Or, god forbid, firing a shot in the air to warn me against wandering too far.
I can’t help myself. It’s just the two of us, and curiosity is killing me at this point. “Have you ever done this before? I mean, cooking food for somebody Lucian has staying here with him?”
“No, you’re the first.” If she thinks there’s anything strange about that, I can’t read it on her face as she plates my food. “Eat up. You could use a little meat on those bones.”
It’s not the first time she’s said that to me, but I would rather not. It’s not the weight that I need, anyway. It’s nutrition, and I can’t ignore how much better I’ve felt over this past week. I’ve slept better. I don’t immediately crave caffeine in the morning just to get myself moving. It helps that I’m not working obnoxious hours, too. As a result, I’ve been able to rest, and as Lucian put it the last time we spoke, take care of myself.
And I can’t even thank him for it. All I can do is wait for the rug to get pulled out from under my feet when he throws me out once he’s tired of me. This is so fucked up.
I have more questions for Greta, but I doubt she would have the answers to them. What did I do to make him stay away from me? Did I insult him somehow? It didn’t seem that way that last day. He was kind, gentle. He made me feel safe for the first time in… God, I don’t even know how long. Maybe ever? At least since I was old enough to understand the way the world works and how much can be taken for granted.
A girl can get used to that sort of thing. She might even decide she likes the feeling and wants more of it. So what does he do? He takes it away. He takes himself away. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope all over again, only I don’t know what’s under me. Is there a net? Or maybe a pit full of alligators? All I know is I can’t look down, or I’ll fall.
I thank Greta for breakfast and leave the kitchen. It’s almost easy to imagine parties here, with everybody laughing and toasting while gathered around the long,marble-topped island. Lucian doesn’t strike me as the type of person to have big family events, though. I don’t even know if he has a family. There certainly aren’t any pictures of anybody anywhere in the house.
That makes me wonder. There has to be something around here to give me some clue about him, about the person he really is. From what I’ve seen so far, everything in the house could have been put together by an interior decorator, or maybe somebody who dresses sets for TV shows and movies.
There’s no heart in it. No personal touches. If I had Lucian’s money, you best believe I would take my time with a house like this. I would make it mine. I would fill it with me. I would also try to spend some time there when I could, but he doesn’t do that, either. And maybe that’s the problem. He’s hardly ever here, so what does it matter if the house says anything about who he is? So long as it’s clean, I guess.
Still, I have to search. I have to know. Otherwise, the questions are going to drive me crazy. I go from room to room, exploring, my footfalls echoing. The dining room, where it looks like thirty people could sit at the table all at once and still have plenty of elbow room. The library, where I’ve spent a couple of afternoons in a chair by the window. There isn’t even anything special about the books—some of them, I noticed, look like they’ve never been opened.
All of this is fake, too. Set dressing. Like he wants to put an image of himself out into the world, even if he never lets the world inside.
Downstairs is an impressive wine cellar and a home gym that looks like something people would pay membership fees to visit. I’m sure he must spend time down here, being as fit as he is. I run my hands over a few of the machines, wondering when he used them last. The attached sauna must get some use, too. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I tried it out, but I’ve never been in one before and don’t know what to expect.
I’m not about to go to one of the guards and ask them for help; that much is for sure. I’m still unsure if they’re even allowed to talk to me.
On and on I go, eventually moving up to the second floor, to the bedrooms. It’s like moving through a museum, everything so quiet and so impeccable. Everything set up for guests he’ll probably never have. I wonder if the housekeepers change the bedding even though it isn’t used. Lucian strikes me as the type of person who would want that, just in case visitors might arrive.
He may not be great at knowing how to entertain a guest, but he does seem to believe in making them comfortable. I can’t complain about that.
Finally, after what feels like hours—there’s a ton of ground to cover—I reach the only set of rooms I’ve been told never to go into. Again, the wholeBeauty and the Beastthing runs through the back of my head. He can’t keep anything really horrible in there, can he?
No. He’s not a monster. He’s not a sweetheart, either, but I can’t make him out to be a serial killer or something just because he wants his privacy. I’m sure there aren’t bodies in there or torture devices. Though I don’t think anybody couldblame me for wondering. A girl could wonder a lot of things after living through this situation.
The hall is empty without a guard in sight. I hold my breath just to be sure there isn’t a noise coming from someplace. Nobody on the stairs or lurking in the shadows. If I’m ever going in there, now’s the time to do it. I won’t take long. I only want to get a look at how he lives with the door closed and the rest of the world on the other side. What makes him tick?
I touch my hand to the doorknob.
“What are you doing?”
Son of a bitch.
I recoil from the door like it gave me a shock and spin on my heel. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, I expect to find Lucian at the top of the stairs. Glaring at me, fists clenched, jaw tight enough to crack walnuts. I can almost feel what he’ll do to my body as punishment for this.
I wish I didn’t almost like the idea.
It’s only one of his many guards. I don’t know their names, and frankly, I don’t want to. I can’t get Alexei out of my head, that damned liar. Whenever I start to break down and consider Lucian as being human, I remember what his guys do for him and snap out of it.
“I was…” I mean, it’s obvious what I was doing, isn’t it? “I hoped he might be home. I haven’t seen him in so long, and I thought?—”
“He ain’t in there.” He jerks his thumb in the opposite direction toward my room. “But he sent you something.” I guess he was leaving it for me while I argued back and forth over whether I should explore Lucian’s suite.
I know better than to take my time. Trotting down the hall with my head down. Good thing I never opened the door. I hope he doesn’t report back to Lucian on this.
There’s a long box on the bed with a smaller one beside it. I open it with trembling hands, holding my breath in anticipation.
Inside is a long black, one-shouldered dress. It shimmers when I hold it up to the light. I bet it’ll move like water over me. In the smaller box is a pair of strappy stilettos. I guess this is my outfit for this evening? I can’t help the little tingle of excitement that I won’t be alone anymore.
