Chapter 6 – Genevieve
GENEVIEVE
All night I’m restless, thinking over everything ad nauseam.
I haven’t packed. I hardly know what to pack.
Twenty feet from me in the other room is a man I don’t know sleeping on my sofa, and I’m putting my life in his hands.
He’s dangerous. A criminal. Threatened both my body and my life.
I’ve lost my mind doing this with him, but I’m also resolute in it.
Maybe I’m stupid, but if he were going to kill or rape me, wouldn’t he have already?
My mother is downstairs, and if she ever found I left, well, I honestly have no clue what she’d do.
We didn’t talk much at dinner last night. She was quiet, and so was I. She told me she’d be back next Saturday, and we’d celebrate my birthday then, but I have to get up and have breakfast with her like nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.
I rise early, way before dawn, and take a shower. I don’t check on Rhys, but I hear him snoring lightly from the studio.
I climb into comfortable joggers and a tank top and pleat my hair into a braid.
I shove some clothes and things into a tote bag I used to use for art supplies, since that’s the only bag I have.
My hands are trembling, and my heart is already racing.
I’m terrified and exhilarated in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I go to creep downstairs when a leg swings out and catches me below the knee. “Untie me so I can use the restroom?”
“I’m going down to make breakfast.”
“Wonderful. If it’s half as good as your dinner was, I’m looking forward to it.”
I peer down at him, our eyes meeting in the dark, and silence stretches between us. It’s not a calm or comfortable silence. It’s tense and active, like a jittery volcano, anxious to erupt.
"I’m going to take you to your festival, princess. We made a deal, and I won’t back down. That necklace is too important to me.”
That catches me off guard. Not that he’d know where to find the necklace, but he’s a thief, and I have to imagine a good one if he’s gotten this far and managed to steal a necklace like the one I found. He could find the necklace in an hour or two. I’m sure of it.
“Suddenly you’re amicable and agreeable?”
“Two of my favorite A-words.”
I roll my eyes, and he smiles. It’s the sort of smile that does funny things to my insides. Uncomfortable things. Things that make me itchy and tingly and warm all at once.
“I’m not going anywhere, as you know. Lock me in if you want and take my knife with you, but when you return, bring food and, for the love of all things holy, coffee.”
I giggle at that. “I won’t be able to do that until after she leaves.”
“But I bet you’ll be worth the wait.”
It’s such an odd thing for him to say. Or perhaps it’s the way he says it. I don’t know, and I don’t intend to unpack it just now. I unloop the rope from around his wrists, wincing slightly at the red marks.
“There’s Arnica cream in one of the drawers in the bathroom.”
“For your aftercare?”
“My what?” I ask as I right myself.
“Never mind. I was teasing you. But why do you have it?”
I look away. I don’t want to answer him. For some reason, it embarrasses me.
“Does your mother hit you?”
I gulp. She hasn’t in a while, not in a few years at least, because I haven’t given her any reason to. But I’m about to change all that.
I clear my throat. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Without another word, I lock him in my bedroom, go down the spiral staircase, around the parlor and reading room to the kitchen.
I open the window to let in the cool air, heavy with the scent of flowers and herbs and morning dew.
Birds are just waking up, chirping their song.
I start the batter for cheddar and chive scones because they’re my mother’s favorites.
I fry up potatoes and ham and make a spinach, mushroom, and cheese frittata.
I get lost in the tedium, grateful for it. Everything in my life is about to change, and I don’t know how I’ll be able to come back to this after that. Part of me is almost hoping it’s everything Mother says it is. Because what will I do if it’s wonderful?
I hear her door open as I’m sitting at the kitchen table, looking out at the back garden, and sipping a cappuccino.
“You’re up bright and early,” she remarks, going straight for the little barista machine she has here. It’s top-of-the-line, or so she loves to tell me. It’s her Italian roots. Coffee is in our blood, and it’s one thing we perfectly agree on.
“I had trouble sleeping,” I explain.
“How come?”
“I don’t like fighting with you.” It’s the truth.
I don’t. I’m alone here ninety percent of the time, and when we fight, it makes my week even worse.
Plus, part of me wonders if I’ll see her again after this.
If I’m severing the only person in my life by being selfish and chasing something I know I shouldn’t.
She releases a sigh and sits beside me. “I don’t either. I reacted strongly. A lot of bad things have been happening all at once.”
“Your best friend? The one who died?”
“She was the only person in my world who understood me.”
Her words cut deeply, but I don’t focus on that. “What was it like?” I ask. “Having a best friend?”
She falls silent for a moment, and my tears finally fall. I wish they hadn’t. She hates it when I cry. Calls it a weakness, and I typically only allow myself to do it when she’s not home. Today I’m overwhelmed.
“It was nice,” she answers. “But that’s the reality we live in. People die every day. Oftentimes violently. Loving someone is a liability. It’ll also only hurt you in the end. You have me, and I’m all you need. The rest will only be painful.”
“What if something happens to you?”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she promises. “You keep me young, and I hide away from the other dangers.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, and that’s that. Discussion over.
Part of me thinks I should reconsider, and that’s a thought that holds on tight through breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen. My mother leaves, promising she’ll return next Saturday and that she’ll bring me a cake.
I smile and hug her extra tight, but the moment the door closes and the chime sounds indicating she’s gone past the shrub line, I make Rhys a coffee and bring him up a tray of food.
I set it down on the table, the sofa empty, but my bed’s not. He’s leaning against my pillow with his legs stretched out in front of him, a hand behind his head, while his other holds up one of my paperbacks.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he starts, setting the book down on his lap. “This is my first fantasy romance book, and it’s pretty damn good.”
“That’s one of my favorites,” I tell him.
“I can see why. You read some hot stuff.”
I don’t blush this time. I’m here alone. What else do I have but fantasies?
“Still time to reconsider.”
That’s what I’ve done all morning. But if he leaves and I stay and I’m alone again, I’m not sure I’ll survive the week. “I’m good. Your food is in the other room. I’m going to finish getting ready.”
He stands and heads in there, and I gather the rest of my things, throwing in last-minute items I doubt I’ll need. Dishes clatter around and silverware scrapes porcelain. Nothing was moved. Nothing appears to have been touched.
“You didn’t look for it?” I call out, almost disappointed.
“You told me I’d never find it,” he replies around a mouthful of food. He groans. “You make the best food.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I stare down at the indentation his body left on my bed. I had a man in my bed, and this is not how I ever thought that would go.
A chair grates against the tile floor before his head pops around the wall. “I’m not. You’d be wrong to think of me that way.”
“Why’s that?”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin and balls it up in his fist. “If you want the truth, I’m a con man. A thief. One who is brilliant at social engineering.”
“Social engineering?”
“I know how to be charming and say exactly what someone needs to hear in order to get what I want.”
My eyelashes flutter as I absorb that. It also makes me sick and feel stupid. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So you know I’m not being nice and that you shouldn’t trust me.”
“I repeat my question.”
He sighs. “Because I’ve been doing it so long, I don’t know how to turn it off. I trust no one, and therefore you shouldn’t trust me.”
“Did you say yes because of the necklace or for another reason?”
“I also never tell my truths to anyone. You’re young and extremely innocent, and it seems as though you’re in a very bad situation—”
“You don’t know me or my situation well enough to say that,” I snarl defensively.
He holds up a hand. “Probably true. But I lied to you.”
I squint. “About?”
“I’m not a good man. I have plenty of evil in me and have been violent on several occasions. I make no apologies for it and feel no remorse.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit, even as a frisson of fear courses through me.
“What’s not to get? I do what I have to do for myself. No exception.”
“You could have hurt me. All this time, I knew that, but you didn’t.”
His green eyes hold mine before they sweep across me, and he looks away, his jaw tight. “It seems I found a limit, but don’t mistake that for weakness, kindness, or friendship.” He twists back to me. “I will do whatever I have to do for myself, always and with no exceptions. You’ve been warned.”
“The world is dangerous. You’re proving that now. My mother is trying to keep me safe.”
“Then maybe you should listen to her and stay. You can give me my necklace, no harm, no foul, and you won’t disrupt your entire life or your relationship with her.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” I just… I can’t.
I’m drowning here. Most of the time I keep busy, and I do my thing, but at night, especially at night, when it’s dark and lonely and so quiet I think I’ll go insane with it...
I don’t like my thoughts. If I don’t do this, if I don’t take this shot, I’ll die. I know I will.
Every caged bird eventually loses their song, and hopelessness is a scary thing.
Thankfully, there’s no pity in his eyes as he says, “I believe you, but that’s my truth all the same.”
My lips twist into a scowl. “I think the less we talk, the better.”
“That works for me.”
“I don’t like you.”
He laughs. “Now you’re getting it, princess.”
I grit my teeth. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a fucking princess, and that’s not why I’m doing this. This isn’t some spoiled girl rebellion.”
He frowns. “What will you do when you come back here after?”
Die. Or be reborn. Or something in between.
I don’t know. I’ll figure that out when—if—we get there.
I know the world’s not all bad. But a woman kidnapped me from my mother when I was a baby, and it took her years to find me and get me back.
She says I’m still in danger, that people are still out to get me.
I have no clue how that could be. I don’t know anything.
I have nothing for myself. What would someone want with me?
When I was little, and she’d leave me, and I’d cry and beg her to stay, she always used to say that she was out there fighting to keep me hidden and safe.
But I’m not a baby anymore, and I can take care of myself.
“That’s not your concern,” I go with instead of answering him. I fell for his charm. I did. He’s incredibly good at it, and it’s terrifying how fast my guard lowered with him. That won’t happen again.
“No, but—”
“Do you not remember what I said about us talking less? You don’t have to worry about me. That’s not part of this.”
“Right,” he says, almost as if he needed the reminder.
“Can we go already?”
A slow nod. “Let’s do it.”
A bolt of nerves hits me, but I push through them and go for my bag as I glance around my room. Will I ever see this place again? I sling my bag over my shoulder and head into my art studio. It’s not all bad here. It’s not. It’s just not enough either.
I pull the gun from the bottom of my hamper, and he laughs.
“Wouldn’t have thought to look there.”
I put both the gun and the knife into my bag. “Then I’m glad I hid them there.”
He’s not strangling me or fighting for the gun or knife.
Why? He could. He’d be able to overpower me in a minute.
These weapons are the ultimate false sense of security.
I’m tall and a bit lanky, but he’s got a lot of weight and muscle on me.
Why did he tell me about his superpower?
Is this all a mind trick with him? Manipulation?
And why am I not afraid of him when he’s pointedly telling me I should be?
“How far are we from the sea?”
He pops his last bite of ham into his mouth and eyes me. “About fifty kilometers or so. Why?”
I shrug. “I’ve always wanted to see it. And since I have the gun, the knife, and the necklace, you’ll do what I say and take me there.” I smile smugly. “It seems you’re not the only selfish, self-serving one.”