Chapter 21
Sabine
By noon,I’ve showered, brooded to the point of self-loathing, and paced the bedroom so many times my feet hurt.
I’m wearing the clothes I was “gifted”—a baggy gray hoodie, a pair of even baggier mom jeans, and a pair of flannel slip-on house shoes I found in the closet. Although I look like a fourteen-year-old boy, I feel marginally better. Definitely more confident than in the red minidress I plan to burn the second I get out of here.
I hid the photo of Astor’s wife in the bedside drawer. I can’t look at the woman whose husband I just kissed, even if she’s no longer around. And I’m still uneasy about the whole thing. I’m certain the photo wasn’t on the table last night. So, how did it get there?
Bottom line, I have to get out of this damn room before I lose my mind.
On a whim, I try the doorknob. It’s unlocked. Someone must have unlocked it while I was showering.
For a second, I consider making a run for it, but then remember that I have no phone, credit cards, or vehicle, and also that there is a thunderstorm raging outside.
Astor unlocked my door; I’m sure of it. Rage and regret, and all that guilt. So, I take this as an open invitation to look around my new prison.
Sheets of rain slash against the windows as I make my way down the hallway. The house is quiet with not a single light on.
Where is everyone?
Despite the ominous atmosphere, I am in awe of my surroundings.
I press my palm against the sweeping windows that line the great room. The pane is cool and an outline of condensation forms around my hand.
The view of the lake and mountains is exquisite in the daylight, even through the muted gray of the storm. Massive pine trees line a pebbled walkway that leads to a wooden staircase that disappears down a rocky cliff. Below is a large deck with a boat slip and a covered seating area with a full outdoor kitchen. The lake water is crystal clear, the bottom dotted with large moss-covered rocks.
At the top of the staircase, an American flag whips in the wind.
A patriotic man. Interesting.
Turning away from the window, I survey the room, zeroing in on a framed picture, then another, and another. An entire fireplace mantel of Astor’s late wife.
In the middle, a small white candle burns brightly. It’s the only light in the house.
I move from photo to photo, my stomach knotting tighter with each image. It’s a shrine to her, and it’s creepy as hell. In every photo, she is wearing the same half-heart pendant. There has to be at least a dozen pictures of her—only her. Astor is not in a single one of them.
Confused, I stare at the pictures, and for the first time, wonder how in love they were. After all, only a man who is madly in love with his wife would have so many photos of her everywhere. Am I stupid for thinking there was a genuine attraction between us? Or am I nothing but a rebound, an escape from the pain?
I turn away from the watchful eyes of his dead wife and follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Here I find Leo, the man who was standing guard when we arrived, and who later delivered a five-course meal to my room. He’s stocking the cabinets full of food.
“Oh.” I clear my throat, unsure if I’m allowed to speak. I’m not up to date on my prisoner/free-person protocol. “Hi.”
He slides me a glance. “Hey.”
Like last night, his expression is tight and hard, his demeanor rigid. He still has the five o’clock shadow, but today, his shaggy blond hair is slicked back, away from his face. Probably wet from the rain. He looks younger this way, and I wonder how close in age we are.
It would be far more appropriate for me to lust after Leo instead of his much-older boss. But then again, this alternate universe I’m suddenly living in is all Greek to me.
“Thank you for the food last night,” I say, daring to move deeper into the room.
“It was ordered to be done, so it was done.”
“By Astor?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank you anyway.”
Clearly not one for small talk, Leo continues his work as I take in the space around me.
The kitchen is double the size of my Vegas apartment. Thankfully, there are no pictures of Astor’s late wife in this room.
I take my time studying the lavish space, the marble countertops, the deep double sinks, the top-of-the-line appliances, the copper cookware hanging from the ceiling. I muse over all the wonderful dishes I could prepare in this kitchen, the hours I could spend in here cooking, listening to music, and drinking wine.
What a life Astor’s wife had.
Leo closes the cabinet. “There’s fresh fruit in the fridge, and the coffee is also fresh. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. Do you think it’s okay if I walk around?”
“I’ve not been told otherwise.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Astor and Cillian are taking a meeting in Astor’s office, and I’m not sure about Prishna. Have a good day.”
I regard him closely as he gathers the grocery sacks. I find it interesting that Leo doesn’t seem fazed that I am here, that his boss has kidnapped a woman and is keeping her hostage. I get the vibe that kidnapping is not the worst thing this man has seen.
After helping myself to fresh fruit, yogurt, and a delicious flaky croissant, I continue my stroll through Stone Manor, feeling much more clearheaded.
Next to my room are two massive wooden doors that I assume lead to the master bedroom, which I assume is Astor’s room. I’ve been wanting to peek inside ever since Cillian dumped me in the next room.
The door is cracked, and the room appears dark.
Cupping my hand to my mouth, I call out a gentle hello? When I get no response, I slowly push open the door.
The walls are filled with stunning artwork, pops of color against deep mahogany walls. Massive plush rugs run over gleaming hardwood floors. More windows, these showcasing the mountains instead of the lake. The focal point of the room is a king-sized four-poster bed bathed in alabaster white. Clean, slick, and sexy against the dark wood. The room is as impressive as the man himself.
I can smell him, and like Pavlov’s dog, respond. A million racy thoughts pummel my head.
I feel both exhilarated and nervous being in his space, knowing I’m getting an exclusive sneak peek into a notoriously private and mysterious man. My pace quickens with my wish to see as much of the room as possible before getting caught.
There are more framed photos in this room. His wife, once again, is everywhere.
Once again, staring into my soul. Once again, making me feel stupid for thinking Astor’s advance on me was anything more than an escape.
A sting of jealousy hits me hard and fast, and I almost laugh at how ridiculous I’m being.
The bathroom resembles mine, but larger. Marble, copper, and gorgeous. I open the vanity drawers and am surprised to see drugstore-brand skin and hair-care products. Billionaire Stone probably has unlimited access to the most luxurious brands, but he chooses the least high-maintenance products available. I find this endearing.
I notice that there are no female products anywhere.
The rest of the drawers are much of the same, until I reach the last one.
I squat down and survey the dozen little brown prescription pill bottles. Sleeping pills, all prescribed to Astor. None appear to have been used, or even opened.
A tortured billionaire.
I consider slipping a few into my pocket, but I think better of it and decide to move to the closet. Astor’s clothes take up one-tenth of the space. A few suits, a few lounge outfits.
I smell them all.
At last, I come to a dubious door at the far side of the room. It’s locked. Frowning, I step back and study the unusually thin mahogany door. I know it doesn’t lead to the bathroom or the closet, so, where? I try the knob again, this time twisting hard. The door doesn’t budge.
I snoop for keys but find none.
Fisting my hands on my hips, I chew my lower lip and study the lock. Suddenly, nothing in my life is more important than seeing what’s behind that door.
A very, very bad decision.