“For example, the yew tree,” she points to a tree, “which is used to make a chemotherapy drug. And that’s just one of the plants in this garden that is used to fight cancer. I encourage you to read the signs along the walkway and learn about the life saving properties in these humble flowers and plants. There are some amazing breakthroughs being made every day in some of the diseases that have plagued humanity the longest. Cancer. Autoimmune diseases. Even allergies.”
The crowd smiles and nods along, completely with her.
“This Healing Garden is dedicated to one who lost her life in a battle against one such disease. Dr. Laurel’s mother, Isabella.”
Even from halfway across the space, I can see that Daphne’s eyes are glistening.
And then Mrs. Ubeli calls Daphne up on stage to say a few words. I smile and clap harder than anyone there as my beautiful Daphne rolls up the ramp made especially for her as she ascends the dais beside Cora.
She’s the only one I’m here for. Her and that smile on her face. I’ll be forever grateful to Cora Ubeli for giving her this night. I thought all rich, powerful people were the scum of humanity but the Ubelis might just be one of the few exceptions. Then again, from the rumors I’ve heard, they don’t exactly color inside the lines.
I’m still grinning, about to move closer in spite of my dislike of crowds—Daphne’s voice is quieter than Cora’s and I don’t want to miss a word—when other voices filter in.
Loud, obnoxious voices from behind me. One in particular familiar loud, obnoxious voice.
“Phew, dodged a bullet with that one,” Adam Archer says. “It’s too bad, ‘cause she’s hot. But I could never have a wife who couldn’t get on her hands and knees and suck me off at the end of a long day.”
Some hearty laughs and other uncomfortable laughs follow his statement.
But I’m already swinging around, hands fisted.
They’re only standing about five feet behind me, a group of three men, Adam their ringleader.
He smirks when he sees me coming. The son of a bitch.
I point a huge finger at him. He said those things on purpose, close enough so I’d hear him. “You’re a dead man.”
His smirk changes into an expression of fear far too late.
I’m already swinging for his perfect face.
Eight
Daphne
The ride home from the Healing Garden is frosty. There’s no other word for it.
Logan tried feebly to congratulate me on my speech and I snapped at him, “How would you know? You were too busy punching out Adam Archer to hear anything I said.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when, during the middle of my prepared remarks about my mother’s love of gardening and how much the beauty of nature reminded her that life was worth living—
Only to look up when there’s a ruckus at the back of the seated area, and then to further realize that it’s your current boyfriend punching out your ex-boyfriend and ruining everything.
“Look,” he says gruffly, running a hand through his hair when the car pulls to a stop in the garage of the castle. “I’m sorry.”
I barely contain my scoff but apparently not well enough because he asks, “What?”
Is he serious right now?
“They were two seconds away from calling the cops.”
Logan’s jaw flexes. “But they didn’t.”
My mouth drops open. Does he really think that makes it better? “Then what are you even sorry for? It doesn’t sound like you feel like you have anything to feel sorry about.”
Right now I really wish I could slam my way out of the car and storm up to my room…but humiliatingly, I have to wait for Logan to set up the ramp for me to get out of the van. Because this is how it will always be. Him waiting hand and foot on me and never listening to anything I say.
I knew we would get to this point. It’s exhausting being a caretaker. He’s too busy taking care of my physical needs to care about what I really want— He couldn’t even care that I was excited about the garden.
More like he cares more about his revenge than he does about you.
He comes around the car, opens the door and sets up the ramp. But before I can roll down it, he drops his hands to both sides of the wheelchair and forces me to look him in the eye. “Look, I know I screwed up tonight. But I’m going to make it up to you. I swear.”
Oh, Logan. He doesn’t even get it. It’s not about making it up to me. It’s about letting go of the past so we can have a future.
I gave up everything. But he’s obviously not willing to do the same.
I reach up and caress his face. “I’m tired, hon. Really tired. Can I just go sleep? We’ll talk another time?”
It’s not a lie. I’m exhausted after going out and then when Adam kept shouting for the authorities to be called after Marcus Ubeli’s security finally pulled Logan off of him… There was blood running from Adam’s nose. People were taking video with their phones. It was horrible. Normal stress is tiring, but that?
I need to sleep for about a week after that.
Logan continues staring at me, eyes searching mine, before finally nodding and pulling back. I wheel down the ramp and fifteen minutes later, I’m scrubbed clean of all my makeup and fast asleep.
* * *
A week later and winter is still alive and well in our household even as spring begins to bloom outdoors. But there’s little thaw between Logan and me. He tries and sometimes, halfheartedly, so do I.
We talk about the weather and politics and documentaries we watch together in the evenings…but that’s it. The ground is too frozen to dig any deeper.
The garden party tired me out more than I expected… Or maybe it’s everything with Logan. I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve been less motivated to get out of bed. Logan asks me if I want to go down to the basement and work in the lab with him.
But the thought of hours working at his side, pretending everything’s fine… It’s no lie when I say I don’t have the energy for it.
Maybe I was right, before, back when I shut out everything and everyone. Maybe I’m like my dad. He never had time for anyone, not even his family. He didn’t even always have time for Mom, when she was the one he was supposedly trying to save.
It was probably idiotic to get my hopes up for more. No matter how amazing Logan is. Some circumstances are just too much.
He’s too angry. Maybe if I was healthy, I’d have the energy to help him past it. But with me ill, every day is a reminder of my father and Adam, always in danger of another relapse that might take me from him…
I look out the window as clouds gather overhead for another springtime shower. Logan will never be rid of the anger. He’ll never stop wanting revenge. Against the whole world if I die, no doubt.
Am I just supposed to live with my head in the sand about what’s really going on? Am I supposed to just pretend that he loves me first above everything else when I know in my heart of hearts it’s not true?
And how can I blame him? When I’m this…thing. I look down at myself, covered in blankets, not having showered in two days, and I think—
I think maybe he’ll be better off when I’m gone.
Maybe then he’ll have a chance.
I turn away from the window and bury my face in the pillow.
But right then the door bangs open and Logan stomps through. He’s rarely one for stealth. “It’s time for a bath.”
I keep my eyes shut and pretend I’m asleep.
“You snore when you sleep so I know you’re awake.”
Then the covers are ripped off of me and my eyes jolt open. “Hey!”
“Up and at ‘em,” is all Logan says.
But when I still don’t respond, he just starts to undress me like I’m a petulant child.
“What are you doing?” I yelp as he yanks my shirt off my head and then tugs the bottom of my sweatpants, tipping me backwards on the bed so that my head is hitting the pillow again.
I f
eel like a little kid being maneuvered by a giant. Two seconds later, my pants are off, and then my underwear and bra.
I cross my arms over my chest, covering my breasts, and glare at him. “I am not having sex with you after that.”
For the first time since he’s come in the room, I finally see a spark of emotion across his face. He grins at me. “Never say never. But like I said, we’re heading for the bath.”
And then, still not asking permission or waiting for me to agree, he hikes me up and over his shoulder, fireman carry style. My shrieks and yelps are ignored.
He takes me out the door, ignoring my own en suite bathroom and taking me across the hall to his larger jacuzzi tub, the jets already roiling. With no ceremony, he deposits me into the steaming water.
I make one last screech of protest, but then I sigh as the wave of hot water hits my body and starts to seep into my aching muscles.
And apparently it’s bath time and a show, because as soon as Logan finishes dropping me in the water, he starts to undress. I can’t take my eyes off the way the light hits his rippling muscles. His back is as broad as that of two lesser men. And the cut of his abs, leading down to that enticing V…
I yank my eyes away, but not before he notices where I was looking and snickers loudly.
“Like what you see?” he asks cockily.
I’ll blame the flush of my cheeks on the hot water.
“No time for funny business, though,” he says, much to my surprise. “We’re here to get a job done.”
Since when?
But then, heart sinking, I realize that I’m not the only one who’s noticed the changes around here. Logan really isn’t attracted to me anymore, is he?
I mean, he just tore off all my clothes, handled my naked body, and all he wants to do is…bathe me?
Oh gods, I must smell. That has to be it. He leaned in a little too close and got a whiff of Hermit Daphne’s body funk. It was just one day I skipped my bath and it’s not like I get that sweaty just sleeping, I didn’t think that it would matter that much—
But Logan’s already picked up a washrag and he’s going to work with the efficiency of a practiced home care nurse. Washing underneath my arms. My feet. My back.
Because he’s a loyal caretaker.
My head drops forward.
“Keep your head like that, I’m going to rinse your hair now.”
Can I please sink down through all the floors of the castle into the belly of the earth and disappear now?
I keep my eyes squeezed shut and my mouth closed as Logan washes my hair, not even able to enjoy the sensation of his hands against my scalp, which is usually a highlight.
But unlike normal, he doesn’t spend any extra time lathering my breasts and he barely skirts a fresh washrag between my legs before he’s pulling the plug and letting all the water out.
Bathtime’s over.
He didn’t even get all the way in with me. He washed me from the outside of the tub, never even taking off his pants. And he’s wearing nice ones like always.
He helps me out of the bath and towels me off with as much ruthless efficiency as he washed me. Apparently talking is overrated, too, because he doesn’t say two words, even as he wraps me in my favorite fluffy purple robe.
He’s not even trying to pretend this isn’t our new normal anymore. Doctor and patient.
“I’m tired,” I murmur. “I think I’ll go back to bed now.”
“What?” Logan asks with alarm he tugs on a crisp, white shirt and starts to button it. “But now we can go down for lunch.”
I sigh. “I really don’t feel up for it. Can’t you just bring me up a plate later?”
His eyebrows drop low, signaling his alarm. “No, I can’t just bring it up later. I worked hard putting together the meal. For you. You need to be there.”
Extra long sigh. Why are we even pretending anymore? I’m too tired for any of this.
But Logan suddenly pulls me forward into his arms and presses a hard kiss against my forehead. “We are going to be okay, you and me. And that starts today. Please,” he whispers, “come downstairs. I know I fuck things up sometimes. But I want to make it better. I love you.”
His words split my hard façade straight down the middle and I start to shake.
No. I have to be strong. I can’t let myself get pulled in by beautiful words because the next disappointment will only hurt that much more.
And yet still, I nod when he holds out his arms for me. He ignores any uncertainty and helps me pull on a yellow sundress over my head. I’m surprised he bothers because I’ve barely worn anything other than a robe or PJs since coming home from the hospital. But maybe he thinks getting dressed will brighten my mood. Fat chance. Still, it does feel nice as he combs out my long, dark hair.
And afterwards, when he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me downstairs, I sink against his chest. I lean my head on his shoulder and listen to the comforting thump thump thump of his heart by my ear.
Why can’t things always be simple like this? I close my eyes and luxuriate in the feeling of his strong, protective arms around me. I miss the pretending. I miss the illusion that he could love me more than anything else and the idea that he would fight anything, even his lesser nature, because of that love.
But maybe that was always a fairytale. And maybe I should learn how to be happy with what I have, because even if it’s not perfect, it’s still pretty damn amazing. I’m not perfect. Why should I expect him to be?
I nuzzle my face in that spot I love between his neck and shoulder and inhale. I’m just so mixed up about everything. I don’t know which emotions to trust anymore. I wish there was someone to talk to about all this, someone who could help me see clearly and make sense of things—
But just then, I feel a whoosh and then the breeze on my face as Logan opens a door.
I pull my face out of his neck and look up right as a group of people start cheering and whistling.
What the hell—?
I can’t look enough places at once. The backyard has been transformed. There are lines of chairs and all of them are filled with people. Glittering, beautiful people, dressed to the nines. It’s like a redo of the garden party, everyone who is anyone is here, including the Ubelis and a grinning Armand, and there’s an— There’s an—
An AISLE down the center of the chairs, covered in rose petals, and at the front—
I swing my head up to Logan, who’s still holding me in his freaking arms like I’m a damsel in distress, my hair still damp from my bath earlier—
But he’s grinning as wide as anyone I’ve ever seen.
“Surprise, gorgeous. Welcome to your wedding.”
Nine
Daphne
“Take. Me. Back. Inside,” I hiss up at Logan, turning my head to look away from everyone gathered in front of the garden.
Was I not sick enough? Now he’s trying to make me die of humiliation?
Logan, smart man that he is, promptly turns around and carries me back inside. I don’t take a full breath until I hear the door close behind us, but not before I register the chatter start up in the garden beyond.
I would so kill Logan right now if I had the energy.
“Put me down.” It’s taking everything I have in me not to lose my shit on him. What was he thinki—?
He lays me tenderly on the couch and watches me with an unreadable expression. But he certainly doesn’t look contrite.
Does he actually think this is okay?
“You can’t just order me to marry you!” I toss my hands up. After all this time, does he still not get it? “You’re my master in the bedroom, not my life.”
But all he says is, “You don’t want to marry me?” He watches me with seductive, dangerous eyes.
A pain twists my guts. I look away. That’s not fair. I don’t know what else to say but, “Not like this.”
He nods and turns away, walking to a window that looks out on the back garden. “You told me this was wha
t you always wanted.”
I can feel my face scrunch in confusion.
He waves to the window and the labyrinth garden beyond. “A wedding like your mother’s. A garden. All your friends.” Then he comes over and crouches in front of me. “And I promised to make all your dreams come true.”
He’s trying to be sweet but he’s only making it worse.
He didn’t say anything about love.
This is just another way he’s trying to take care of me. It’s like that Cancer Wish foundation for little kids, except for grown-ups. He thinks this is what I always wanted, so he’s trying to give it to me before I… Before I…
I can’t help the little cry of anguish at the thought of the pity wedding everyone’s thrown together for me.
And I’m sorry, but no matter how much I love them all, I can’t go through with the farce. I can’t be the good little bride like my mother was.
I can’t pretend that someday Logan’s devotion won’t turn sour. Those flowers out back will wilt, and all that’s beautiful about our love will turn ugly and destructive.
“No.”
I look up in confusion at Logan’s declarative statement.
“What?”
“No to whatever is going on in that head of yours.”
“You don’t know what I’m—”
“You don’t want to get married today, fine. But I’m done with this bullshit between us.” He makes a decisive swiping motion with his hand.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
He pulls his cell out of his pocket and hits a button. “Hey Armand. Yeah, the wedding’s off. No, no, Daphne is just not feeling up to it today. She’s fine. I promise. We just need to postpone for a few weeks.”
Logan ignores my indignant scoff and the daggers I’m shooting his way. He smiles and chuckles and says, “Yep.” And then a few seconds later, “Yep.” And then. “Will do. Talk soon.” Then he hangs up the phone and turns back to me like he hasn’t been secretly collaborating with one of my friends behind my back.
Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set Page 40
