Chapter 17
Seventeen
Xander resembledhis father in many ways but clearly had better control of his emotions than Henry. Or at least, he hid them better. Whatever violence ran through his blood, it seemed to be relegated to the ice rink—and the bedroom.
With that dark hair and those piercing eyes, looking at Xander was like looking at Henry through a much softer lens. Henry’s first wife had been beautiful, too, and Xander’s exquisite cheekbones and chiseled Cupid’s bow were all his mother.
A shiver ran through me. Look where beauty got her. Look where it got me. Beauty made people ugly, and now the beautiful Xander had embarked on an ugly road—a conservatorship.
Perhaps the numb devastation was evident on my face because he pinched the bridge of his nose with an air of exasperation. “You haven’t spoken in ten minutes.”
I didn’t respond.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I stared at him, taken aback by the abrupt announcement. The alcohol must’ve gone to my head after the paltry breakfast because I was sure I heard him wrong.
“Remember I told you that there is a clothing shop on the boat?” he said simply. “There’s one for jewelry, too.” His eyebrows lifted suggestively, implying a bribe for his betrayal.
When I didn’t jump at the offer, irritation cast over his face. Xander let out an exasperated sigh.
“At least let me show you the rest of the ship.” The calm words startled me almost as much as when he took me by the hand, surprisingly gently, given his previously harsh words. “I promise you’ll like the shops.”
We left the casino and bar area, heading through the same door that Xander had appeared through without warning while I had been trying to find my way out. This one spilled out into a carpeted hallway lined with crystal wall sconces engraved with various geometric patterns. Then the carpet cut off abruptly, where it branched out into what appeared to be an antechamber with a gigantic stained glass chandelier.
The mosaic tiles were cold beneath my feet, reminding me of an expensive mall I’d been to in Dubai once. This was more Great Gatsby than it was Hispano-Moresque, although the two-tiered arches and mirror-like marble hinted at a more exotic influence than Art Deco.
It took me a moment to realize that the multistory pavilion was actually a mall. The shops were separated by faux columns artfully painted to look like Carrara marble, but I suspected they were actually plaster facades that had been built into the storefronts. I noticed a number of high-end shops and a few artisanal pop-ups.
All the windows were dark except for the display lighting. I found myself gawking at a rose gold bracelet in one of the shop windows.
Xander, watching me closely, asked, “Do you want it?”
“Want it?” I repeated dumbly.
“I have the key.” He reached into his pocket and dangled a key card from a lanyard. “Nothing’s open, but I have an ongoing tab at all the shops here. All I have to do is write down what I want, and they’ll bill me.”
I shook my head, turning away.
I saw him frown in the window, the expression more telling than anything else he’d revealed to me so far. But then he shrugged and caught my hand again.
“Maybe later,” he said. “That’s not what I wanted you to see anyway.”
We moved farther down the dimly glowing rows of shops. The experience was as surreal as floating in an aquarium. I felt a flicker of dismay when we paused again at a women’s clothing store. I didn’t recognize the name of this one, but there were no price tags visible, which was always a bad sign.
“I don’t need new clothes,” I said.
“Are you planning on wearing that sheet when we go ashore?” he asked in the same reasonable tone. “Don’t be proud, jailbird. I’m not going to hold it against you if you let me buy you a few things. We both know that it’d cause a riot if you walked out looking like that.”
Then you shouldn’t have ripped my dress off, I thought sullenly.
I looked away. “You can replace the dress you ruined.”
“You’re going to need more than that,” he said.
“Why?” I asked though I knew the answer. In his mind, I was moving to Canada with him. Apparently, he was as delusional as Henry, no matter how calmly he spoke while offering these genteel assurances.
Xander ignored my question, using the key card to open the door to the shop. The lights flickered on with a hum as we walked in, apparently controlled by the same mechanism as the door locks. I looked at the filmy summer dresses meant to entice women into balmy thoughts of beach lounging and shook my head at the dissonant imagery. Battered-wife Barbie.
“That would look incredible on you,” he pointed out.
Part of me wanted to bask in the compliment—there had been so few of them over the last three years—but a flicker of terrifying fear went through me instead as he led me through the store.
The back of the store was more business-oriented. Twill pantsuits, elegant trench coats, and blouses that seemed to come in every flavor, from embroidered to peplum. I reluctantly selected a pair of pants, a matching blazer in a millennial pink tweed, and a pretty blouse in a relaxed knit.
If Xander was disappointed by my choices, he didn’t show it. After a glance at my selections, he went around the store, briskly gathering a spangly evening gown, a few more blouses and pants, and one of the Casablanca-looking trench coats.
“You don’t need to do this. We agreed on just the one outfit.”
“You agreed,” he said, yanking my selections from my arms. He plopped a toiletry bag on the counter and urged me to pick out some makeup and a skincare kit. It wasn’t a bad call, considering the darkening bruise on my face. I wondered if Xander was trying to provide me with a solution because he noticed I unconsciously kept touching it.
He was the first male in years to go shopping with me. I used to beg Henry to do the same, but he always confined the experience to online shopping from the “comfort” of our home. Shopping with a man at a physical store was supposed to be a dream come true, but there was no joy in it now. Hearing Xander’s plans to confiscate my freedom—after years of enduring the same at his father’s hands—shattered any hope that he’d be my liberator. Instead, he was another jailer. Henry, but in a different body.
As if on cue, his eyes flickered over the items until they landed on the wedding ring on my hand. Xander frowned. “Why do you still have your ring?”
“What?” I folded my hand over my wedding band protectively.
Xander arched an eyebrow, waiting expectantly. “You didn’t want me to buy you things. Then give me the ring. We can call it collateral for the clothes. Take it off.”
A white-hot jolt of anger shot down my arms, and I jerked away from him. “I’m not giving you my wedding ring,” I managed without my voice shaking. The ring was a part of me, and I never considered taking it off before.
“Give me the ring, Jordan.” The expression on his face was defiant, almost petulant. “Don’t make me ask again.”
I twisted the diamond on my finger, hating him for demanding something I wasn’t ready to part with and hating myself for still attaching sentimental value to this inanimate object that symbolized so much pain in my life.
“Do you feel attached to that piece of jewelry because my father spent a lot of money on it?” he asked with a bite to his tone. “Is that why you won’t give it up? You feel indebted to him?”
“That’s not the point.”
“I bet he did it to make up for all the women he ran around with.”
Warily, I eyed him, taking in the massive frame that towered over my own. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me an arched look, daring me to deny him.
So, I did. “That’s right. I’m a gold digger.” The heated words didn’t soothe the ache at uttering them. “You found me out, Xander,” I hissed. “I married your father for his money, and I’m not giving back the ring.” I rubbed my chest, where it still hurt that he thought so little of me.
Suddenly, he gripped my hand.
“Ow,” I yelped when he yanked the ring off, nearly disjointing my finger in the process. I watched the ring disappear into his pocket. The shock of what he’d done stung more than my empty finger. Maybe because it was an unnecessary display of power, given that Xander might retain autonomy over every one of my actions. Did he also have to go out of his way to humiliate me?
Not looking at me, he opened a drawer and began jotting down what he’d purchased on a pad of paper. Signing it with a flourish I recognized from various merchandise he’d autographed before posing with happy fans for pictures. He dropped both the pen and the pad back into the drawer and locked it.
“Unless you’ve grown fond of the sheet, change,” he said, leaning back against the cashier’s desk. “You’ll feel better once you do.”
I stared back defiantly. “I’m not changing in front of you.”
“So you’re shy now? You weren’t last night,” he bit back.
I flinched at his tone. He looked like he was at the end of his rope, too, but for whatever reason, he decided to drop the anger with a resigned sigh. He shoved the clothes into shopping bags and handed them to me, nodding at a heavy damask curtain to our right. “Changing room’s over there.”
I walked over with a hollow chest, but to my consternation, he was right. After a morning of wearing nothing but sheets tossed over my shoulder like a toga, wearing clothes made me feel human again. There was something incredibly dehumanizing about being kept locked up like a prisoner, naked, despite Xander treating this situation like a grand adventure.
When I left the changing room, he held out his hand. His fingers closed lightly around my arm, steering me out of the shop. I stepped aside, watching him lock up again with a swipe. Trying not to think about how much money he’d just casually dropped on me.
I wasn’t entirely surprised when our next stop was a restaurant. “The kitchen is closed,” he said as if I had expected the chef to be waiting on standby, “but I can set up a cheese plate.”
My stomach growled before I’d even considered the offer. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
Sitting at one of the tables away from Xander’s searching gaze, I pulled my phone out of my clutch. Still no reception. Henry’s messages taunted me in glowing black letters until I put the device away. My cheek was still throbbing. I couldn’t believe he beat me in front of his mistress and a roomful of witnesses. But he had. He had been cocking his leg back for another kick before Xander surged in out of nowhere and coldcocked him in the face.
Xander was gone for what felt like a very long time for cheese and God knows what else, but when I stood up, he came out of the kitchen holding a wooden cutting board loaded down with more cheeses than I could name and an assortment of cured meat and pickled vegetables.
“Eat,” he ordered, setting it down. “You barely ate at breakfast.”
So, we were back to bossiness. I sighed. “How did you know that?”
“There was a camera in the room.”
I lowered the cheese I was raising to my lips. “You put cameras in the staterooms?”
“I was worried about you. I wasn’t sure what you would do.”
I looked at him distrustfully, but his expression was—perhaps even more terrifyingly—sincere. I swallowed the bite of goat cheese and forced a trembling smile, wondering how I was going to get myself out of this situation.
The cheese was incredible. I loved whipped goat cheese. I stared down at the plate, suddenly noticing that it held a number of my other favorite items: herbed crackers baked with edible flowers, fresh figs, goat cheese, and Spanish olives.
Xander stared at the board, not eating. “Try the jam,” he suggested. “It’s raspberry rose. I’m told it pairs well with the Manchego.”
The jam was curiously bitter beneath the sweet. Maybe Xander had meant rose hips instead of roses.
The lights overhead blurred. I pushed away the cheese board, rubbing at my temples. I’d eaten all of the goat cheese, most of the jam, and far more of the aged prosciutto than I probably should have, given how Henry had always harped about my figure. I felt lethargic as if I had drunk more than a few glasses of wine.
“Tired?” Xander asked, looking at me again.
“Y-yeah.”
“Come here.” He slid around from the table, not bothering to clean up the mess. And though I was incredibly upset with him, I sank against his weight. The warm, herbal scent filled my nose; it was as potent as wine. “Jordan,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?” Xander asked.
“I’m just so tired.”
He smoothed my hair back from my face before bending to pick up the shopping bags. “Okay, baby. Then close your eyes.”
Close your eyes.
I hadn’t meant to do it, but my exhaustion was a lead weight dragging me down into the dark. When I opened my eyes again, the restaurant was gone.
Everythingwas gone.
I was standing at a dock like in a nightmare, the air thick with the smell of sea salt. There was a booth at a distance with a big maple leaf on the front of it selling candy to children. TOUR P.E.I. was written in big, bold letters on a sign with a picture of a little Victorian girl.
Wild-eyed, I looked around, stumbling a little in my haste as a pair of sunglasses I didn’t remember putting on slid down my nose.
“What,” I began, the word sliding from my tongue like ice. “Where?—”
A man in a suit was opening the door to a black car. “Welcome to Canada, miss.”
“Oh god,” I whispered, rubbing my temple.
“Relax, Jordan.” That too familiar voice came from slightly behind me, and a second later, I felt a hand on my arm. I stiffened when his body bumped against mine. “You’re safe now. No one can get to you here.” It sounded like a promise, but it could have been a threat.