11. Ophelia
Iwake up to the sound of rain pelting the windows. It takes me a long minute to remember where I am, to remember what we did and why I’m so sore. I open my eyes. Everything is a blur, but I make out my glasses on the nightstand. I thought I’d left them in the bathroom.
I put them on and roll onto my back, turning to look at the space beside me on the bed, expecting to find Silas there watching me, uncertain how to be this morning after last night. I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or glad to find I’m alone. The place beside mine is empty, and the pillow is cool to the touch. There’s no indentation.
Did he even sleep here last night?
I sit up in the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chest, and look around. The room is a mess, with my towel on the floor where Silas stripped it off of me and the chair that was in front of the desk turned over on its side. I don’t even remember him pushing it away before he bent me over the desk.
At the memory of what we did, something flutters in my belly. My face burns at how I responded, how I climbed up onto this bed on his command and told him I’d never beg him moments before I did just that.
I groan, pushing my hands into my hair. I’ve only been with one other man apart from Silas and that was Ethan. What Silas and I did last night was different than anything I’d ever done with Ethan. It was dirty. Dark. Sex like I’ve never had before. I’ve never come so hard but at the same time, it was the most intimate lovemaking I’ve ever experienced.
The rain grows louder, coming down in sheets against the windows. I wrap the top blanket around myself and make my way into the bathroom, not sure what time it is. There’s no clock in the room, and I don’t own a watch. I always just used my phone to check the time.
The bathroom door is ajar, and the light is out so I know Silas isn’t there. He must be downstairs already. At least I don’t have to face him just yet, I tell myself.
I stand at the sink and take in my reflection. I look rested, the dark shadows under my eyes lessened. I switch on the tap and notice the ring on my finger. Esmerelda’s small, antique ring. He must have slipped it back on after I fell asleep. It doesn’t feel like the albatross Ethan’s ring always felt like to me. This one, well, I don’t take it off like I always did with Ethan’s.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I switch on the shower and step into the two-person stall. It’s encased by glass on three sides and beautifully veined marble on the other. Hot water cascades over me and I close my eyes, letting myself remember the night, how I felt, how my body came alive at his touch, on his command. It craved him, like it, too, had missed him.
It had. I had.
I don’t let myself linger, though. I can’t. I need to find him and call Mr. Higgins so I can arrange to see my father.
That thought is sobering, a cold dash of reality, and I switch off the water.
After toweling off, I dress in a pair of jeans and sweater along with knee-high boots. I braid my hair and put on a little lip gloss but that’s about it. I’m about to rush out the door when I notice a decorative wooden box I recognize sitting on the small table between the two chairs in the room.
It’s Esmerelda’s. She’d shown me the contents once when I was fifteen, the day I’d tried on the ring Silas gave me last night. Did he have it brought over before we got here? How long ago did he hatch this plan? Sometime in the three days I was out after the accident, I guess. Did he doubt for one moment that I’d say yes? That I wouldn’t go along with his plan? What must it feel like to be so bold? To have that kind of confidence, that assurance?
I want to know.
I sit in the chair and open the box, feeling a sad smile creep along my face when I see the few, familiar things. I remember Esmerelda wearing each of them. She didn’t have much and took care of what she did have. She was proud of each piece and the things each reminded her of. She cherished every memory.
Silas’s watch is in there. I take it out and see there’s an inscription.
No matter how much time changes things, never forget who you are.
Interesting. I set it aside and notice something else in the box that wasn’t there before when Esmerelda had shown it to me. Feathers. A handful of white feathers.
Picking one up, I study it and remember the feather that landed at Silas’s feet when we were leaving the chapel. How he watched it fall, mesmerized. How he bent to pick it up and held it with reverence before sliding it into his pocket.
This is that feather. He collects them. The act doesn’t quite fit with the man I think I know, and I wonder about the significance.
Closing the box, I get up to go downstairs but the house is unexpectedly still. When I call out to Silas, he doesn’t answer. When I near the kitchen, though, I hear the sound of the TV. I enter, expecting to find Silas but instead see Hamish sitting at the counter watching CNN on the TV against the far wall.
As soon as he sees me, he switches it off and stands. “Mrs. Cruz, good morning.”
I almost correct his assumption that I will take Silas’s name, but I’m distracted by the snippet I heard before he switched the TV off. “Good morning. Is Silas here?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
His forehead creases, and he hesitates, holding out a cell phone instead. “He told me to give you this and asked you to call Ms. Gibson.”
I take the phone. It’s the same one I used to call Mr. Higgins last night. “Where did he go?” I ask, knowing already, anxiety building in my chest, because he told me his plan and if he’s not here, it can only mean one thing.
“You should make the call,” Hamish says.
“What were you watching?”
“Mrs. Cruz?—”
“What were you watching?” I ask again, more forcefully this time. I reach past him for the remote and switch on the TV before he has a chance to answer. And there, on the news, I see Silas. It’s not live and according to the anchor, it was filmed late last night.
“Silas Cruz, wanted on charges of arson and kidnapping was arrested last night at Massachusetts General Hospital. He’s currently being held without bail. It is widely speculated that he came to see Horatio Hart who, within weeks of beginning to serve his decade-long sentence for embezzlement, was stabbed during a prison brawl. Hart was recovering after surgery at Mass General. But in a wild turn of events, Hart has confessed to having hired the men who set his own home ablaze. This story grows stranger and stranger.” The last part she says to her co-anchor before turning back to the TV. “Stay tuned for more breaking news?—”
Hamish takes the remote and switches off the TV.
“You should call Ms. Gibson.”
I grip the edge of the counter.
“Mrs. Cruz? Are you all right?”
I look up at him. The warmth I’d felt upstairs, the strange sense of something being right after last night, has evaporated. In its place is a cold that leaves me shivering.
My father hired someone to burn down our house? I don’t understand.
Hamish takes the phone from me, and a moment later, Nigella’s voice comes over the speaker.
“Ophelia? Are you there?” she asks.
I blink, pick up the phone, taking it off speaker. “Is it true?”
“Well, Silas was arrested,” she says, but that’s not the part I’m asking about. She mutters something about having told Silas it was a bad idea. “His bail hearing isn’t for another hour. I’ll be at the courthouse until then and will call you with any more information.”
“My father. Where is he?”
“He’s still at the hospital.”
“Did he… Did he set that fire?”
She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “I don’t know, hon.”
I disconnect the call and look at Hamish. “I need a car.”
“No, ma’am, I can’t let you go anywhere. Mr. Cruz’s orders.”
“Of course they are.” I shake my head, take the phone, and scroll to find Mr. Higgins’s cell phone number. I notice there was an outbound call to it late last night. Later than when I’d called him. Had Silas contacted him? I hit dial. Mr. Higgins answers right away.
“This is John Higgins,” he says.
“Mr. Higgins, this is Ophelia Hart.”
“Ophelia. Thank goodness.” He sounds relieved. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. I wasn’t sure... Well, you’ve seen the news?”
“I have. What’s going on?”
“I’m on my way to the hospital now. Can you get here?”
I look at Hamish. “Yes,” I tell him. “Please wait for me.”
“Let me know once you’re in the lobby, and I’ll make sure they let you up.”
I disconnect the call and turn to Hamish. “I’m going to see my father. I’m not asking your permission. I’m telling you I am going. Whether or not you accompany me is up to you. I can call an Uber and if you try to stop me, I will call the police and let them know where I am and that you’re holding me hostage.”
“Mrs. Cruz, Mr. Cruz left specific instructions. Keeping you safe is my one priority.”
“Then you can accompany me. Hamish, it’s my father. Silas was going to take me himself.”
He looks dubious.
I don’t back down. I will call the police if I have to. I don’t know where I am, but I’m sure they can trace my location. Hamish isn’t going to wrestle me for the phone. I know that and Hamish knows it too because he picks up his jacket which is hanging on the back of the stool he was sitting on and gestures for me to go ahead.
We hurry out to the SUV. I don’t even bother with an umbrella, several of which are in a basket by the door. We climb into the SUV and drive off the property in the pouring rain. It takes us twenty minutes to get to the hospital, and I text Mr. Higgins once I’m in the lobby.
Police officers are standing at the elevators, and a few minutes later, Mr. Higgins appears. I go to him, hugging him in my relief. He tells the officer who I am, and for a moment I wonder what I’d do if they don’t let me up, but they do. However, they stop Hamish when he tries to follow me on.
“Just her.”
“It’s fine. Just wait for me here. I’ll come back down as soon as I see my father. I promise. Where would I go?”
Hamish draws a deep breath in, and I know he doesn’t like it, but I don’t even wait for his response. Instead, I get onto the elevator and don’t look back as the doors close.
“Did Silas call you last night?” I ask Higgins.
He looks guilty. “He did.”
“And I’m guessing you arranged for him to see my father?”
“That wasn’t me.” He glances at the guard riding with us. “I just gave him Horatio’s room number.”
“Did he say what he wanted to talk to him about?”
“No. Just said Horatio would want to hear it.”
“And this is where they arrested him?”
“I believe so.”
The elevator doors slide open. “My dad’s confession, is it true?”
We step off the elevator and he draws me away from the uniformed officers standing there. “I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. He’s not telling me much, which makes it very hard to help him.”
I nod, and I know already which room is my dad’s by the two additional officers standing outside of it.
“Come on. They’re transferring him back to the prison this afternoon. We’d better go talk to him while they’ll still allow it. But, Ophelia, one question for you. You were supposed to marry Ethan Fox. Silas Cruz—did he force you? I can help you if he did.”
I look up at him and consider his question. How do I answer it? I touch the back of my wedding ring with my thumb.
“It’s complicated,” I say, remembering how Silas had reacted when I’d used those same words to describe my relationships with my father and the Foxes just weeks ago. How everything has gone sideways since. “But I’m all right,” I add on, not sure why, maybe to reassure Mr. Higgins. Maybe because it’s true.
“Let’s go in,” he says, taking my elbow and escorting me into room 414.
A doctor is taking my father’s blood pressure, and another police officer is inside his room. I notice the chain hanging over the edge of the foot of the bed. They must have his ankle cuffed to the bed. It’s degrading to see my father like this, and tears well in my eyes because he doesn’t deserve this.
“Ophelia,” Dad says, using my full name, which he rarely does.
I drag my gaze to his, knowing he saw me looking. “Dad.”
I run to him, and the doctor steps away. When the police officer comes forward to block me, Mr. Higgins puts a hand on his arm. “She’s his daughter. She just heard he was stabbed. Please.”
“Fine.” The guard steps back, and I hug my father. I would have anyway.
I realize as he holds me how much I’ve missed him. How much I miss my dad.
A sob breaks between us and Dad rubs my back. I pull away and wipe away my tears.
“Dad. Are you okay?”
“I’m going to be just fine, honey. You don’t worry about me, okay?”
I nod, even though I know I can’t do it. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. Had little to do with me, I think. Just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Who did it?”
“They don’t know. How are you, sweetheart? You’re still banged up from the accident.” He touches a bruise on my forehead.
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m tough, like you. Listen, I need to ask you some questions.”
He nods gravely like he was expecting this.
“I know Silas came to see you.”
“He did. And I’m pleased, Phee. It’s good you’re married to him.”
Mr. Higgins gestures for me to sit down on the lone chair and I do. He walks a few steps away, pretending to check his phone to give us some privacy.
“Who are the Carlisle-Bents? The Foxes, they showed me a newspaper clipping. They said… They said you kidnapped Mom, and I have a grandfather and an uncle. Dad, what’s going on?”
“The kidnapping, it’s not true, sweetheart. The papers sensationalize, you know that.”
“Tell me the truth then. Tell me the whole story.”
He nods, looking grave. “Your mom and I were together since we were young. You know that part. I worked for her family along with my mother. Claire and I, well, her father had other plans for his daughter that did not include me, and I can tell you now that I have you that I can understand. You want the best for your kids, and I was not that in his eyes. I was staff. She was his only daughter.” He takes a moment to pick up the glass of water on the bedside table and sips. “Then she got pregnant,” he says, glancing away, eyes growing misty. “And when her father found out, he wanted her to abort the baby.”
My heart misses a beat. I’m that baby.
“She obviously didn’t want that. She already loved you. Before she even knew you, she loved you, and she and I ran away. It was the only thing we could think to do. We changed our names and we got by until, of course, the accident.”
“Oh, Dad.”
“We weren’t legally married. We were never legally married.”
I nod to let him know I understand because this part doesn’t matter so much.
“We didn’t have the documents and were afraid we’d get caught. Carlisle-Bent never gave up looking for his daughter. After your mother died, I knew they’d take you from me if they ever found you, so I kept you hidden from them.”
I take it all in, and a glimpse of my face in the reflection of the window shows me I look like we’re having a bland, uninteresting conversation. Like he’s telling me what he had for breakfast or something. Not that what he is telling me is turning my world upside down as he speaks.
“Did they know when she died?”
He shakes his head.
“You didn’t tell them? You didn’t tell her father that she had died?”
“I couldn’t, Phee. I couldn’t let them take you away from me.”
“But you’re my father. They couldn’t take me away.”
“You don’t understand the amount of money and power we’re talking about, sweetheart. If Gordon knew where you were, if he knew you were the last link to his daughter, he’d have done anything to get you back, especially with Claire gone.”
“Dad, the fire. Did you say you were responsible to save Silas? You wouldn’t have…”
He sighs, closes his eyes. It takes him a long minute to open them again. “Silas didn’t set that fire, sweetheart. He wouldn’t hurt you like that.”
That takes me as long to process. “But you would?”
He looks helpless and a little sick.
“I don’t understand any of this.” I stand up, wipe the fresh tears.
A knock comes on the door and a police officer peers inside. “One minute. We’ll begin transfer protocols then.”
Dad nods, but his eyes are on me.
“Phee,” he starts, reaching out a hand to capture mine. I try to pull it away, but he holds on. “I know this is hard to take in, but I was doing what I thought was best for you. You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re like.”
“You should have told me. You should have told me a long time ago.”
“I know. I know. And if you never believe anything else I say, believe this. I love you and I think Silas loves you. I think he has for a long time. Even if you don’t trust me, trust him. Please. Let him keep you safe. And stay away from the Carlisle-Bents. If Gordon is truly dying, Chandler will be dangerous for you. More dangerous than the Foxes ever were.”
Without knocking, the officer re-enters the room and holds the door open.
“Miss.” He gestures to let me know it’s time to go.
I’m glad because I’m ready to leave here.
I turn, but my dad squeezes my hand and tugs me back toward him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I love you more than anything in this world and I will do anything to protect you, always.”
I sniffle, unable to hold back my tears, unable to hug my father or reassure him. Unable to believe him. Because any trust we had is gone. Whatever his reasons, I no longer know what was true, what was a lie, what is true now, what is a lie now. Those stories he’d tell me about Mom, were they real or were they made up? Did she love him? Did she run away with him? Or is it like the papers said? Did he kidnap her?
No. I don’t believe that last part. But the rest of it, I no longer know.
So, when the officer clears his throat, I turn and walk out the door without saying goodbye to my father. Without giving him any reassurances because they would be false if I did.