Chapter 6 - Georgie
I wake up early. The room is still dark, and I’m immediately confused by my unfamiliar surroundings. I bolt up in the massive king-sized bed, the blankets falling off me as my eyes dart around the room.
While I try to figure out where I am, my brain taunts me with the remnants of a nightmare. A nightmare that was very real. Being held captive, being drugged and bound…and sold.
I sigh and press both hands over my face. I don’t want to cry again.
I don’t even know if I was crying yesterday because he made me marry him, or if I was crying because I was so relieved to be away from the man who kidnapped me.
The residuals left in my body from the drugs made me emotional and unsteady. My thoughts were wild and messy.
I lie back down in the ridiculously soft blankets and pull them up over my shoulders, turning onto my side and snuggling my face into the pillow. My heart is beating too fast, fear pulsing through me like a river.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to the dark morning. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. Here is better.” I close my eyes and take several deep breaths.
When I wake up again, there is bright sunlight spilling into the bedroom, and Kristopher is standing at the side of my bed. I’ve kicked the blankets off in my tossing, turning nightmares, and his eyes graze over my body.
My very exposed body.
Last night, I tossed that horrible ballgown into the corner of the room, and I’m sleeping in my underwear. I yelp in fright, grab the edges of the blankets, and pull them back up over me.
Kristopher clears his throat and sets a tray on the bed.
“I thought you might need some food and a cup of coffee. Those, uh, bruises…are you okay?”
I sit up, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “What time is it?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Half past twelve,” he says.
“Are you serious? I slept all day,” I stammer in disbelief.
“Whatever they gave you…it would take time to leave your system. You needed the rest, Georgie,” he says patiently. “And don’t ignore my question.”
“I’m so used to getting up before the sunrise to get ready for classes,” I stammer. “Classes,” I blurt out in fright. “I have to go to my classes.”
He leans over the bed and gently takes my jaw in his hands, turning my face towards his. “Those bruises…did they do anything…do you need a doctor?” he asks, his voice tight and edged with anger.
“No,” I answer quickly. “Nothing like that. Um. I think the bruises on my body are from when I was fighting back. They mostly just left me alone. It was horrible…but…um…I’m okay.” I don’t want to talk about it. Which is ironic for a psychiatrist who constantly encourages people to talk about things.
“Are you sure, Georgie?” he steps away from my bedside, releasing a heavy breath. He seems weighted down by me being here. Or maybe just byme?
“I’m sure,” I nod. “I don’t need a doctor. Just a shower. I was so exhausted last night, I just crawled into bed. I feel icky.”
“Well, you have your own private bathroom.” He gestures towards it. “And I’ll have them put fresh bedding on for you while you shower.”
My head is swarming with thoughts of my classes. What am I going to do? I have to get there. I’ve already missed too much.
“My classes…” I say, scrunching my face.
“My assistant contacted the university and made arrangements for you to get access to all of the courses online. I have your laptop here and your books. My men collected them this morning,” he explains.
“And, um, my clothes?” I ask, still clutching the blankets against my chest.
The smile that flashes over his face is darkly delicious and makes my skin burn, tingling with memories of his touch.
He gestures towards a box in the corner of the room.
“There are some jeans and other items in there. But I’ve left my card on your bedside table. I figured it might be easier for you to order whatever you wanted online instead of me trying to choose on your behalf.”
