The Palace (Chateau Book 4)

by Penelope Sky

  This time, she didn’t follow me.

  I made it to the front door, which was still open as I’d left it.

  Her voice rang out behind me as an emotional outburst. “Je t’aime.”

  I’d almost crossed the threshold before her words hit me like a bullet to the bone. I stilled, replayed it in my head, and slowly turned around to regard her.

  She remained where she stood, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her hands were clasped tightly together against her waist, a slight tremor to her body, the aftershock of her catharsis still making her shake.

  I walked back to her, my bare feet hitting the cold stone as I approached, my eyes absorbing her appearance in a way I never had before. My hands ached for those hips. My lips yearned for her kiss. All it took was to hear the words I’d whispered to her so many times in the hope that she would say them back…and I was lost.

  My hand snaked into her hair, and the instant I touched her, her face melted like that was exactly what she needed to find peace. My fingers fisted her hair tightly, and I tilted her head back to force her to look up at me. The moment I’d laid eyes on her, she was all I ever wanted, not just for the night, but my entire life. But like a shadow passing overhead, clouds promising rain, my anger approached over the horizon.

  I was so angry.

  Her eyes closed, as if expecting a kiss.

  I never gave it.

  My hand tightened in her hair and locked her in place. She’d risked her safety to march through the snow and destroy me. She’d left me without a backward glance. She’d lured me to bed and got my eyes to close, and then she stabbed me in the darkness. I gave this woman everything—and she gave me nothing.

  Her eyes opened, revealing trepidation. They trembled slightly as she looked into my eyes, the fear setting in when she realized there would be no kiss, no embrace. Her words had fallen on deaf ears.

  I squeezed her hair tighter, wanting to push her into the road and leave her there. My eyes burned with a hatred I couldn’t sheathe. I wanted to abandon her the way she’d abandoned me, leave her out there on her own without anyone to protect her. She’d hit me where it hurt the most—and I wanted to do the same to her.

  Her hand moved to my forearm, and she gripped it like a lifeline, her cold skin melting like snow at my heat. Despite my rage, she continued to cling to me, prepared to latch on when I threw her on her ass.

  That was all it took to bring me back, to change my mind in a split second. “Tu m’aimes?” You love me?

  She seemed to understand me because she gave a nod.

  That wasn’t enough for me. I tugged on her hair tighter. “Oui?” Yes?

  Her answer left her lips with emotion. “Oui.” Yes.

  My eyes seared into her face, branding her as mine once again. “Then prove it.”

  Seven

  Cold Shoulder

  Melanie

  I slept in the apartment alone.

  I packed the few things that I had and prepared to be picked up in the morning.

  Life as I knew it would be forever changed tomorrow. Once I left this place, I wouldn’t be Melanie ever again.

  As with every night since Raven had left, I could hardly sleep. It wasn’t just the fact that she was gone. It was the fact that I was alone, footsteps from strangers audible on the other side of my doorstep, the sounds of the cars and ambulances loud from the street outside my window.

  The only sound I heard at the palace was the fireplace.

  The next morning, I sat on the couch with my packed bag beside me. My hands were in my lap and my shoulders slumped, waiting for whoever Fender sent to retrieve me. Footsteps came a moment later, belonging to a single man.

  I inhaled a deep breath and waited for them to step inside. I’d left the door unlocked.

  A knock sounded. “Melanie?”

  I recognized that voice immediately, like I still listened to it every single day. “Gilbert? It’s open.” I rose to my feet and grabbed my bag.

  He let himself inside, dressed in jeans and a shirt.

  I stilled at his appearance because all I’d ever seen him in was a tuxedo or his pajamas. Sunglasses hung down the front of his shirt, and his snug jeans fit his hard body like a glove.

  He took a step inside, and with his typical snootiness, he examined the apartment with obvious disapproval. He moved to the kitchen island, dragged his finger across the surface, and then turned it over to see the dark smudge of dirt there. He rubbed his fingers together to remove it. “Charming…”

  I approached with my arms raised, eager to hug him even though I’d never hugged him before. I moved into his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I missed you.”

  He didn’t return the embrace. After a few seconds, he grabbed my bag off my shoulder and stepped back. “Is that everything?” He scanned the apartment with disdain, like he hoped all I would take was this single bag of items, and if he had it his way, probably not even that.

  “Yeah.”

  He turned to the door then stopped when he spotted a small drop of blood on the wall near the baseboards. He turned to me and gave me a headshake of disapproval.

  “That wasn’t me—”

  “Let’s go.” He led me out of the apartment and to the blacked-out SUV parked at the curb. There was a driver in the front who didn’t say a word as we got inside. He silently pulled into traffic and drove toward the palace.

  We sat in silence the whole way, Gilbert sitting against the opposite window with his elbow on the armrest. His fingers rested against his jawline as he surveyed the buildings and then the countryside.

  “So, you hate me again.”

  He ignored me.

  I realized I had to start all over—with both men.

  My old bedroom looked exactly the same.

  There were fresh flowers ready for my arrival, in big vases around the quarters. My designer clothes were in the closet like they’d never been removed. The diamonds and jewelry were still in the vault. All of my makeup and hair supplies were on the bathroom counter, pristine and undisturbed.

  It felt so strange to stand there.

  It was as if nothing had changed.

  But also, everything had changed.

  “Will you take your lunch in the garden room?” He set the bag on a shelf in the closet before he reemerged, his arms behind his back like he was dressed in his formal attire.

  “Sure.”

  He gave a slight bow then made to depart.

  “Is Fender in his office?”

  He stilled just before he crossed the threshold into the hallway. “Yes. But you’re unwelcome.”

  I’d expected that, but it stung anyway. “Will he join me for lunch—”

  “No.”

  “Then when will I see him?”

  He turned back around and gave me a cold look. “Whenever he feels like it, Melanie.”

  I didn’t see Fender for a week.

  Gilbert left my birth control on the nightstand like he expected me to resume the contraceptive, and I was taken to a doctor’s office to be tested for my reproductive health—even though I hadn’t been with anyone.

  It was springtime, so I spent more time outside. The garden bloomed with colorful flowers, and I’d sit there for hours and watch the bees fly from one petal to the next. Whenever the sun was directly on my skin, I felt like a cat lounging in its rays.

  When I took my walks, I passed the guest quarters.

  If my sister hadn’t run, she’d be there right now.

  She’d be safe. Taken care of. Maybe even happy…

  But that was gone now.

  I was supposed to convince Fender to release my sister, but I wasn’t sure if that was even a possibility. I couldn’t ask, because if I did, he would grow suspicious. I had to earn back his trust, but I wasn’t sure if that would ever happen either. His guard was up higher than it used to be. He would never lower it, and it was too high for me to climb.

  He wouldn’t kill Melanie, so I had all the time in
the world to make this happen.

  It was warm outside now, so no reason to have a fire.

  But I still asked Gilbert to make them because there was something comforting about it. It took me to a different time. A time when Fender would look at me like I was his one and only, when he would keep me warm with his touch, when he would give himself to me completely. It took me back in time to when life was better…in some ways.

  I sat in the living room in my bedroom and stared at the fire. My old translation textbook was there, along with the notebook Gilbert had scribbled in. A pen lay there, shining in the light of the flames. The TV wasn’t on because I wasn’t going to bother trying to learn French at this hour. It was late, time for bed, but I had no reason to get up in the morning, so there was no point.

  My bedroom door opened.

  I heard it, the sound immediately flooding my memory because I’d heard it so many times in the past.

  It shut again.

  My heart pounded. My ears throbbed with blood. Bumps formed on my arms even though I was warm. My gaze remained on the fire as I listened to his bare feet thud against the hardwood, becoming muffled once he hit the rug, approaching slowly.

  I breathed deeper, afraid.

  His footsteps stopped.

  I knew he was right behind me. Standing over me. Lurking.

  His hands moved to the back of the couch, and he gripped the frame behind the cushion, his arms slightly in my periphery. His energy surrounded me like a cloud of humility, electrifying all the particles in the air so they burned my lungs every time I took a breath. He leaned down, his face coming closer to my ear. “Get on the bed.” His hands disappeared. The energy evaporated. His footsteps announced his departure.

  This was different.

  He was different.

  I could feel it.

  I left the couch and looked at him for the first time, standing near the bed in his sweatpants and nothing else, his gaze burning into me like it possessed the heat of the sun. He watched me approach the bed, watched me strip down to nothing. His eyes combed over my naked body, but his expression still didn’t change.

  I crawled onto the bed and laid my head on the pillow.

  He dropped his bottoms, revealing that rock-hard cock that was anxious for me. His hard body was built bigger than it used to be, an increase in mass but a tightness in inches. The veins bulged more than they did before. He moved to the bed, one knee dipping the mattress and then the other knee doing the same.

  My body tightened as he came close, my sex glistening, my breaths of fear turning into breaths of arousal. I hadn’t seen him in the flesh since our conversation outside his home, and now that he was mine again, my fingers were anxious to grip those muscles, my thighs were anxious to squeeze his hips. I wanted his passionate kisses. I wanted him to whisper beautiful things to me in French as he claimed me as his. I’d missed this, and I hadn’t felt that quite as strongly as I did now.

  On his knees, he looked down at me, but he didn’t separate my thighs with his knees. His hands gripped my hips, and then he quickly flipped me over. His fingers fisted my hair and pressed my face hard into the pillow as he lifted my ass into the air. Then he gripped both of my wrists and held them together at the small of my back, like I was a prisoner. His dick slid through my tight opening then slammed in with a hard thrust.

  I shifted forward and let out a moan, my hands automatically wanting to break free, but were unable to move. It was a shock to feel that size deep inside me, that thick and throbbing rod of flesh.

  His hands tightened on my body like reins to his horse, and he slammed into me hard, smacking my headboard against the wall, giving quiet moans as he pounded into me like I was a whore.

  I imagined his face above mine, kissing me as he rocked into me, brushing his nose against mine as he looked into my eyes and slid all the way inside before he pulled out again. I imagined it slow, with our quiet breaths floating to the high ceiling and echoing back to us.

  This was carnal.

  Vicious.

  Animalistic.

  It wasn’t what I wanted—but I came anyway.

  When he was finished, he immediately released his hold then moved away.

  I lay there, a crick in my neck from the way my face had been thrust into the pillow. It hadn’t bothered me in the moment, but now there was a definite ache. I heard him get off the bed and grab his clothes.

  I lifted myself and looked at him, naked and covered in his sweat, his come dripping out of me.

  Without giving me a glance, he pulled on his clothes and left.

  He took me once, got off, and then just left.

  Fender and I hadn’t spoken once since I’d come here. I’d expected pillow talk after sex, but he got what he wanted then departed like there was no reason to stay. His office door was closed, and he didn’t join me for lunch.

  He only wanted me for one thing.

  He came again the next night.

  After his full week of ignoring me, I hadn’t expected to see him again for a while.

  I sat up in bed with a book in my hand, and the second the door opened, my eyes flicked up to watch him enter.

  With that same constantly pissed-off visage, he approached my bed and dropped his bottoms, his dick hard like he was in the mood before he even looked at me. Tall and muscular, he stood there and stared me down, telling me what to do without moving his lips.

  I closed the book and set it on the nightstand. “I want to talk—”

  “Don’t care what you want.” He approached the bed. “Turn over.”

  My only action should be obedience, but I didn’t want this version of him—even though I deserved it. “Please—”

  He grabbed my body and threw me over, forcing me onto my stomach and knees. My nightgown was pushed above my hips, and he yanked my thong down with such force he could have ripped it. He moved me to the edge of the bed, ass in the air, directed his dick to my entrance so he could pound me as harshly as he had last night.

  I tried to push up against his hand at my neck, but it was no use. “No.”

  Everything stopped.

  His hand released my neck, and he pulled his dick away.

  I breathed hard against the sheets before I raised myself to look at him.

  He was already dressed and headed to the door.

  “Wait, no.”

  He ignored me and walked out.

  “Okay, okay…”

  His footsteps halted outside the door before he returned to the doorway, his sweatpants snug because his dick bulged in the material. He stared me down, his dark eyes full of anger. But there was still desire there, subtly masked underneath the stare. He didn’t move toward the bed, as if he expected something from me.

  I put my head back down on the sheets, my ass up in the air, and pulled my nightgown to my hips.

  He stared for a while before he came back in. He didn’t take off his bottoms this time. He pushed them to his thighs, got me in the same hold as last night, and fucked me harder than he had the night before.

  It happened every night for a week.

  He fucked me the exact same way. The exact same position. Not saying a word. When I tried to talk to him, he would just leave.

  These were his terms—and I didn’t have a choice but to accept them.

  I ate lunch by myself in the garden room, my depression increasing in weight the longer my social isolation lasted. Gilbert didn’t speak to me. Just dropped my tray and departed. Fender would only see me under one condition—if he was fucking me.

  The tray remained in front of me, but I didn’t take a single bite. I had no appetite. Raven was back at the camp, and I’d foolishly thought getting Fender to release her would be easy. He was a man who shouldn’t be crossed—and I’d crossed him a couple times. It was a miracle I’d earned his trust in the first place. What were the odds I could ever do it again?

  Gilbert approached the table in his tuxedo, his eyes perpetually annoyed whenever he had to be in my
presence. “Is there something wrong with the meal?”

  “No.” I stirred my tea with the spoon, watching the steam rise.

  He waited a moment longer before he turned away.

  “Gilbert?”

  He halted, and with a loud sigh, he turned back around and regarded me.

  “What do I do about Fender?” I was desperate for a solution.

  “Why are you asking me?” His tone turned icy, his eyes like rain clouds.

  “Because you know him better than anyone else.”

  “I think you should leave and never come back, Melanie. That’s what I think.” His words were clipped, every syllable becoming more difficult to speak the longer he had this conversation. “You don’t deserve him. I have no idea why he allowed you to come back at all.”

  My eyes returned to the tea. “I missed him every day I was gone—”

  “Oh, you missed him?” he asked sarcastically. “Did you miss him when you burned down everything he’d built with his bare hands?”

  Now I shut my mouth.

  Gilbert turned away.

  “I didn’t realize…I’d hurt him so much.”

  Gilbert stayed still for a long time, took a deep breath as if deciding if he should just let this conversation drop, but then he turned back to me. “I never thought he was particularly happy when you were here. His mood and behaviors didn’t change. But when you were gone…I definitely noticed the difference.”

  His office doors were closed.

  But I knew he was inside.

  That was where he spent all of his time while he was in the house.