56. The Ghost
The Ghost
On a weekend where my Mallary has no obligations, I spirit her away from the city.
The temperatures are beginning to rise. Each morning, a heavy fog blankets the city until the cars score their way through. The penthouse is over fifty stories high, completely surrounded by clouds some days. Up there, we have our own little world. No one to disturb us. Just the way I like it.
While she dozes off in my arms one evening, I get a message on the smart phone I was all but forced to purchase—I needed a way to keep track of her at all times once we escaped the bounds of the manor.
But it’s finally time to return where I truly belong.
I don’t sleep much, running my fingers through her hair, basking in the feeling of her heart beating against mine. When the sky begins to turn a light shade of blue in the morning, I’m tempted to cancel my plans, keep her here, sink into her again.
She wakes when I kiss her. We share breath, being this close. Something else the mask hindered.
She never screamed because of the mask. She never screamed because of me. She’s the only one who dared linger long enough to uncover what was beneath.
And now I’ve stepped into her world. I can dwell amongst the living if it means I can be by her side, every moment of every day.
I’m up and preparing her morning tea before she’s done rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Hibiscus tea with honey. She started drinking it once she moved into the penthouse with Henri. Her new morning ritual.
The sweet scent of the tea, the calm air of the morning—a few bars of a melody spins in my head, jumping around like butterfly wings.
This pleasantness is almost alarming. I didn’t know the quiet could be so enjoyable, not until the first time I spent the night lying next to her. This kind of quiet doesn’t mean I am alone.
She sidles up next to me, her hair mussed. “Did you sleep?”
I hum in answer, sliding the warm cup over to her.
“Bastien.” She frowns.
“I have a surprise for you,” I say. “Will you indulge me?”
She sips her tea, eyeing me warily over the rim of her cup. “Depends.”
“A little day trip. We’ll be back by nighttime. If you want.”
“Hmm.” She softens a little. “I think I could use a day outside of the city.”
I kiss her forehead. “I’ll call the car.”
She doesn’t know where we’re headed, and that’s what makes waiting for her reaction that much sweeter.
She falls asleep again, drooling on my shoulder. It’s so endearing I can’t even be mad. Only once we pull up to the gate and she begins to get her bearings does she realize—
We’re back home.
At Beauchene manor.
“Baz. Why are we…?”
“You’ll see.”
The driver takes us up the long winding drive. I thought coming back would feel like placing shackles back on my wrists. Like stepping into a cage and pulling the door shut behind me.
But it doesn’t.
Because Beauchene manor is mine. Not Leo’s, not Mariane’s. Not my useless uncle’s. And not Henri’s, either.
Mine.
I own my cage. I am now its master.
And Mallary is here by my side.
The three months I spent on the periphery of her life, I realized that without her, I likely never would have gotten out. I’d still be rotting in my solitude, goading Leo, hoping one day he’d raise his fist again and give me a reason to resort to violence. Mallary was my reason.
Leo and Mariane knew that when their next tutor came to the estate, another death was soon to occur. They just didn’t know they were the victims this time.
My hand tightens around hers as the car pulls up to the front of the house. The same gray exterior, the copper gutters shining in the summer sun.
“It didn’t burn down?” Mallary’s brown eyes are wide with shock.
“No.”
“It was just them, right?” Her whole body tenses.
“What, you haven’t kept up with your little friends?” My other hand grips her jaw. “My selfish muse. No, the house was evacuated. If anyone else died, it was not because of me.”
She glances toward the driver. There’s no partition, he can hear everything.
In a few moments, the car is parked. It takes her a second to get her bearings. Her hand is wrapped around mine the whole time. I am patient.
Maxim waits at the front door with Ms. Byrne, just like I told them to. Desmond is missing—likely trying to see how much defiance I will allow.
“Miss Doyle, Mr. Beauch—”
With a wave of my hand Maxim stops talking. Ms. Byrne’s never looked so amiable. Both of them are clearly happy I am here.
“No need for all that. I’ve come to see how the house is coming along. I’ve been told it’s nearly done.” I intertwine my fingers with Mallary’s and lead her through the threshold.
“Of course. Bastien,” Maxim says. “Welcome home.”