Chapter 22 - Blanche
Chapter twenty-two
“Are you sure we should be here? I know you said your parents are in France—”
“Monaco.”
“What?”
“They aren’t in France. They’re in Monaco. Imagine France, but more pretentious. Tax loopholes, yachts, de-throned European royalty with no money but centuries-old tiaras. Ghastly. But I promise you, they’re gone.”
We continue up the drive, a beautiful house coming into view. It’s what I expected for a family like the Sinclairs, but as stunning as it is, it lacks warmth. At least from the outside, it looks like a stoic, business-first home, and I tell him so.
“Yeah, my father hates flowers, so the landscaping has always been stark, which doesn’t help. But if you think this is bad…just wait until I take you inside.”
It’s worse than he lets on. The bones of the house are lovely, with hints of grand woodwork and high ceilings. But the word I would use to describe it now is garish.
Henry stops us in the foyer as he mutters under his breath about even more chrome.
“The interior is the result of his yearly midlife crisis, maybe five years ago. A harpy of an interior designer caught his attention at a business convention, and convinced him that a truly modern businessman would live in a home covered in chrome, with mirrors everywhere so he could keep an eye on everyone at events.”
I don’t think there’s a single drop of color in any of the rooms I can see from where we’re standing near the front door. Even the bulbs in the light fixtures seem to emit a colder-than-usual glow.
“She ended up with a massive check to renovate it all, of course, and she struck a nerve telling Father he wasn’t modern enough.
That man would rather be anything but old, and he loves nothing more than the flattery of a younger woman.
So now this is what we’re left with. A white wasteland, as my mother likes to call it.
She doesn’t really spend enough time here to care, though. ”
The practiced detachment in his tone is only there for a moment, and I realize I don’t really know much at all about what kind of life little Henry would have had running these halls. Based on everything I do know…I doubt it was very carefree.
“Well, it’s nice to see where you grew up. It looks like some of the original features are still peeking out in some places. Some of the carved mantel pieces through that archway seem to have avoided the white paint?”
“Ah, yes, that marble was deemed modern enough and allowed to stay. Let me show you…”
The next two hours are spent exploring every nook and cranny of the grand house, Henry coming alive bit by bit as he shares secrets of a childhood that did have at least some whimsy.
A narrow hallway behind the butler’s pantry, a fake wall in the closet of what was his upstairs playroom.
The house warms with his stories of playing hide-and-seek with the staff, and by the time we’re walking outside with a picnic lunch, he’s lighter than I’ve ever seen him.
“There are pocket doors hidden behind the sheetrock they’ve installed, and the original fixtures are all in either the basement or the attic. I think my mother is to thank for that. Father certainly won’t change his mind once it’s made up on an issue.”
The reminder of his father’s opinion of how Henry’s future should go lies heavy between us, but any reply I had is stolen from my lips by the scene in front of me.
A beautiful lake glitters in the sunlight.
Henry leads me to a wooden dock where we sit and unpack lunch.
It’s the most luxurious picnic I’ve ever had, complete with champagne, forks, and knives.
We make small talk while we eat, and I can sense that Henry has almost had enough of opening up for one day.
“Are there fish in this lake?”
He looks at me quizzically. “I’m not sure. I assume so. I’ve never tried to catch any.”
“You’ve never fished in your own lake? That’s the whole point of a lake!”
“The whole point of this lake was to write it off as a nature reserve or some bullshit,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even sure if it’s legal.”
“If I hadn’t personally witnessed you commit multiple felonies, I might believe you.” I laugh, but his mood has darkened. “I could teach you to fish, you know. This is the kind of dock where you bring children and make memories. It’s too beautiful out here not to take advantage.”
I hate how small my voice is when I finish my thought.
“Regardless of whose children they end up being.”
Birdsong continues in the silence between us for just a moment, and when I meet Henry’s gaze, I gasp. Any hint of the whimsical man, reminiscing and soft thinking of a childhood gone by, is gone. The dark, sharp man I’ve been so enraptured by has returned tenfold.
I shriek as he pounces, the remnants of our lunch strewn about violently as he presses his entire weight onto me, a firm grip on my throat pinning me to the dock.
His chest heaves as he drinks in the smirk on my face and what must be lust in my eyes.
Sitting up, he drags me to the edge of the dock until my head and neck are over the edge, and thrusts me into the water.
This fucker.
I thrash and give him the fight he wants before he pulls me, gasping, from the lake.
“You asshole. I just washed my hair.”
The next plunge really pisses me off, and I manage to connect my heel with his shin. This time, when he pulls me out, I’m scratching like a hellcat to avoid being dunked again, but he’s so much stronger than I am. He shakes me by the shoulders as if trying to make me understand.
“They’ll only ever be yours. Do you understand me? Do not ever…”
He takes in a ragged breath, jaw clenching so hard as he collects himself that I worry that he’ll crack a molar. When he continues, it’s barely a whisper, but with no less conviction.
“Do not ever think or speak that thought into existence ever again.” He pushes me down to the dock again, lying on me with his full weight and cradling my face in his hands, squeezing my temples.
“We may have our fun, and others might come and go, but all your babies are mine, Blanche. There isn’t another woman on earth strong enough to bear my children. It’ll only ever be you.”
I angle my hips up, hoping he’ll take me right here and make good on his promise, but instead, he sits back on his haunches and cracks his neck.
“Do you remember the hallway on the second floor with the double doors that we didn’t explore?”
Asking me questions about the layout of his childhood home while I’m freshly drowned and desperately horny is diabolical, even for him.
“Uh. I think so?”
“Prove it. Run. If you beat me there, I’ll reward you. If I catch you first, I’ll show you my secret section of the basement.”
He must notice that I heavily consider taking the basement option because he leans in to threaten me softly.
“It’s not a fun basement, sweetheart. Not for you, anyway.
Besides, don’t you want to christen the owner’s suite?
It’ll be ours before you know it. You can lie on your back and think of how you want to paint the ceiling, then we can see what you think about the softness of the carpet. ”
My brain catches up to what he’s saying, and I rise, pulling off my shoes and preparing for the journey back to the house.
“If you’re a very good girl for me, I’ll make sure the staff don’t change the sheets before my father returns.”
God, he’s sick. And I must be too, because deep within me, in the darkest corner of my heart, a long gray ember faintly glows red. I’m afraid I might be falling for Henry Sinclair, and I know if I fall, there will be no way out.