Page 17 of Hide Little Traitor

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHLOE

NOW

Kingston dropped the marriage bomb and disappeared before I could begin to process what he just said.

Because what the fuck does he mean I can’t leave until I have his ring on my finger?

I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching the house for his office, but I keep getting turned around. This place is too big for just two people, something I would tell him if I could find him.

I have no plans to marry anyone, let alone Kingston Beaumont.

The house is warm despite the chill coming off the windows, but I still long to curl up on the balcony off the living room upstairs.

The view of the forest beyond calls to me, and I can’t help but think about how peaceful it would be to read a book out there.

But when I find the library a few doors down, I remind myself I’m not here on vacation and that until I can work out how to escape this house, there will be no relaxing or reading.

I open several bedroom doors and close them when I find them empty apart from a perfectly made bed.

How many guest rooms does one house need?

Even as I think it, I remember how many both the Lombardi and De Marco houses have and shake off the question.

What the hell has Kingston been doing all these years to make enough money to afford this place? The penthouse in Atlanta was one thing, but this is different.

Because not only is this house huge, it’s also on a fair amount of land, which can’t have come cheap.

The door of the room I woke up in is still wide open when I pass it, but I pause in the doorway when I notice the bed is made.

Either Kingston ran up here for turndown service, or there’s someone else in the house.

Someone that might help me.

And short of that, they might have a phone I can use to call Camilla, and that’s the thought I cling to as I start searching with renewed hope.

I shove the door across from mine open and pause when I’m hit with Kingston’s aftershave. The bedroom is decorated in dark grays and solid wood, and I take a step forward, curiosity driving me into the room, even when I know I should keep searching for whoever made my bed.

The blinds are open, showering the room in natural light, but I’m surprised by how sparse it is in here.

Just like the guest rooms, it’s just a bed and a few pieces of furniture.

If it weren’t for how strong his scent is, I wouldn’t have even realized it was Kingston’s bedroom.

Nibbling at my bottom lip, I step closer to the bed and notice the two open doors on my right. One leads to a bathroom and the other to a closet full of clothes.

To my left I notice a few picture frames on his bedside table and step toward them without thought.

I shouldn’t be snooping, but he did kidnap me and is now holding me hostage, so really, what does he expect?

My heart pangs when I lift the first photo from its spot, shaking fingers moving over a photo of Caroline and the boys. Ronan looks so young, so innocent, and I try to remember this day.

Kingston has Damon on his shoulders, a wide smile lighting up his features, while Ronan has an arm wrapped around his mother.

I remember the photo more than the day, because Caroline used to have it beside her bed as well, even after the accident.

Salvatore hated the fact his wife couldn’t let go of King, couldn’t let go of the memories of her best friend, and the day she died, I watched him throw the photo into the fire, something I’m sure he’d been dying to do for years.