When I get into the car, Marcus is on his phone. His jaw is tight, his lips set in a thin line.
I've been kidnapped. I was taken. I've been held hostage, and I escaped.
I fucking escaped.
And he doesn't even look at me.
Of course he doesn't know that, but…
“Have a seat,” he says, his eyes flicking up to mine for barely a second. “You alright?” As if he's throwing me a bone from his plate.
“Yeah. Yes, I guess?” I whisper, but it's more of a question than an answer.
He gives me a nod and returns to his phone.
As soon as the door shuts, he sets his phone down, and his eyes grow dark.
“Your mother mentioned that you were acting strangely before you left. We should discuss getting you some help.”
“I don't—I don't need help.” My voice is small. “And… seriously, nice to see you too?”
He presses his lips together. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he looks out the window.
“Well, I hope this episode is out of your system, then. I won't have my wife just disappearing on a whim.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I've had to make excuses for you. This is embarrassing.”
As he talks, I hear Ashland's voice:Your fiancé has killed two wives before you.
A car revs its engine beside us, and when I look…
But no.
Why am I disappointed that Ashland isn't chasing me?
Iwas the one who left.
I can't believe I haven't told Marcus the truth. That he doesn't know why I left or what I did. I don't tell him I was kidnapped. I don't tell him what really happened.
I don't tell him there's another man who knows me better than Marcus ever tried to.
“Where's your cat?” Marcus says with a frown. “Your mother said you took your cat.”
“He's with a friend.” I swallow hard and remember the note I left for Ashland:
Please send back Lancelot.
“I have some work to do,” Marcus says, and his eyes flick to mine again. “I want something very clear, Bianca.”
I nod and swallow, feeling a bit nauseous.
“Don't you ever pull anything like that again,” he says quietly, his voice smooth and controlled. “I don't like being made to look foolish. And I don't appreciate having to worry about where my fiancée has run off to. Do you understand?”
His tone is so reasonable. So calm. But there's something underneath it that makes my skin crawl.
And somehow, his threatening tone is nothing like Ashland's. Where Ashland's is protective and fierce and—andhot,goddamn it—Marcus’s is just… calculating and cold.
Why does this feel so wrong?
I told myself the entire time I was with Ashland that I needed to escape. And here I am. Out. No longer a prisoner. No longer a captive.
