Chapter 30
Sabine
The moment the sun rises,I am showered, dressed, and striding down the hallway, creepy headless doll in hand.
Today’s fashion-forward outfit includes (another) pair of baggy jeans (rolled at the ankles so not to trip over the hem), granny panties, and a white cashmere sweater. The sweater is rather nice, which leads me to believe Prishna included it by accident.
As usual, the lake house is eerily quiet. No television, no music, no voices, hardly any lights on.
I pass the kitchen, ignoring the pull of fresh coffee because I am on a mission. I bang on the door at the end of the hallway.
No answer.
I bang again.
“Prishna! It’s Sabine. Open up. We need to talk.”
Still nothing.
I turn the handle, surprised when the door drifts open. It was unlatched. “Prishna?”
The lights are off, and the bed is made. A small rolling suitcase lies on the floor, next to a pair of black ballerina flats.
I think I hear something on the opposite end of the house, maybe a door shutting, so I backtrack, veering into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I’ll have to confront her later. It’s not like I have much else to do.
The bay windows frame a stunning sunrise. Beams of fuchsia, yellow, and orange spear up from the mountains like a postcard.
I set the doll on the counter. “Stay put,” I say to it mockingly, then beeline it to the coffeepot.
I’ve just added creamer to my mug when Leo steps into the room, startling me. Everyone in this house walks like a damn cat. I wonder if “no noise” is one of Astor’s rules.
“Morning.” Leo joins me next to the coffeepot to refill his mug.
“Morning.” I take a step back, giving him space. He looks much like yesterday, his hair slicked back, wearing khaki tactical pants and a T-shirt. But today, streaks of dirt color his arms, and his boots are caked with mud. He’s been outside. Doing what, I wonder?
“Do you know where Prishna is?” I ask.
Leo shrugs, screws on the lid, dips his chin, and disappears down the hall.
Huh.
For a moment, I consider following him, but something outside catches my eye.
At the bottom of the sloped backyard, Astor is standing at the edge of the deck, his back to me. Ahead of him, the rising sun reflects in the lake, long streaks of light swaying gently on the ripples. I watch as Astor strips out of his T-shirt, revealing a chiseled, tanned back and shoulders that look like twin bowling balls. His wide chest fades to a trim, lean waist. I don’t need to check to confirm that a six-pack is on the other side.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. If there is one thing I can count on, it’s that Astor gets sexier every time I see him.
I lick my lips as he slips out of his jeans and kicks them to the side. In nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, he drops from the deck and wades into the crystal-clear water.
I’ve never wanted to be a fish so badly. Or ever, really.
After nimbly crossing the large mossy rocks, Astor dives into the abyss.
I notice the outdoor thermostat—48 degrees Fahrenheit. The water must be colder than that.
His strokes are long and fast, and I find myself studying the ripples his body makes in the water. Small at first, then bigger and bigger.
I compare myself to that water. Static and complacent until Astor barges into my life with all his mystery and arrogance. And then, just like the water, I am altered in a way that I am unable to stop. Unable to control.
As I watch the ripples, I wonder if, much as the water does, I should simply give in to it.
Astor fades out of sight. Swimming laps, I assume. Probably a billion—like his bank account.
Sipping my coffee, I consider my own body and wonder what he thinks of it. Is it good enough for him? Am I good enough for him?
Stop, Sabine. Push away the poisonous thoughts. My body is just fine. No man will make me think otherwise. Not even a ripped superhero like Astor Stone.
I sigh and turn to the doll on the counter. “You probably cut off your own head, didn’t you? Years living with a man like that would make any woman go crazy. I get it, girl.”
I make my way into the living room, wondering what today will bring. Wondering what tonight will bring. The memory of Astor watching me climax sends a rush of heat through my body. I’m afraid that whatever this man does to me, whoever I am with him, is going to become very addictive.
My thoughts shift to the shrine of Astor’s wife on the mantel. The woman who, although dead, has a very prominent place in this house.
I study each photo again, and the half-heart pendant necklace she wears in all of them. A gift from Astor? One of many, probably.
I’m envious.
Shelanded him.
Shegot him to marry her.
Shebore him a child.
I pick up a picture of her in profile, smiling into the sunset.
What was it about her that Astor was drawn to?
There’s no mistaking how different she and I are. While my hair is as black as a raven’s wing, hers was as white as snow. While I’m curvy, she was skinny—very skinny. I’m tall, she was small. Even her smile was perfect, like she spent her entire childhood practicing it. Mine, on the other hand, looks manic half the time.
Astor’s late wife was a trophy wife—and this is why I’ll never be his.
“She’s prettier than you are.”
I startle, sloshing the piping-hot coffee onto my hand. I spin around to see Prishna standing too close to me. I didn’t even hear her come in.
The sunlight streaming through the window shimmers on the burns on the side of her face.
“Yes,” I say, swallowing the knot in my throat and regaining composure. “You’re right; I agree with you. She is prettier than me.”
“You’ll never replace her.”
“What makes you think I’m trying to?”
“I can see it in the way you look at him.”
“He’s a hard man not to admire ... I’m sure you’ve noticed too, Prishna.”
“I told you to call me ma’am.”
“I’m not calling you ma’am.”
We glower at each other, two alpha females in love with the same man, while the one who actually got him is forever memorialized in the framed picture that’s clutched between my fingers.
“What was her name?” I slide the picture back onto the mantel.
“Valerie.”
“How long were they married?”
“They still are.”
“What?”
“Not even death could separate them. They were madly in love, Miss Hart. And he still is, with her.” Prishna nods to the candle. “He lights this candle, just for her.”
Helights it. A sick feeling rolls over me.
“He cries out for her in his sleep,” she says, the words drilling into my heart. “But you wouldn’t know that, and you never will. Because Astor never allows his whores to stay in his bed with him.”
Bitch.
I pluck the headless doll from the counter. “Why did you leave this in my room last night?”
Her brows arch, and she appears surprised. Slowly, the anger drains from her face. She clears her throat and deflects from the question.
“It’s not your room.” She takes a step back.
“Correct. It’s the room I’m being held prisoner in. Cut the bullshit, Prishna. Why are you messing with me?”
“I’m not.”
“You didn’t leave this creepy doll on my pillow?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
She takes another step back. Is she scared? Am I sensing fear in her?
I step forward. “Who did this?”
She looks down the hallway, toward Astor’s office.
“Astor?” I scoff. “Did Astor do this? Why would he?”
“I didn’t say that. But Astor controls everything in the house. If you weren’t so blind, you’d see that. I need to go.”
“No.” I advance, desperate for more information. “They had a child, didn’t they? Astor and his wife, Valerie?”
Prishna grunts and turns away.
“And she’s dead, right? Their daughter is dead, right? How? How did it happen?”
Did Valerie wreck the baby’s room? Driven mad by the grief of losing a child?
Prishna spins around, her gaze turning to ice. “Yes. She’s dead, just like her mother. This family is cursed, Miss Hart. The less you know, the better.”
Family.
I grab her arm. “Talk to me, dammit. What happened to their little girl?”
“That’s none of your business,” she snaps, yanking her arm away.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“Because you’re ignorant,” she spits out over her shoulder as she stomps away.
I follow, though my head is telling me to let it go. “Of all the things I’ve been called in my life, ignorant is not one of them, trust me.”
“You think you can make him love you.” She turns around again, her face flushed. “Hear me, stupid woman. He loves her. Only her. When Astor finally gets sick of toying with you, you will be forgotten the instant you leave his sight. He does not care about you, not in the way that you wish he would, and he will never care about anyone like he did his wife.”
“No one would care if you left ...”Astor’s words echo in my head.
“You are nothing, Miss Hart,” Prishna growls. “Nothing to him.”
With that final jab, she storms out of the room.
My heart pounds as I watch her walk away.
I feel like a fool, I feel uneasy, I feel a little scared, I feel like I want to run.
No ... I feel like I want to cry.
The moment I get back to my room, Cillian appears in the doorway, all brooding and intimidating like his boss.
My eyes are red and I’m sure my face is flushed, but luckily I hadn’t allowed myself to cry—yet.
Cillian frowns at the headless doll in my hand, then at the sweater I’m wearing.
I shake the doll. “Do you know who left this in my room last night?”
“You shouldn’t have that.”
“No shit! I don’t want it! But someone put it here—along with pictures of Astor’s wife, and as if that’s not enough, I’ve been hearing whispers in the hallway.”
He is stoic, wholly unconcerned and unaffected by my current emotional state. “I don’t know why anyone would do that,” he says simply.
I snort, then bark out a maniacal laugh. “Okay, well, it must be the Stone Manor ghost, then.”
“Astor has requested your presence at dinner tonight. Seven o’clock.”
“Has he?”
“Yes. He also wanted me to inform you of the electric fence.”
“What electric fence?”
“The one that would have likely killed you if you’d made it to the top yesterday.”
“The fence is electric?”
“Only the top.”
I shake my head. “Bastard.”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“So, in other words, he told you to tell me not to even think about trying to escape like I did last night when I was supposed to be having dinner with him.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “What else did he say?”
“My Catholic upbringing forbids me to repeat it.”
I snort, then fist my hands on my hips. “Well, what am I supposed to do until then? There are no televisions in this place, and I don’t have a phone or a computer.”
Cillian glances outside. “It’s going to be a nice day. Supposed to hit sixty degrees. Maybe go outside, take a walk. But stay away from?—”
“The electric fence. I got it, I got it.” I look over my shoulder and nod. “Maybe I’ll grab a book from the library and read by the lake.”
“Whatever.”
“Hey, Cillian,” I ask as he turns away. “What’s on the king of the castle’s agenda today?”
“He’ll be in his office all day. As usual.”
“Where is his office?”
“Adjacent to the library.”
“Is it protected by electricity too?”
“Depends on his mood.” He turns again.
“Cillian?”
“Yeah?”
“I mean this with all due respect, but ... what the hell is wrong with your boss?”
Instead of the chuckle I thought I’d get, Cillian narrows his eyes. “Be careful not to judge someone without having walked in their shoes, Miss Hart.”
I shrink, feeling like I’ve been reprimanded by my father. “One more question.”
“What?” He sighs.
“How long does Astor plan on keeping me here?”
This time, Cillian hesitates, avoiding eye contact.
Finally, he says, “About twenty-four more hours, Miss Hart.”