Chapter twenty
I was right. After the ceremony, I was left alone. I stood up as Grey situated himself and noticed he hadn’t even taken off his tux. I was stripped bare and vulnerable, and he had simply unzipped his pants. Something about that made me feel humiliated and broken. My only solace was the look in his eyes when he wrapped a sheet around me, then walked out of the room. Pain. Regret.I’m sorry.
I went upstairs, took a long hot bath, then climbed into bed. The voices in the back of my mind tried to whisper words of comfort.
You’re well fed. You have a roof over your head. You aren’t treated like a servant or beaten. He didn’t pass you around like a toy.
“But I’m not free,”I whispered back. The Brotherhood would always be in control. Tonight was proof. Tonight, hope shattered.
A sliver of light from the hallway crept into my room as my bedroom door eased open.
I pulled the comforter up to my chin and held my breath until I heard Grey’s voice. “That won’t ever happen again.”
He walked over to the side of my bed, stopping when his knees hit the mattress. He’d shed his suit jacket. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his bow tie hung undone around his collar. He looked a mess. His deep blue eyes softened when he looked down at me. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“You’re not the monster in this story.” They were. Or maybe I was because even though it happened at the hands of malevolence, I didn’t hate it. I didn’t hatehim. In a way, I felt sorry for Grey. In a way, I wanted to save him too. What did that say about me?
“You don’t know me.”
And then he turned and walked back out of my room.
The days slipped by. Then weeks. Months. Grey was right. Over time he became someone I wished I’d never met. Just not for the reasons he believed. I could live a thousand lifetimes and still never understand how one man could be so gentle and entirely brutal at the same time. Grey was kind, but in his kindness, was cruelty. I could’ve handled him being mean—would’ve preferred it, actually. At least then I could have closed myself off, shut the door, and locked my emotions up tight. His kindness gave me hope that maybe at some point in all of this, I would at least have found a friend. His distance proved me wrong.
I’d never seen anyone like this man. I knew he cared about me. I saw it in the way his eyes softened when he spoke to me sometimes. I felt it every night when he’d sit by the bathtub and read to me. But he never touched me, not outside of the fucked-up little ritual on our wedding night. I thought what we’d experienced that night at the hands of the Brotherhood would bring us closer together, but it only ended up pushing him further away.
He didn’t want my heart—which was fine because it was already taken. He had no use for my body. Eventually—once he figured I was no longer having dark impulses—he even left me to bathe alone. In fact, I didn’t even remember the last time I spoke to him. Sometimes I’d sit up late at night in the library, waiting for him to walk down the hall and open the door to his bedroom. I always seemed to fall asleep on the sofa before that happened. I’d wake in the morning with a blanket covering my body and no recollection of how it got there.
Loneliness was just as painful as any physical injury. You’re polite. You nod and smile. You listen and respond, careful not to let anyone know you’re not really there. And all the while, you pretend it isn’t ripping you apart on the inside.
If it wasn’t for Mrs. McTavish and the chef, I would have had to find a volleyball named Wilson to keep me company.
The library was my favorite spot in the house. That was where Caspian and I sat on the sofa while he filled me in on everything Tatum was doing. His monthly visits were the only thing I had to look forward to. I never asked about Lincoln. That was a secret I promised I would take to the grave. I wondered about him, though. Late at night, when the rest of the house was asleep, and it was just me and my thoughts, I would slip my hand inside my panties and conjure up his face, his voice.“Mine.”
My second favorite spot was the kitchen. Every day it smelled like something different. Today the buttery scent of seared salmon and pan-fried vegetables filled the air.
I leaned over the large island in the center of the room and grabbed a sliced carrot from the bowl.
Mrs. McTavish gave my hand a playful smack. “You will be served in a moment, love.”
“I don’t need to beserved.” I rolled my eyes at the word. “I can eat in here with you two.” I slid up onto the island top, letting my legs dangle. “The dining room is lonely, and that table is too fucking big for one person.” Especially today. I didn’t want to be alone today.
Another smack on the side of my thigh. “A Radcliffe lady would not use that language.”
I grabbed another slice of carrot. “Well, I’m not a Radcliffe lady, so…”
The chef chuckled behind me as he stirred the rest of the veggies around the pan.
Mrs. McTavish sighed. “You’re right. You’re a Van Doren now.” She cleared her throat and eyed my outfit, probably thinking the same thing I was. I didn’t look like a Van Doren.
Grey had filled my wardrobe with delicate, feminine pieces, but I insisted on jeans and a t-shirt.
Tatum would have thrown a fit over my outfit today. She’d have had me wearing a tiara and something with lace—probably pink—before I even had time to brush my teeth.
“Off you go,” Mrs. McTavish said. “I’ll bring your plate.” She was a tough nut to crack, but that didn’t mean I was going to stop trying.
“Fine.” I slid off the counter, and my sandals hit the tiled floor with a loud slap. “But only if you put extra carrots.” I winked as I walked toward the door. “And no broccoli,” I yelled over my shoulder.
I took my usual spot at one end of the long dining table, staring at my fingernails while I waited. Tatum and I used to get mani/pedis together. We’d spend the entire day at a spa inside The Carlyle getting pearl scrubs and facials. Now my only spa therapy was soaking in a lavender bath and painting my own nails. Not that I minded that. I just missed our spa days.