I highly doubt Juliette would have the same reaction if she were here. She made it clear this lake house was in her sights. She must have a thing for Slade, or for being with a congressman. Despite knowing she’d most likely not give a second thought about me if our roles were reversed, I still can’t pretend like they don’t exist. They do, and I know where they are.
Any sane person would have attempted an escape by now. I don’t enjoy being stuck on the lake house grounds day in and day out, but I’d be pushing my luck if I tried to leave without a plan. Who would I go to? If I went to the wrong law enforcement officer or the wrong person for help, I could end up right back where I came from, or worse. But I promised I’d do something. Somehow. So, I keep that in the back of my mind as I wander the house.
I’ve decided the best place to escape from is my bathroom window. Beyond it, the street runs past a handful of other estates, each set far back on its own acreage. There aren’t many cameras here, and the ones near the window point away from the street. It’s the quickest way out, but I’m biding my time, ignoring the urge to be impulsive, and slightly worried about how my leaving might impact Slade. I know he’s been made responsible for me, considering the sly comments Edmond has made.
Rain patters down from ultra-saturated clouds this morning, and by the time I’ve dressed in a beige romper, courtesy of Edmond’s shopping spree, and scrunched my hair into ringlets, the rain has turned to torrents. So much for hanging out on the dock today.
I quietly shut my door and glance at the only other shut one in the hall. Slade’s office. It’s rarely open, and I’m assuming it’s locked.
Gray light seeps through the windows as I make my way to the kitchen. Through them, the clouds churn, swallowing any sun and blue sky. The rain lashes against the glass in relentless sheets, and I shiver at how angry it seems.
When I reach the kitchen, Stefan is slaving over a griddle, flipping French toast of all things, while Edmond scrolls an iPad at the dinette. He looks up when I enter.
“Good morning, Thea. How did you sleep last night?”
I shrug, roaming around the island until I find where Stefan has hidden the coffee pot. “Fine, I guess.”
“Terrible weather today. Supposed to be that way for the next several days. The yard is going to be covered in weeds.” He eyes me from his spot on the bench.
I smirk, then study the downpour past him through the blurred window. He’ll throw them away; he always does. Turning, I make my way to the pantry where Slade makes sure to keep a stash of Frosted Flakes, much to Stefan’s dismay.
“What are you doing?” Stefan snaps.
“Eating breakfast.”
“No. No, no. I’m making French toast. Edmond tell her.”
Edmond doesn’t look up from his tablet. “He’s making French toast,” he says unenthusiastically.
“I’ll have both. I’m still several pounds from my prekidnapped weight.”
The room stills, and both Edmond and Stefan look at one another. I talk about it all the time. It’s my way of keeping what happened to me, what may still happen to me at the forefront of my mind. I won’t get too comfortable. I won’t forget them.
I make sure they don’t either. A few well-placed reminders. A story about the girls. A detail they’d rather not picture. It’s cruel, maybe, but so is pretending this house is a sanctuary. They need to remember what’s waiting beyond its walls. What’s still waiting for me.
It is nice, though, to have my pick of food at every meal. My body has changed too. After the first week, I slowly noticed a difference. My curves are back, voluminous like before. I’m still on the thinner side, but the weight that trickled off from a diet of green juice and chicken has returned, and my shape is more feminine.
“Here.” Stefan serves me two slices topped with heart-shaped strawberries and drizzled in syrup. I blink at it. Okay, I may not have room for cereal, too.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the plate, shuffling over to the kitchen table, and sliding in.
“So, what’s on your agenda today now that it is raining, Miss Thea?” Edmond still hasn’t looked up from what he’s reading. Whatishe reading?
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll help Stefan with his work.” My eyes flick to Stefan, and he stops flipping French toast to shake his head at me.
“No. I’m off to the produce shop today. We’re low on everything. I swear since you came around, we go through twice as much fruit and vegetables.” He waves the spatula at me, and I grin back at him with a mouthful of breakfast.
He wrinkles his nose and wipes his wrist on the lime-green bandana resting on his forehead.
Edmond doesn’t say much as I eat, sopping my strawberries in the leftover syrup. A dull haze clings to the room, and when a cloud-shaped shadow moves across the table, it exposes the concern in his eyes. I glance at the iPad.
“Can I see that?” I ask, gesturing to it with my fork and half-eaten fruit.
“He wouldn’t be happy if I gave this to you.”
“It’s not like they print newspapers anymore.”
“The iPad is not just the news. There are rules, Miss Thea. Ones even Slade cannot break.”
