“I see.”
He brought the car to a halt, climbed out, and walked around to my door. “How many bedrooms does this place have.” I stepped out with my eyes on the building that resembled a miniature version of my castle. Just less imposing, simple, and beautiful. How ironic. I smiled.
“Ten in the main building, not counting housekeeping. Another ten in the new addition at the back of the property.” Wilkes walked me up to the front door, unlocked it with a key card, and stepped aside for me to enter.
Inside, a small reception decorated in soft pink and white spanned the space. A young woman, her left eye half closed with a scar down her right cheek, dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt with Cinders Palace in blue lettering across her chest, came through an arched entrance.
“Hi, Wilkes.” She smiled before her gaze flicked to me. “Hello, Mr. Sinclair.”
I accepted her hand, frowning. “Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Miss...” I trailed off, waiting for a name.
“I’m Lacey, and the way Mikaela described you, it would take an idiot not to see the resemblance.” She laughed.
I smiled, my heart taking a beating on that one. “Is she—” Oddly, I couldn’t bring myself to ask if Mikaela was available when I should be asking if she wanted to see me.
They shared a look I couldn’t read. “She’s in the lounge finishing it,” Lacey told Wilkes.
“This way, sir.” I followed him through the house. The décor wasn’t lavish nor scant. If I had to describe it. Comfort came to mind. Surprised by how massive, picturesque, and immaculate everything was, I glanced around as we walked.
“Mikaela’s a stickler for cleanliness.” Wilkes read my mind, making me smile. “Her rule is simple. If you have two hands and two legs that work, use them to ensure everything is neat. She’s the weakest with the kids. They adore and obey her without fuss while the women are just grateful for the safety, so they make sure everything is tidy, kept in place, and works.”
My sweet little Cinderella had come into her own.
“There are different craft classes held daily for the women and proper school lessons for the kids of that age. The smaller kids attend crèche giving their mothers time for classes.” Wilkes stopped walking to look at me. “Sir, she didn’t use your money on a lavish lifestyle rather to help these women make lives for themselves after years of abuse, and it makes her happy doing that.”
I frowned. “What are you not saying, Wilkes?”
“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair,” a slightly older woman, the skin on her neck wrinkled with burn scars, stepped out of a room behind Wilkes.
“Morning.” I smiled, accepting her hand, astonished by yet another woman able to recognize me through Mikaela’s description. As she walked away, I looked at Wilkes, my expression expectant.
“You’re always with her,” he said, further surprising me. “See for yourself. Through there,” he said, tipping his chin at the door behind me. Then he was gone before I could ask what he meant.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the large double doors. I first noticed the airily bright room despite the dark blue walls, different shades of gray finishings, and the white baroque ceiling. Next was the petite frame of the girl who had my heart in her chest, at the top of a ladder, leaning forward at a precarious angle, her right arm moving in a semi-circular motion. Only then did I focus on what she was doing.
The air left my lungs on a stunned exhale, my eyes riveted on the large, framed painting. The face reflecting back at me would put any mirror to shame.
“Hey, Wilkes, I saw you enter on the security camera. I’ll be down in a second,” Mikaela called out without turning around.
My gaze riveted on that swinging ponytail as she moved a body covered in a short white skirt and pink tank, I was about to greet her, then thought better of it. I wanted to see her face up close, see that smile I missed, hear that familiar laugh tickle my eardrums. My footsteps soft over the light gray carpet, I approached her, only stopping when I stood at the foot of the ladder.
“Hello, love.”
Her head whipped around so fast she lost her footing and slipped, the paintbrush flying from her hand.
“Fuck!” I cursed, my hands snapping out in time to catch her in the crux of my arms. I inhaled harshly to keep my balance. Her eyes closed, she trembled in my hold, breathing hard. “I’m sorry,” I said.
Slowly her eyes opened. Dual-colored irises I’d missed so fucking much stared up at me. Her hand reached up to palm my cheek, that rare smile I’d fallen in love with crept across her lips. “You’re here,” she murmured.
My heart hurt looking at her. “Yes.”
Then she threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my chest. I dropped her legs and slid both hands around her waist, holding her off the floor and tight to my body.
“You didn’t miss me?” she asked, her voice thick with tears.
“God, Ella. Missing you was the toughest thing I ever had to deal with.” It was true. I’d endured so much over time, yet missing her broke me. I caressed her back, inhaling her familiar scent. Lavender mixed with baby oil. I didn’t know how long we stood there and when she finally leaned back, tears flooded her eyes. “No.” I set her down on her feet and gently wiped her cheeks. “I came to see you smile, not cry.”
She uttered a watery laugh and stepped back. “Sorry, this is what you get after seven months.” Regret filled her voice. “You couldn’t come sooner,” she accused.
