Chapter 12 Keira
TWELVE
KEIRA
Something is wrong.
Ewan is in a good mood, and that's setting off all the alarms in my head.
He laughs too easily at something one of the men says. Touches the back of my chair in a way that reads as affection to anyone watching. Every time I glance his way, he's already staring at me with those sharp, beady eyes of his, like he's in on a little secret I know nothing about.
Ewan has increased the number of guards since we got to Iceland.
The one stationed near the garden path isn't one of the regulars. He's got a blank face and stands like a statue, waiting for orders. I catalog it without looking directly at him. Scan the perimeter. Count exits. Mark who's armed and who's pretending not to be.
I make these small observations without thinking these days—have been for years. I suppose that comes with learning how to survive this type of life.
The Icelandic sun glints off the water beyond the cliff. White flowers dot the tables, and the embroidered linens smell like sea salt and citrus. So much dirty money surrounding us everywhere we go.
Across the lawn, Hale runs after a football with one of the junior guards, his hair a dark copper halo in the wind.
He trips, laughing as he jumps back up.
I love seeing him happy.
Ewan pours wine into my glass without asking.
"We should do this more often," he tells the table.
One of the wives leans toward me, a drunken smile already on her face. "The place is stunning, Keira. You're very lucky to live somewhere so remote and safe, with such a devoted husband."
My body recoils on its own whenever I hear the word husband.
"Yes, very much so." I sip the wine to stop myself from laughing.
Hale glances over and waves both arms, bright and oblivious. I wave back, blowing him a kiss.
Under the table, Ewan's hand slides onto my knee.
My whole body wants to jolt, but I force myself to stay still. Almost unfazed as his fingers press down. A silent reminder of ownership.
As if I could ever forget.
I bite the inside of my cheek as he tightens his grip.
No one else seems to notice as he goes on about supply chains and material shortages.
The men nod. The women laugh at nothing. The guards stand straighter than they need to.
Every part of this day is a performance.
Why did he even throw this party? I thought we were supposed to be lying low. That's why he moved us to a different country in the middle of nowhere.
"Smile," Ewan murmurs, eyes still on his guests. His thumb presses into the inside of my leg, right where the nerves are thin. "We're celebrating."
Like I give a fuck.
My hand settles over his, and to anyone watching it may look affectionate.
But I'm trying to pry his fingers loose.
He won't let me, his grip digging in instead. He wants me to react. Wants me to give him a reason to punish me later when no one's looking. A quiet war fought in pressure and restraint, invisible to everyone else.
He turns to me with a smile that never reaches his eyes. Something dead floats behind them.
So I stop fighting, honing in on the pain while drinking my wine to keep the scream lodged where it belongs.
By the time dessert is cleared, the sky has turned a soft hue of orange and the guests filter out in clusters. Cars idle at the end of the driveway, and a helicopter whirs somewhere in the distance.
Ewan presses a cold kiss to my temple. "See that everyone leaves without issue. I have an important meeting to get to. Then go rest. You've been pale today."
He leaves as I thank everyone for coming. The women all say the same thing, and the men barely look at me. When the last car drives away, I close the door and head straight to the one place I can breathe.
Hale's room.
I pause when I notice his door is wide open. It's never open unless he's with me.
"Hale?"
He's not here, but his bed is perfectly made, same as this morning. Dinosaur sheets smoothed flat. No socks on the floor. No crayons scattered across the desk. The football he was playing with earlier sits in the corner, and the clothes I put him in this morning are in the laundry basket.
"Hale?" I call out, louder this time.
A housemaid appears in the doorway clutching folded towels. She's new and very young. Ewan likes to rotate staff deliberately, never allowing anyone time to learn too much about us.
"Do you know where my son is?"
Her eyes drop to the floor. "I—I'm not sure."
"It's okay, you can tell me." I touch her shoulder, smiling.
"Mr. Calder had him taken to Mr. Eriksson's cottage." She swallows. "For a change of scenery. He'll be staying overnight to enjoy the lake."
I don't know the Erikssons at all—we just met. All I know is they live near a large body of water, and Hale can't swim.
He's only five and has never been anywhere overnight without me.
No one told me he was leaving. I didn't get to kiss him goodbye or help him grab his things. Did she pack for him?
The maid looks up at me quickly before dropping her eyes again. She's scared, maybe regretting telling me anything in the first place.
"Who took him?"
"Mr. Eriksson and one of the guards. He'll be back in the morning, Mrs. Calder."
I hate that name.
"Don't call me that."
"I'm sorry." She flinches and runs out of the room, towels still in hand.
I stand in the doorway of my son's empty room, counting my breaths.
One. Two. Three.
I want to be with Hale.
Ewan never lets him go anywhere without a reason, not unless he's planning on hurting me. If he sent him away, it's because he doesn't want him in the house tonight.
My hands start to shake.
I press them flat against my thighs until my nails bite skin.
My heart is pounding so hard I feel it thumping all over my body.
Four. Five. Six.
I can't stop my hands from shaking.
I sink down onto Hale's bed—dinosaur sheets smooth and cool beneath me—and press my palms over my mouth, praying to god I can keep the sound in.
This isn't happening.