I hadn’t missed Petyr’s haunted Pottery Barn. Every light glows, but the air still feels oppressive, like the house itself wants to crush me into obedience.
The wrought iron gates slam shut behind the SUV.So much for running away.I wasn’t able to scale that monstrosity when I was sprightly and unpregnant. Making it like this? I’d need a miracle and a half and a ladder built for someone with a passenger on board.
But no miracles are coming to get me out of it. If I want to be free again, I’ll have to work my own magic.
We roll to a stop in front of the mansion. As he escorts me inside, Petyr never loosens his grip on my arm. His hand is firm, like he thinks if he lets go even for a second I’ll make a break for it.
To be fair, he’s right.
The hallways stretch out around us. Dark wood, blood-red rugs, dim lights that make the whole place look like a crypt.
I can’t shake the shiver crawling over my skin. This house has always felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. And now, here I am, ready to lie down in the grave I dug for myself.
As we climb up the creaky stairs, I brace myself for the turn toward Petyr’s bedroom. The room we once shared, the place where I was supposed to belong.
But he doesn’t lead me there. Instead, he steers me down a different hall, one I’ve never walked before, and pushes open the door to a guest room.
It’s typical of the rest of the house: heavy antiques that look like they belong in a museum, not a bedroom. Dark walls, dark drapes, dark carpets. Every corner seems to swallow light.
Nice tomb,I want to ask.Does it come in pink?
I keep my smart mouth shut and peer inside.
The bed is massive, carved wood with a stiff-looking comforter. A huge armoire stands in the corner, and the curtains are so thick they block out the moon. The air is stale, as if no one has set foot in here in years. “Oppressive” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I freeze in the doorway, unsure what to feel.
Relief comes first.At least he’s not dragging me back into his bed yet.
The thought of having to lie down in the sheets for him is enough to make my skin crawl. It would have overwritten every good memory, and I’m not ready for that.
But the relief is short-lived, replaced by a hollow weight in my chest. Because if not his bed, then what does this mean? That I’m too tainted for him now?
Shit. Should I be getting ready for a turkey baster conception next?
Petyr nudges me, none too gently. I figure I don’t want more bruises, so I take a breath and step inside.
If it wasn’t clear before this place has never seen an occupant, the plastic on the comforter tells me all I need to know.
I scan the space and let the words slip out before I can stop myself. “Cozy. Do the bats sleep on the ceiling or do they have their own private coffin?”
Petyr’s eyes cut to me, sharp. “Watch your mouth.”
“Just saying. I’d probably be grateful for the company.” I shrug. “Unless you think I could train them to help me escape. You know, like Cinderella’s rats.”
Petyr’s nostrils flare. I can see the effort it takes him not to snap.
But I can’t help it. When I’m nervous, I joke. And when I’m pissed, my jokes reflect that. I may have lived a lie for twelve years, but holding my tongue has never been my strong suit.
“It’s a room,” Petyr grinds out. “Four walls, a bed. You’ll manage. It’s where you’ll stay until the baby is born.”
I must have misheard. Stayhere? Not just in the house, but locked intothisroom?
But no. I heard him right.
“You can’t be serious,” I snap. “I’m supposed to rot in this ten-by-ten-foot cave until I give birth? That’s insane. It’s no way for a person to live, let alone a baby.”
Petyr’s mouth twitches into a hard smirk. “Considering I just spent six months chasing you down, I’d say this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. You clearly can’t be trusted.”
