by Hanna Peach
“This house has been in our family since my grandfather had it built. My family is all gone… I’m the only one left,” he says. “It felt… wrong to sell it. No one would want to live in a place so cursed as this anyway.” His voice turns sour. “Who would want such a home for themselves? It might look beautiful from the outside but inside… it’s broken beyond repair.”
My heart aches for him because I know he isn’t just talking about the house anymore. He’s talking about himself. He won’t let go of his past, just like his past won’t let go of him. In his face I see the survivor’s guilt in him for what happened to his family. I see the hurt still there.
“I am the only one left.” I can see the questions flashing across his face. Why him? Why did he survive when no one else did? Why didn’t he die along with them?
Oh, Caden. I want to touch him. I want to crawl into his lap and hold him. I want to kiss along every broken part of him until my kisses become glue and I can put him back together again.
I reach for his hand. “No,” I say, “it isn’t broken, just bent. And it isn’t haunted, just filled with history.”
He makes a snorting noise. “Is this the nurse coming out of you? Are you trying to save me, kitten, because I’m telling you now… I can’t be saved. I’m already going to Hell. All I can hope for is to take Jacob down with me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He’s silent.
I press on. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Don’t you dare pity me.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “Do you really think that my being kind to you is about pity?”
“What else would it be?”
“I care about you.”
He turns and stares at me. His eyes drop to my lips. He starts to lean in and just like that I’m pulled magnetically towards him. My eyes are on his parted lips. They whisper, “You care about me.”
“You know I do.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t avoid doing things just ‘cause I shouldn’t.”
“Don’t I know it.”
His lips slide over mine and my heart thuds in my chest.
A kiss can be nothing, or it can mean everything. A new beginning, an ending, the spark that lights a fire, a knot that ties two people together. A kiss can wake you, break you, put you back together again. Caden and I share all these things in this kiss…
Before I can completely lose myself, a light falls over us, shining through my eyelids. I pull back from Caden with a jerk and turn my eyes to the intrusion. Someone has opened the door to the garage. I let out a small scream as a figure steps into the frame in silhouette.
“Relax,” Caden says. “It’s just Wylie.”
Wylie?
Caden opens his door and greets this man. This man called Wylie who I never knew existed. Why has Caden never spoken about Wylie to me? Does Wylie live here, too? He can’t be family so… who is he?
Is it stupid that I’m a little jealous?
I stare at the newcomer through the windshield as he catches the keys to the car that Caden throws him. I still can’t see his features properly. I can just tell that he’s about half a foot shorter than Caden and half his width.
Caden turns to look at me. “Are you coming out of the car or do we bring bedding to you?”
Yeah. Sure. Coming out.
I step out of the car and towards Wylie. He’s only a few inches taller than me, so we are almost eye to eye. He has salt and pepper hair that remains thick in a very swish Cary Grant style across his head and a matching groomed moustache. He has high cheekbones and cheeks that could almost be called gaunt. I would guess that Wylie is around mid to late fifties. Then I notice he’s wearing a tailored black suit with tails over his slim build. Coattails. This guy is actually wearing coattails.
“So this is she?” Wylie’s voice has a touch of regalness to it and a faded accent that I’m guessing is British. He holds out a white-gloved hand for me to shake. I take it and his hold is firm and steady.
“I am she, I guess,” I say. Caden has been talking about me? I glance over to Caden, but his face doesn’t betray anything. This makes me giddier than it should.
“Is everything ready?” Caden asks Wylie.
“Ready what?” I ask.
“Of course, sir,” Wylie says to Caden. Sir?
“And the other thing?” Caden asks.
“What other thing?” Neither of them are paying me any attention.
“As you instructed, sir.”
“Great. Can you show her around? Her bag’s in the trunk, although she probably won’t need those things anymore.”
“Hello? I’m right here.”
“And you, sir?”
“I have things to do.” Caden moves past Wylie through the door, into the house.
Wylie stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Sir, you have been driving all night. You must be tired. Rest. I’m sure those things can wait.”
There is a terse silence. I look between these two men as they stare at each other. Caden is twice the size of slender Wylie and his shoulders are tensing in that way they do before he gets angry. I brace myself for the possibility of having to jump in and separate them, hoping to God I don’t have to.
Then I notice that Wylie isn’t tense. His shoulders remain relaxed and his posture unaffected. I realize with a start, Wylie isn’t scared of Caden.
Finally Caden’s shoulders relax and the steam eases out of him. “I can rest when I’m dead. I’ll be in my office. Don’t disturb me until dinner.”
“As always, sir, your priorities are remarkable, your will unmovable.”
Caden pauses. “Are you being funny?”
“Me, sir? No, I would never dream of it.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Then Caden is gone, disappeared through the door to his house. His house that holds so many memories of long past horrors. The house that may hold the key to unlocking why Caden is the way he is. The house that I’m equally desperate and terrified to enter.
I know Caden, but do I really want to know his past?
Chapter Eight
Caden
There’s so much whizzing around in my mind that I’m almost dizzy. So much to deal with. Somewhere in the depths of my thoughts I realize I’m being rude by just leaving her standing there when she has just gotten here. But I can’t see past everything in my head. Her life, her safety is more important than anything. Any-fucking-thing. Even having her angry at me is better than having her in danger.
Everything that happened last night changes everything. Like a single pull on a spider’s web, it tugs at a hundred other strings. I need to figure out what the follow-on effect has been from her appearance on the lot and Mack’s “disappearance”. Have they even noticed he’s gone yet? Have they found her apartment yet? Has anyone made the connection between her and me? I don’t fucking know. And everything I don’t fucking know is like a cold-blooded sniper hiding in wait with me in the crosshairs. Or worse, her.
Shit. And now she’s here. Here in this house where my ghosts still wander the halls. I’m scared out of my fucking mind. But I had no choice but to bring her here. I don’t trust anyone else. I’m the only one who can protect her. And I can only protect her if she is here with me.
But what if she finds out the things about me I keep hidden?
If she finds out, she may never look at me the same again. And I need her to keep looking at me the way she does. That way, with her open expression and warmth in her eyes. Like I’m the one who will fix everything for her. The love in her face shines on me like a light from the heavens, washing my sins away, absolving me, if only temporarily. Only when I’m with her am I cleansed.
If she finds out, she’ll run. I feel myself shaking my head. No, it doesn’t matter if she runs. If she runs, I’ll find her and bring her back. I’ll make her understand. Or at least I’ll do what it takes to keep her here where I can protect her. Having her
hate me is better than letting her walk into danger. She’s not leaving my protection even if I have to cuff her to the goddamn bed.
This last thought makes my body heat up. Images flash through my mind of her curvy naked body, her soft skin under my hands, and my tongue at her lips. The selfless way she stretches out her arms above her head and waits for me to tie her down. She puts her naked and vulnerable body in my hands and at my mercy. She gives herself to me. Without hesitation. Even after everything that fucker Jacob did to her, she trusts me. Like I am someone worth trusting. I know I’m not entirely deserving of her trust, with everything I keep from her. But it’s for the best. I am not fucking this up.
I’m hard just thinking about her like that. I almost spin on my heel and go back to the garage to get her. No, I can’t. Not right now. There’s too much to do to ensure her safety. That’s why I need to lock myself in the office and figure this shit out. I can apologize later. Bring her something. Do something… nice for her. I’ll figure out what later. Later. But for now, I have to work out how to keep her safe. And… protected. Not just from Jacob but… from these parts of me.
It took me a long time to get her to look at me that way. And I’m not losing that. I need to fix this shit to make sure she doesn’t stop. Because if she ever stops looking at me like that, the only parts of me left that are good will die.
Chapter Nine
Kitten
Wylie and I turn to look at each other. The leftover tension from Caden’s abrupt disappearance hangs like an oversized sweater, awkward and thick.
I ask with an uncomfortable smile, “Is he always that…?”
“Charming?”
“I was going to say… moody.”
“That? Moody? You should see him when he’s trying.” We both smile at each other at this shared intimacy. The tension breaks. “It would be an odd day if he wasn’t like that. He has a lot on his mind. Especially lately.” Then a small frown appears. “Sorry for my intrusion, but I was led to believe by the master that you both knew each other well.”
“Oh.” Caden has been talking about me? Why would Caden say that? I guess we do know each other. I do know Caden and Caden knows me, even if there are parts of us that we hide, we both know where the parts are hidden. “We do. But we don’t… it’s complicated,” I finally admit.
Wylie nods and doesn’t pry. “It always is with him.”
He heads to the back of the car and retrieves my bag.
“I hope what I’m about to say isn’t out of line,” he says. “But I think you might be good for him. He has had all the luck in the world and none at all. Perhaps you might change that.”
I don’t know what that means. But Wylie moves past me into the house with my bag slung over his shoulder before I can ask him. I follow.
The mansion is huge. Like actual I’m-walking-through-a-goddamn-hotel kinda huge. The mansion is over two levels. Wylie takes me through the house, pausing to show me its various features. Such as the ballroom. Excuse me, who the hell has a ballroom? And the library, a proper library spanning both levels, straight out of Beauty and the Beast, minus the talking cutlery. And the various sitting rooms: drawing room, smoking room, reading room, summer room, formal sitting room, informal sitting room… Sheesh, who would have thought there would be a need to have so many damn rooms.
As Wylie takes me on this tour my mouth remains locked open. So much so that I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to shut it.
The furniture is solid and antique, and whoever put the rooms together managed to make it grand yet retain an element of home through touches such as clear vases filled with flowers or stones, soft rugs and thick pillows that look good for lounging on and not just for show.
We walk along part of the second floor corridor and Wylie points out a few of the rooms. I peek through all the open doors as we amble along. Up on this floor are all the bedrooms and private rooms, while downstairs are the living rooms, sitting rooms, dining room and kitchen. Caden even has a gym here complete with boxing ring and sets of free weights.
Caden’s office is located on the second floor of one of the wings. When we walk past, the door is closed. I bite my lip. Would that door be locked for me if I knocked?
“The master can be incredibly single-minded,” Wylie says. “Don’t take offense to it, madam.”
I look back at Wylie. It’s like he read my mind. He can read me. And that’s dangerous. We continue through the house side by side in silence.
“Please, ask,” he says a few moments later.
“Excuse me?”
“I can see you have questions. So… ask.”
“Will you answer?”
“I won’t answer any questions that the master should answer himself. I can try to answer any others.”
That’s a nice change. “What’s your story? Why are you here, working alone, with Caden?”
He turns his head to look at me, an eyebrow raised.
“Or do you not call him Caden?”
Wylie smiles. “The master has many names.”
“For his work, I get it. So, your story.”
“I worked for his father, Mr. Lexington, and before that I worked briefly with Mr. Lexington Senior.”
“Caden’s grandfather.”
“Precisely.”
“Why doesn’t Caden keep any other staff? I can see that it’s too big a job for just you to maintain this household.”
Wylie gives me a wry smile. “You noticed the inadequacies in my work, did you?”
I blush. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He shakes his head. “That’s alright. I have been saying for years we needed more staff but… he doesn’t trust many people. Understandably.”
“Why are you the only one?”
“When the tragedy happened the other staff were… spooked. For such a tragedy to occur… the superstition around that night… they were scared. I was the only one who stayed. Harper may have been nineteen, but he was just a boy. He had no one else. How could I leave? I have been with him since.”
“You’re a loyal friend.”
He nods. “I try. Master Lexington is… misunderstood. You can’t lose everyone you’ve ever loved in your life and go unscathed. He is terrified of letting anyone that close again.”
“He doesn’t let me in,” I say quietly, staring at my feet as we walk.
“He brought you here. He hasn’t brought anyone here in a long time. Be patient with him.”
I sigh. I’ve been patient with him. “I understand, I do. But one day you must move on, mustn’t you? I mean, it was a simply awful thing to happen, but it was fifteen years ago.”
“Fif−” Wylie looks surprised. Then he brushes down his coat and looks away like he’s trying to cover up his reaction.
I frown. “What?”
“Excuse me, madam?”
“You looked like you were about to say something.”
“No, you’re mistaken.”
He’s lying. There’s something he isn’t telling me. But before I can ask again he has stopped before a door.
“Here we are, madam.” Wylie states as he pushes open the door and steps aside for me to enter.
I can barely contain my excitement as I step inside the room. This must be Caden’s bedroom. Now our bedroom. I feel a voyeuristic thrill running through my body that I’m getting insight into the place where Caden sleeps.
The room is huge and the tall casement windows let in strips of light. Outside I can see glimpses of the back garden that seems to roll on and on. I walk to the window and further push apart the curtains, flooding the room with light. One side of the room is taken up entirely of built-in cupboards, painted white like the curly decorative etchings on each door. There’s a large brass-framed bed between two white bedside tables, a love seat and a small table with two chairs. I smile. Two chairs. For Caden and me.
Wylie places my bag on the small trunk at the foot of the bed. “I’ll leave this bag here, but you won’t need it. I have
filled the wardrobes with clothing in your size as instructed by the master. Through that door is the ensuite.” He points to the only other door in the room. “I’ll leave you to get settled, madam, and I shall return to collect you at dinner time.”
Then he leaves me to bask in the glow of the dying afternoon light and the fact that Caden and I now have a room.
My fingers brush the soft fabric of the curtains. I eye the wardrobes and a grin breaks out across my face as I imagine our clothes hanging up in there together. His shirts next to my blouses. His shoes next to mine.
Then I frown, scanning across the space. Something is off about this room. My eyes go over the cream and lavender bed sheets, the antique silver bedside lamps with cream vintage-lace light shades. The realization begins to take hold.
No.
I storm over to the cupboards and fling open the doors. Inside hang several dresses, but no pairs of pants. I yank the next set of doors open and the next until all of the damned insides are exposed. There are skirts, blouses, drawers of lace undergarments, ladies shoes, but no pants, no men’s shirts and belts or socks or shiny leather brogues.
No.
I race into the ensuite, barely noticing the modern marbling and large claw-foot bathtub and cute spotlights that frame the dressing mirror. I yank open all the drawers. Women’s deodorants, powders, perfumes but no men’s shavers, no masculine-scented soaps or foams. I pull my shaking fingers off the open bottom drawer, not bothering to close it or the rest of the drawers that hang open like jeering tongues.
I stand. Slowly. I’m okay. I’m okay.
Then in the mirror, I see the thing that undoes me. A single towel is folded over the towel rack. A single towel. And it’s very, very clear. This is my room. Caden doesn’t sleep here. He has his own room. He has put me in a separate room. It becomes clear to me exactly what is going on.
Every step of the way, I have been pushing, cajoling to become a part of his life, a real goddamn part of his life. A his and hers. A you and me. An us. I have been patient. And the minute I think we are getting somewhere, he turns around and leaves me a single fucking towel on the rack. A single towel.
