Chapter 47
1432words
In the sunlight, the rose looks alive. I know it isn't. It hasn't been for some time. But with each little adjustment of it on my shirt collar, I have to stop and look closely before I remind myself that I'm seeing things.
Please, give me strength.
I turn the brooch once more—from my right side to the left. It doesn't matter where I put it; I don't plan to wear it out of my room. At this point, I'm simply delaying what I must do.
I thought about it all night, tossing and turning until my blankets were sweaty. My anger at Asher made it easy to put distance between us. I strolled down the hall with my head held high, confident I was doing the right thing by sleeping in different rooms.
Yet, when I got to my bedroom and the late hours crept in, I realized how awful it was to be alone. Asher had become something solid in this place. Without his warmth … the gentle patter of his heart under my arm as we cuddled … I was forced to remember where I was.
What I was.
His prisoner.
It's hard to want to stay away from him, I think, adjusting the brooch again. Coming to rely on him for support was a mistake. I clutch the glass rose with a frown. No! It wasn't. My emotions have been stripped of their protective layers, preventing me from the luxury of lying to myself.
Sure, this situation is messy. But if I can't trust Asher, what am I supposed to do? I need to believe he means me no harm or ill will. The whole point of me remaining in his home was so he could protect me from Yannick.
Yannick.
Clenching my jaw, I carefully remove the brooch. Tucking it into the box under my bathroom sink, I walk away as fast as I can before I change my mind. I can feel the place the brooch used to be. The weight of it was comfortable. Now it clings to me like a phantom limb. When I brush my fingers over my neck, I shiver at the empty space.
Dad is with me even when I'm not wearing it. Remember that. If I don't, I'll never survive the conversation I'm about to have.
Tugging at my ankle-length slate-gray dress, I check myself a final time in the mirror. I'm barely a week into learning about my pregnancy. There's nothing visible on the outside, but I can't help running my hands over my stomach. Turning to the side, I study my profile. A smile pulls my lips up at the corners. Think of what matters … Think of the future. Asher is this baby's father. Everything falls apart if we can't talk about what my mother revealed to me.
I'm not sure where I'll find Asher. I start at his bedroom, but a quick peek reveals he's not inside. He's also not in the library or kitchen. I'm getting worried he's not home at all when I come up to his office, spotting him at his desk through the crack.
The visual of his broad back and bent neck sends my nerves all over the place. I'd love to slip behind him, tracing my nails over his skin, drawing out goose bumps with my breath. My heart has been placed in a vise, and someone keeps screwing it tighter. Come on, go for it. Clearing my throat gently, I knock on the edge of the doorframe.
'Asher?"
He spins around, eyes wide as he notices me. 'Camila?"
He didn't think I'd come talk to him, I realize. Has he been figuring out a way to initiate and smooth things over with me first? Our fight was pretty bad. His reaction fills me with guilt; it's bad enough that I second-guessed having this conversation. But to witness his misery is another knife wound to my heart.
In that instant I'm sorely tempted to shove the whole mess deep down in my guts and pretend that everything is okay. With a simple smile and a hug, I can pretend that things are perfect, that I'm happy.
But that's the problem. It'll be nothing but an act. Sucking in air through my nose, I walk into his office and shut the door behind me.
'How are you?" I ask.
'I've been better," he replies with a slight frown. 'Camila … about what happened?—"
'Stop." I hold up a hand. 'I'm not here to rehash that."
His eyebrows lower, head tilting. 'Then what's this about?"
Okay. Here we go. My palm slides over my tummy—his attention jumps to what I'm doing. This is for us. All three of us.
'There's something you need to know," I start. 'Something important."
He rises from the chair but doesn't approach me. 'I'm listening."
The urge to run into his arms is as strong as the urge to run away. Absently, I reach up to my throat, where my rose brooch was mere minutes ago.
'Mom told me the truth about my father."
'Oh?" he asks without a change in his expression.
Uncertainty wraps around my heart like a viper, and I become dreadfully aware of the fear of how he might react to the next words that I'm about to say.
Tell him … I urge myself. Just tell him.
My mouth grows dry, and suddenly it's like I'm no longer able to speak.
'Well?" he asks again, his voice even. His gaze drills into me, and I feel more vulnerable than I've ever felt around him.
'She told me that …" I watch his face closely for any reaction. I need to know if he was aware of this. 'My father isn't Stepan. It's Yannick."
Asher's expression doesn't change.
I look harder, desperate to find proof on his face that this is a surprise to him. All I can see is a slight adjustment of his posture, his frown tightening a hair, forehead lines growing. It's not what I want. It's not enough.
My heart drops to the bottom of my stomach, and a terrifying new thought takes shape in my mind.
He knew. He fucking knew.
'She really said that?" he asks.
Unable to bite the accusation back now that it's in my head, I stamp my foot on the ground, pointing at him with a grimace in the hope of rooting myself.
'Did you know?" I ask, fighting futilely to hold back the tremble in my voice.
Asher folds his arms with a soft sigh. It's only then that I see how exhausted he looks.
'No."
'Bullshit!"
He shies backward at the poison in my voice. 'Are you calling me a liar?"
I start to laugh, but there's no humor behind it.
'Yes," I tell him. 'Because this is the only way any of this makes sense. You've been stalking Yannick—stalking me—for who knows how long. Someone like you, with access to all your resources, would never be in the dark."
'Camila …"
'Don't." Throwing my arms up, I turn on my heel. 'Don't try and tell me that you didn't know, because I won't believe you." I blink away the tears of humiliation that are threatening to break free. 'There's no way you couldn't know already. Was this why you wanted me here?"
'Camila, that's not true."
'Stop lying to me," I whisper. 'You knew. You had to know."
I don't wait around to see if he'll say anything else. He doesn't stop me from leaving his office, and I make it all the way to the end of the hall without him chasing after me. I glance back once, and Asher is nowhere to be seen.
He won't bother trying to lie to me about this anymore. He can't; he knows he's been caught. Clenching my fists, I pump my arms like I'm about to start jogging. The only reason I don't is because I don't have a place to run. I'm moving just to move.
Asher knew. He knew, he knew, he knew!
I'm not going to allow it anymore. If he thought not sleeping in his bed was depressing, he's about to discover what my bitter side is capable of. The silent treatment is just the tip of the iceberg.
Something shiny catches my eye, and I look down to glare at the ring on my finger, glinting in the morning light. Where once I saw beauty, all I see now are shackles.
He's been using me since the start.
I'm not going to allow it anymore.
