Yes,it. This thing is even less of a gown than yesterday’s garment.
A narrow collar with a clasp at the back holds dozens of ribbons that spill from it, trailing all the way to the floor. They remind me of plaster bandages, their edges curling slightly, uneven, as if cut by hand.
My stomach hollows. The gaps between the strips will leave my body fully visible when we meet, proof of how little I mean to him.
If he cared that I’d left the gallery crying, he would’ve sent real clothes.
Sex—dirty, rough, whatever—we could’ve done it after we talked.
Instead, this is what I get.
A frustrated scream tears out of me, so loud that it ricochets off the walls.
Mary startles, jumping back, a hand flying to her heart.
“Miss Montgomery,” she whispers after a second, once she’s collected herself. “It’s okay. Everything will be fine, I promise.”
The plea in her voice cuts off my scream.
I’m nowhere near calm, though.
Breathing hard, I hurl the thing onto the bed and whirl back to face her. “Take me to him.”
“He’ll be waiting for you at midnight.” Another one of her apologetic looks. I want to scream all over again. “He’ll see you then.”
“No. No, no, no. To hell with midnight.” My throat is raw, my hand reaching for the note at the bottom of the box as I crumple the damn thing without reading it. “He can’t leave me alone like this for hours. It’s not right. I’m a human being. I have feelings.I”—I pull my lips in before letting a foolishI love himslip out—“deserve at least a shred of respect.”
Mary shifts on her feet. “He’s my boss.”
“Mary.” My voice is steady this time. “I want to see him.”
I don’t mean to prowl toward her, but it’s not like I can help it. I’ve been pushed past my limits, reduced to this wild, angry version of myself.
“I…” She steps back. I don’t stop walking forward until her back bumps against the wall. Given how strong she is, she can probably shove me away. She doesn’t, simply looks at me with wide eyes. “Fine.”
Too easy. This has to be a trick. Some kind of trap.
I cock my head. “Why?”
“You’re right.” The regret tainting her voice tells me she isn’t lying. “You deserve to be treated with respect. More than just a shred of it. Let’s go.”
As she guides me through the halls, my mind reels. My thoughts don’t have a straight line. They’re more like colors, like the red, black, and white paintings lining the walls, wild and furious.
I’m lost inside my head, forgetting to take note of where we’re going. We’re still on the second floor, I’m sure of that. Thing is, did we take two turns to the right? Or was it one left, one right?
My lungs deflate. It’s too late to figure it out.
We’re already here, standing in front of another heavy, black door.
“This is Mr. Rourke’s main studio,” Mary announces.
“Okay, I—dammit.” I rub the back of my neck, glancing down the hallway. How the hell am I supposed to find my room later? No way I’m asking her or Duncan for directions. This isn’t the right time to be weak around either of them. “Dammit.”
“Miss Montgomery.”
I lift my gaze. “Yes, Mary?”
“The way back to your room is…” As if reading my mind, she turns me by my shoulders, gently, like it’s okay to lower my guard around her. “Right at the wilted-flowers painting, then left at the swamp painting. From there, turn left, and you’ll find your bedroom door open.”
