The real one was sand in an hourglass, swiftly running out, timing how long I could keep lying to the only woman who’d ever really seen me and not just my scars or my money.
Chapter
Nineteen
CHRISSY
December 13, 9:30 AM
Henry clapped his hands once,the sound sharp enough to slice through the murmur of voices and clink of coffee cups at the breakfast table.
“Ladies. Eyes on me.”
The dining room fell quiet so fast it made my ears ring. Fire popped in the massive stone hearth. A dozen different perfumes tangled in the air with espresso and woodsmoke and nerves. I shifted on the edge of my seat, acutely aware of the sore spots every time fabric dragged over the bruised, tender skin of my ass.
I forced myself not to think about why I was sore.
“Welcome to day two of the Wedded to Stonewood retreat,” Henry said, looking us over like he was inventorying weapons, not women. “Yesterday was about first impressions. Today is about what you can do with what you’re given.”
A few of the other contestants perked up, like he’d just promised them a shopping spree.
“As you’ve realized, this lodge is… quite large,” he went on. “Parts of it are updated. Parts of it are… less so.” His mouth curved, just a little. “Each couple will be assigned a room that has fallen into disuse. Your task is to refresh it.”
He let that sink in for a beat.
“You’ll be judged on creativity,” Henry continued. “On vision. On how well you work with your partner to transform your space into something fit for Mr. Stonewood’s home. You may request supplies from staff. You may request their assistance moving furniture or hanging curtains. Do try to keep your requests within reason, however.”
There was a ripple of excited whispering at that — transform, vision, judged — the magic words for women who watched too much HGTV and thought personality was a word you could paint on a wall.
My stomach did a slow, nervous roll. I could scrub a room. I could make something clean and functional on a shoestring budget, but I didn’t exactly have an interior designer mode I could switch on.
“Remember,” Henry said, voice smooth as polished stone, “Mr. Stonewood values taste, effort, and resourcefulness. We are not bringing in professionals. This is your work, your room, your impression to make.”
He didn’t say anything about the people we’d have to go through to get it done.
I zoned out as he handed out the assignments, until he said, “Number Eighteen.”
I stood up a little straighter as he called out my number, and I nodded.
Henry’s gaze found me.
“You and your partner will be working in the library,” he said. “Mei from housekeeping will assist you as needed.”
The word library hit me like a little jolt of electricity. Of course, the one thing in this house I would die to see up close was the room I might potentially fuck up if I didn’t do this right.
Movement at the edge of the crowd drew my eye. Jacob stepped forward from where he’d been standing with the other staff, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his dark hair mussed and pushed back from his face in a way that was both messy as hell and insanely attractive. In a strange sort of way, he looked like they’d carved him out of the same bones and beams as the lodge.
His gaze flicked over me once, quick and hot, there and gone. My bruises tingled like they somehow came alive in his presence, even though someone else’s hands had given them to me.
God, what would it be like to have Jacob’s hands on my body?
No, Chrissy. Stop that. You’re going to get yourself eliminated like an idiot if you aren’t careful.
“Mei?” Henry said.
A petite woman in a neat black-and-white uniform stepped up too, offering me a small smile.
“Please escort them to their allocated room,” Henry said. “Good luck, everyone. You’ll have until this evening. When the bellrings, all work stops. Mr. Stonewood will be evaluating what you’ve accomplished.”
