What I need is a smart, professional-looking psychopath.
Since I only know one psychopath, my options are limited.
“Leon, if we want this to work, and in such a short period, then we need the best of the best,” I urge.
His brow lifts. “Of course. You know of a therapist who is suited for the job?”
I nod. “I do. If we want to make any progress, then only one man will do.” I swallow, hoping I’m forgiven for this. “His name is Dr. Parnard.”
Chapter 13
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule thirteen:Always go full octopus.
Remember when I was hopeful that being placed with a babysitter would increase my chances of finding Irena?
Old me was an idiot.
It’s been two days since Leon started spending his days locked away in Council meetings, and I’m still being watched like a hawk. Every morning, he hands me off to my babysitter, ordering me to do ‘whatever the inner circle tells me to do.’
My daytime prison is a fancy sitting room, decked out with multiple plush chaises, a Victorian-looking couch, and a few other scattered chairs. The place looks like it was pulled from the set of a historical romance movie, but at this point, I’m numb to the resemblances.
At first, I thought being placed under Nymara’s care was a stroke of luck. Given the way Need treats her daughter, I hoped my new companion might turn out to be an ally. But at this point, I think I would have better chances if I teamed up with a tree. The conversation certainly would flow better.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to draw her into conversation, she hasn’t said a word. She just stands against the wall, silently watching me. Usually, she looks bored, but I’m pretty sure she’s also judging me.
I’ve tried walking out of the room, but there’s always a guard standing outside the door. And no matter how nicely I’ve asked, they won’t let me leave.
I suppose I could knock out the guard and run for it, but without any clue as to where Irena might be, it would be a suicide mission.
At least for now, I’m stuck.
I’d like to think I’m taking my new confinement incredibly well. Especially given the fact that Leon had the foresight to plan my afternoons. My every minute has been spent in back-to-back meetings with florists, dress designers, and so many other professionals that they are starting to blend. Because why wouldn’t my demented ex put me in charge of planning the wedding that he’s forcing me into?
So, I’ve been making the best of the situation and really nurturing my mental health.
Dress designer?
“I’d like to have ocean vibes for my dress.”
“No, not a mermaid dress. I’m looking for an octopus dress.”
“No, like actual tentacles. If it doesn’t have ten-foot tentacles, Leon and I will be devastated. They’re very symbolic of our love.”
“No, not as a train, they need to float around me, and I have to be able to control them, just like a real octopus.”
Cake designer?
“Have you heard of spam? It’s a delicacy from the Mortal Realm. That’s the flavor I want.”
“No icing. I want to SEE the spam. It’s a symbol of prosperity. Put spam on everything.”
Even now, the lace napkin designer looks concerned as he packs up his things. He’s had that expression ever since I drew him my ‘vision’ for the napkins.
I can’t imagine why. Personally, I think my tombstone sketch was spot-on, but maybe nobody uses ‘RIP’ in the Otherworld.
A cultural barrier checks out.
