold my ground, but it takes everything I have not to pull back from him.
"You already did," he reminds me.
And there it is, the thing that has been unspoken shattered on the ground between us.
The acknowledgment of the tryst that brought this situation into being in the first place, at least as far as he’s concerned.
Not just as a matter of fact, but as a matter of pleasure.
A matter of a memory neither of us can shake.
"This isn’t about sex, Rose," he continues, his voice dropping to a low, threatening tone that sends a shiver all the way through my system. "This is about taking care of my heir."
He reaches out to touch my belly, and I jump slightly when I feel his fingers brush against me even through the fabric of my sweater. He locks eyes with me for a moment, as though communicating his sincerity, and turns back and heads towards the door, pulling it shut behind him.
I sink to the edge of the bed, hands clenched into fists at my sides.
I don’t know what the fuck to do. I scrabble for my phone, but it blinks as soon as I pull it out of my bag, telling me that it’s out of battery.
Of course it is. Because that’s just my luck today.
Hell, if I didn’t think it sounded crazy, I would have said that Ilya was the one who ran it down somehow, given how much control he seems to have over this place.
I go to the wardrobe, pulling it open, and find a few pieces of clothing in my size. Pulling them out, I frown, wondering what they are doing here. Is there someone else around my size living here? There are still tags on some of these pieces, like they’ve been purchased brand new.
Did he get these for me? When he called that guy to tell him to get the room prepared, did that involve getting me a whole new wardrobe?
Oh my God. I run my hand over the fabric, trying to take it all in.
That means that he intends for me to stick around here for a good long while.
My mind drifts to the guards on the door, the way they have this place locked down.
If he doesn’t want me to leave, there isn’t a chance that I’m getting out.
I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself.
Whatever I am facing down now, I know I can find a way through it.
I just need to keep my head and make sure I don’t let him see me frightened.
I get to my feet and head to the bathroom to run some cold water over my wrists, maybe take a quick shower, something to put myself back together a little.
No doubt he’ll be back and wanting to talk later, and when that time comes, I intend to show him that he hasn’t rattled me.
I go to the wardrobe to pick out some clothes. If I wear something that he got me, then he will see that I am making the effort to adapt, right? It might not be easy, but I can figure out a way through this.
No matter how impossible it seems right now.