Chapter Fifteen
When the world comes into focus, I’m lying in a massive California King in a sunny bedroom. The four-poster bed is like something from a fantasy catalog. Ornately carved and gilded spindles ascend and stretch gauzy white material overhead.
A bit extravagant, but it isn’t a dungeon, so I surmise this is some type of upscale hotel.
Perhaps a bed and breakfast?
Light streams through the shears and makes me wince when I peer in that direction.
My limbs are heavy, but I don’t think I’m hurt.
Well, my female parts are sore, but that’s less of an unknown cause.
Smooth silk slides over my skin. The drawstring pants and short-sleeve button down shirt is blue with white piping on the edge.
Wait, did I change hotels again?
No. I ran from Wick, but I don’t remember picking this place. Maybe when the dick is that good, it causes memory loss.
I stretch and sit up in the bed. My purse and bag are neatly arranged on a dresser across the room, so I know I’ve escaped. I must have gone back for the rest of my stuff.
Hot coffee would do me wonders. I’ll splurge on breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant, and it’ll come back to me.
Board and batten circle the room, with a pretty pale yellow floral pattern from shoulder height up. It reminds me of one of my favorite designs. I worked with the designer for weeks to plan and perfect a compound for a visiting monarch.
There’s a soft knock on the wide double doors. Instantly, I freeze. There’s no reason for someone at my door.
The gentle knock comes again.
“Who is it?” I call hesitantly.
“Gerard, ma’am,” a wizened voice replies from the other side of the door. “The butler. When you’re ready, there’s breakfast in the main dining room.”
Breakfast in the main dining room? I must’ve really gone all out. Wick can’t be far behind. For my last day of freedom, I’m not surprised I’d have blown the last of my reserves.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I tell him.
“Very good, ma’am. If I can be of any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you!”
I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not staying. I should really be on my way.
But... I can see the bathroom from where I’m sitting and the shower alone is heavenly. The bathroom has a blend of green and yellow plants that love humidity, and the glass shower area is doorless and crisscrossed with a black enameled grid.
I’ll have a quick breakfast, enjoy a relaxing shower, and then run again. Maybe I’ll find Violet.
Violet!
I leap off the bed and streak across the room to snatch my purse. The contents scatter as I upend the entire thing onto the floor.
My phone is dead. Completely and utterly dead. Shit. Poor Violet. She’s probably worried sick. I plug it in and quickly dress.
The device still hasn’t flashed on by the time I’m ready to go down for food, so I figure I’ll bring my breakfast up.
When I crack the door, there’s nothing amiss on the other side. An understated hallway lined with plush, bone-hued carpets is fancier than any hotel I’ve ever been in. It doesn’t even look worn. They must have to replace them bi-monthly to keep them that pristine.
I briskly walk toward an open area at the end of the hall then down an opulent staircase. People in demure cream uniforms pass.
I follow the smell of bacon, coffee, and pastries to a room on the other side of the lobby, where I can see a large dining table at the center.
This must be some kind of boutique hotel. There can’t be more than a dozen rooms, so it makes sense that everyone eats together like some super-premium bed-and-breakfast.
A sideboard holds every manner of pastry, cheese, and breakfast protein imaginable. Fruits are cut into intricate flowers, and an entire boat is made from half a watermelon. I take one of the China plates and graze over the options.
The pastries remind me of Marni’s signature style, although I’ve never known them to put exotic fillings in the scones. I pluck one from the stack and make a mental note to tell them about this. Maybe they can start supplying the hotel.
There is no way I have any money left after this place. Go big, then go home, I guess.
The smell of crisp, salty bacon and fresh coffee encourages me to savor my last meal instead of immediately running upstairs.
Another guest hasn’t moved from his seat at the head of the table. He’s reading the paper, but he never looks up at me. It’s just as well; I can’t be memorable.
I thankfully make it through my breakfast with only the sound of my thoughts and the periodic swish as the pages of the newspaper turn. Small talk with a stranger sounds like torture right now.
Mostly, I contemplate my next move.
I’ll need to message Wick.
For the second time this week, I feel like absolute garbage for running away.
I turn it over in my head a million times during breakfast.
He had to have known where I was. After all, he was calmly waiting in my room.
He let me have a night out.
Even if I spent it mindlessly wandering, he let me go. He’d known when I’d returned. He’d have swarmed the area with guards to find me.
He had to have, and he told them to leave me alone.
My spoon scrapes against the inside of the coffee cup while I stir the now-tepid liquid and think through what that means.
Because if Wick is coming around, maybe I won’t be trapped in the basement at all.
Rustling at the other end of the table breaks me out of my mental wandering.
The newspaper falls flat on the table.
...and Wickham Barrett glares at me from his chair.
Wickham
Annie hasn’t said a single word since she came into the dining room.
You’d think it perfectly obvious where we are, but she hasn’t spoken to me, and she doesn’t seem nervous.
She’s a little tentative, sure, but she barely glanced at me or gave a moment’s consideration to Marni’s pastry spread. I had them deliver it early this morning so my mate would have her comforts of home.
It’s the same reason I let her sleep alone in our bed last night. I want her to acclimate.
She’s used to being on her own, and I’d hoped it would ease the transition.
Mussed, dark hair is piled into a top knot, and it’s so fucking sexy. Her sleepwear fits perfectly on that curvaceous body. Seeing her here, in my house, in my clothes, eating my food fires my need for her through the roof.
Brilliant blue eyes snap to me at the end of the table. They widen in shock, then tighten. Her gaze slides to the door then back to me.
Hell fucking NO.
If she thinks she can escape, she’ll be sorely mistaken. The house sits on 120 acres on the outskirts of the city. Even if she makes it to the driveway, it’s a very long run to the main road.
Tilting my head at her, I raise a brow to convince her not to overreact.
But of course she doesn’t listen.
Plates and silverware clatter as she tosses her fork and knife onto the table. She rams a knee into the leg of the table and curses before limping through the open door.
Fucking endearing.
When I head out to the hall, my phone in my hand, texting Gerard to clear the staff from the second floor, I catch a glimpse of my mate cresting the stairs and scurrying down the hall.
She’s quick, I’ll give her that.
And it’s fun watching that thick ass run from me.
There’s no point in hurrying after her. Her options are limited, and I know where she’s going. She’s not going to leave without her wallet and cell phone.
My Annie might be unreasonable and prone to anxiety, but stupid she is not.
When I reach the top of the stairs, a door slams in the distance. Rustling and a scraping sound follow, which means she damaged our wallpaper to slide the reclining couch in front of the door.
Sighing, I check to see if she’s sent an SOS message to Vi. I probably could have cloned Annie’s phone while she was out, but I already felt bad for sedating her. My mate likes her independence, and that seemed like an invasion of privacy even I shouldn’t cross.
Plus, I cloned her best friend’s phone, and who else would she message?
I already updated Violet on Annie’s whereabouts this morning, and Vi hasn’t stormed my house yet, so I’m willing to wager she’s more on my side at this point than Annie’s.
When I reach our bedroom door, she’s still audibly scrambling around in the other room. There’s a thump on the floor, and she curses. I have this image of her falling on her thoroughly bitable ass while changing.
My rap on the door with my knuckles is light. I can’t do this angry. She’ll sense it.
“Are you going to let me into my own room, or do I need to break down my door?” I ask. I keep my tone metered, but fail at preventing exhaustion from seeping through.
“Why am I here?” she asks.
“This is where we live.”
“This is where you live.”
“You live where I do. We can try living at your apartment, but my new condo in the city is eight times the size and much better appointed.”
She sucks in several breaths and seems to calm.
My heart races while I wait for her to react.
On the other side of the wood, something is yanked from a plug, and then a cascade of pings surge through. She curses, softly this time, and I check the mirroring app for Violet’s phone.
As I open it, an alert notifies me that Annie’s GPS has pinged here at the house.
My mate is smart, but naive.
“Now that you’ve messaged Vi, will you let me in?” I ask.
“How do you know that?” she shrieks, the wood muffling the volume.
“First of all, I can hear the message alerts, and there’s only one person you’d be talking to.”
“I could have a backup plan.”
“You don’t. Violet already knows you’re here. If you’re hoping she’ll sweep you away, you’ll be waiting a while.”
“You don’t know my best friend.”
I harrumph at that. Violet and I have become quite acquainted through my daily updates.
“And the second?” she asks.
“I cloned her phone,” I admit.
Her brain audibly ticks over that fun little factoid. Blood vessels must be imploding in her brain. I need to get into the room before she spirals again. She’s being much calmer than I expected, but this could easily set her off.
Granted, restraining her would probably be counterproductive.
I want to convince her she’s safe with me.
I’ve come a long way the last few weeks too.
I’d do anything to keep her happy.
If my mate needs some space, I can swallow the agony and allow it.
“And exactly how long has this been happening?” she prods.
“Since I replaced it.”
“The entire time I’ve been gone.”
“Yes.”
Moments of irate silence pass, her breathing so loud, it comes through the door.
“You are unbelievable! She is entitled to her privacy!”
“I only read her messages with you.”
“THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT BETTER, WICKHAM . . . WICK . . . ”
There’s a heavy pause, and I’m certain she’s thinking over how best to scream at me.
“What is your middle name?” she barks, as if the question is an accusation.
“Liam.”
“WICKHAM LIAM BARRETT, HOW DARE YOU!”
“I’m coming in,” I grunt.
“DON’T YOU DARE!”
More rustling and angry stomping ensues as she paces around the room. I retrieve the metal pick I left on top of the door frame for just this circumstance.
Metal scrapes as I pop the lock, and then the left door swings outward into the hall. The right door swings with it, and I have to dodge the couch she shoved under the handle. She didn’t realize that the door opens out and not in, even though she’s been through it twice.
It’s concerning that she’s so thrown off.
When I examine her, the disheveled ponytail and rumpled clothes are a contrast for my methodical mate. Annie doesn’t like being uncouth. Even on the run, she was studious in her appearance.
I rush over to her, hoping to wrap her in my arms to comfort her.
And myself.
This has been so much more trying than I thought.
But before I can reach her, she steps away with hands out.
“I am leaving,” she informs me.
“You cannot run from me again.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I please.”
“You’re scaring the staff.”
“They’re used to much worse from you.”
I grimace at her, but before I can respond, the front doors downstairs loudly burst open.
“WHERE IS MY BEST FRIEND?” Violet hollers.
Fucking damn it, she came.
Annie snatches her purse from the bed, circles around me, and dashes for the door.
I eat up the distance behind her and catch up, but I realize with my hand out to grab her that I’m doing this all wrong.
If I snatch her, haul her backward and force her into our room, every fear she has about me will be realized.
The epiphany is painful.
Because I have to let her go.
If I restrain my Annie, it’ll only make her hate me for real.
I can’t just let her wander around. She’s critical. Vital. There is no part of me that’ll let her out into the world without protection.
But it takes the distance from the bedroom door to the bottom of the stairs to realize that for at least a little while, that can’t be me.
And it aches. The pain is a very real, writhing mass in my chest. The urge to bond with her wails, but I chain it away.
It hurts now, but it will hurt far worse if she rej—if she refuses me.
I don’t want to hurt her either.
The idea of her looking back at me with fear and true disdain is unbearable.
I trail her down to the front door but stop her before she leaves.
“I’m letting you go,” I tell her softly.
She stops mid-stride, as if my words have halted time.
“You’re going to let me leave,” she comments, her tone tight and incredulous.
“It’ll hurt. If you need that, I can do it. I’ll be waiting here for you when you’re ready.”
Please be ready soon.
I eye Violet past her, and her shoulders slump.
That’s right, Violet. I’m a possessive asshole, but I also love her. If she needs time, I’ll give it, even if the thought gives me physical pain.
Damn it, I love her.
Vi seems to grasp all of that without my saying it.
“I’m not coming back.”
My Annie stutters through the words, and even I know she doesn’t mean it. It’s a lonely ray of hope in an otherwise-nightmarish darkness.
“I’ll be here if you change your mind.”
We both know you will.
She turns to leave, but before she can, I add one more request.
“Don’t change the phone. Please,” I say.
She doesn’t respond, but there’s the barest nod, and I know it’ll have to do.
And my Annie walks through my doors and out into the world.
Without me.