I take a shuddering breath, pushing away the constricting feeling in my chest. This is all just Killian’s plan to get out. That's all. I feel a bit better knowing there's no pressure with him here. The only day I need to fake it to make it is Saturday—otherwise I can live my life normally.
I scoop up a box marked clothes, but E-Z pulls it out of my hands and walks me down the hall to the master suite. I briefly wonder if that's just how things will be from now on. I'm not so independent that I can't enjoy it. Still, being treated like that all the time will be difficult.
I walk into the room, feeling as if I'm trespassing. It's the same color scheme as the living room but darker and more luxurious. The bed alone is massive, taking up a considerable chunk of the room. I follow E-Z to a humongous walk-in closet. One side of it is where all of Killian's clothes are.
"I can't sleep in here," I mumble. The room is just too much. Geez, it wouldn’t surprise me if just the closet is bigger than my old apartment.
"Killian demanded it."
"There has to be another room around here that can just be mine, a little piece of home?"
"What does it matter? Killian isn't here."
"I think that's kind of my point," I say, pouting a bit. “I don’t want to take his room while he’s forced to be in a small cell, a cot for a bed—especially since my father is the reason he’s not here.”
I thought maybe in my head I made it out to be more of my fault than it really was, but when Killian confirmed it, I wanted to find my father and punch him myself. He put me in this position. He put Killian in prison, and for what? Nothing he can enjoy anymore. I wish I could ask him if this was all worth it.
I turn to the other side of the closet. My eyes grow wide. It’s full of women’s clothes. There are so many outfits and full hangers, I feel like I'm in a department store. Then, I notice there are racks after racks of women’s shoes—all name brands by expensive designers. Yikes.
"I can't stay here, E-Z. Clearly, Killian's girlfriend lives here," I gasp, pointing at the clothes as if he can't already see them. His face scrunches up as he looks at me. I can't tell if he's holding back a retort or a laugh, but he quickly composes himself.
"Those are clothes that Killian had delivered for you," he explains.
I pull out a dress, grabbing the tag so I can see if it's in my size. It's a designer dress. So upscale, there's no price on the actual price tag. I gulp, not wanting to touch it. I can't wear that. I would never be able to pay him back for it.
"Have you thought about having Killian mentally tested?” I whisper, almost feeling sick to my stomach. “I think the stress of being in prison might've made him go insane.”
E-Z laughs as I pick up a pair of shoes, almost fumbling them as I notice the red bottoms. There’s no way this is real. I set them down gently and pull my hands together so that I don’t touch anything.
"Killian's wife has to uphold a certain kind of image," he says, shrugging. “I'll leave you to it. The cook will be preparing dinner soon.”
After he shuts the bedroom door, I walk out of the closet, collapsing onto the bed which, incidentally, feels like I’m lying on a cloud. I sink into the soft heaven not quite understanding everything that happened today.
I'm in a mansion after marrying a man in prison. No, not just any man. I'm Killian's wife. My new closet alone looks like it holds a million dollars worth of clothes. I have a chef and get to redecorate as I want. I get to sleep in this giant bed, security guards covering the house, feeling safer than I have in years.
I'm not in the tiny, unsafe apartment anymore, and yet, Killian is stuck sleeping on a prison cot because of my father.
Something about all of this just feels very, very wrong.
CHAPTER 22
KILLIAN
Sitting across from her, I swear she looks more nervous every time she comes to see me. Just as nervous as she was when I helped her pick up her groceries. In some ways, that feels like a lifetime ago.
"How do you like our house? And your new life?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. I realize on some level that I intimidate her, but I need honesty from her. If there’s something she doesn’t like, I can fix it. It’s important to me that she’s happy. I’m not going to analyze that, however.