: Chapter 21

“Benton said you’re leaving.” I had my own bedroom close to Claire’s, on the second floor, on the opposite side of the apartment from Benton’s bedroom. It was a beautiful home, and calling it an apartment didn’t really do it justice. The moldings, the hardwood floors, the ambient lighting…it felt like a palace. It was a lot of space for just a man and his daughter, but it was in a beautiful neighborhood in Paris, close to the good schools, the best cafés that were just a short walk away. I’d never experienced luxury like this, from the soft sheets, the designer furniture in my bedroom, a private bathroom that was bigger than my entire apartment. I even had a small sitting area in front of my balcony.

That was where we sat now.

Beatrice was across from me on the couch, not touching the glass of wine I’d poured for her. Claire was asleep. Benton was in his bedroom. It was just the two of us, the darkness pressing up against the windows. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay longer? I mean…it’s only been a few days.”

Her eyes were just as defeated as they were in our cabin, like she was still trapped in those four walls, like freedom hadn’t touched her fingertips. “I need to get out of here. I hate this place.”

“They aren’t going to come after you—”

“I could never work in that theatre again. I could never go back to my old apartment. I could never… I just need a change of scenery. My parents are anxious for me to be home, and I’m ready for a fresh start.”

“That’s all understandable…but what about Claire?” I knew Beatrice had more strength than this. I’d seen the way she held Claire close, the way she stroked her hair, the way she cared. I’d seen it with my own eyes.

She looked out the window. “We both know I’m not cut out to be a mom…”

“No one is. It’s a hard job—”

“Well, you did it just fine.” She turned back to me, accusation and self-loathing in her look.

“I’m not her mother—”

“And you did more than I ever could.”

“That’s not fair. Beatrice, you were in a lot of pain—”

“And I wanted to take my own life. If you hadn’t been there, I would have done it. All I cared about was myself…not Claire.”

“You were distressed. Cut yourself some slack.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I really do.” She was wrapped in a blanket, looking even smaller in the bulky fabric. “But this is best for everyone. Benton had her most of the time anyway, and I only took her out of obligation. Benton is a better parent than I could ever be.”

“Not a contest.”

“I can’t stand him anyway.”

“I don’t think your feelings toward him should matter.”

She gave a loud sigh. “What do you want from me, Constance?” She stared at me, hopeless, like she had nothing to live for. “I’m not cut out for this. I never have been. I want to leave. You can try to talk me out of it or berate me for my selfishness all you want, but it’s not going to change anything. I’m fully aware of how shitty I am.” She sank back into the chair and pulled the blanket tighter around her, propping her feet on the edge of the table.

I let it go. “What will you do in London?”

“Live with my parents for a while. Maybe go back to university.”

“You won’t dance anymore?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It would never bring me joy again, so I’m not sad about it…”

“Maybe you can get some help there. Find a therapist to talk to. I’m sure it would help.”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “What are you going to do?”

“Stay here.”

Her gaze rose from the floor slowly, as if she were lifting something heavy with her stare. “How long?”

“I don’t know… For the foreseeable future. I offered to help out with Claire while he’s at work in exchange for a place to stay.”

“And he agreed to that?” she asked, slightly incredulous.

“He knows if I leave, Forneus will come after me. This is the only place where I’m safe.”

She turned away again, growing quiet.

“He said he would do anything to help me…after you told him everything I did for Claire.”

She gave a slow nod. “Then it’s a good thing I told him. Otherwise, you’d be on the street right now. Like I said before, she’s the only person he cares about. He’s not helping you because he cares about your well-being since you helped his daughter. He’s doing it because he feels obligated after you helped his daughter.”

“That’s fine. I don’t expect anything from him.”

She stared out the window across the street to another apartment, the lights in the bedroom visible through the curtain that was pulled over the window. “And he’s not a guy you want to get involved with either. He’s beautiful on the outside, but not so much on the inside. He’s good for a night. That’s it.”

“I…I wasn’t even considering that.”

“I wish I hadn’t considered it in the first place.”

I stared at the side of her face, her beautiful complexion, in the glow from the street. I was a person with no judgment, because you couldn’t walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, but her words broke me a little.

Broke me for Claire.

“Makes you wonder…”

“What?” I whispered.

She turned back to me, her eyes lifeless. “How different my life would be if I’d never met him.”

“If you’d never met him, you wouldn’t have escaped Hell.” I admit he was a bit rough around the edges, a bit coarse like sandpaper, but he had more love in his heart than most people. “Without Claire, he wouldn’t have come.”

“But I wanted to move back to London, and I had to stay here…for Claire. If I’d never had Claire like I wanted, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have these scars on my back for the rest of my life.”

It dawned on me, like the strike of a gong. “That’s why you can’t stand him…”

Her eyes were back on the window.

Her silence was the loudest confirmation I’d ever heard.

“This is Precious.” Claire held up the white pony with blond hair. “Because she’s precious, obviously.” She handed the toy horse to me.

I smiled as I ran my fingers through her hair. “Obviously.”

“This is Strawberry. I named her after my real horse,” She grabbed a chestnut brown horse with pink hair, but it looked stained, like she’d dyed the hair herself.

“Did she come with pink hair?”

“No. I told Dad she needed a makeover, so he helped me.”

I chuckled as I took the horse, because it was ridiculous to imagine a man like that helping her with these little ponies. “She looks very nice.”

She showed me the rest of her horses, putting them on the bed between us. Her walls were covered with posters of the animals, everything in pink and white, matching her personality perfectly.

I glanced at the nightstand, seeing a picture frame of Claire and Benton in front of a horse. Not a mare or a pony. But a Clydesdale. “Where was that taken?” I nodded past her shoulder to the nightstand.

“Oh.” She looked at it then turned back to me. “That’s my dad’s horse. Budweiser.”

“Budweiser?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “We watch the American Super Bowl for the funny commercials. They have these commercials with those horses every year. So, I asked if we could call him Budweiser.”

I chuckled. “That’s funny.”

“We have other horses too.”

“Is that where you and your mom went the other day?”

“Yep.”

“That’s nice. You’ll have to take me sometime.”

She perked up, a smile moving on to her face. “Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Yes. For a while.”

“Yay!” She gave a squeal. “We’ll have so much fun. Maybe you can come to school with me.”

“I think I’m a little old to go back to school.”

“My teacher says you’re never too old to learn.”

“Well, that’s a good point.”

A knock sounded on the open door, revealing Benton dressed in all black. There was no light in his eyes, not like there usually was whenever he looked at his daughter. “Sweetheart, come here.” He gave a nod down the hallway.

She jumped off the bed and followed him.

Something told me I should stay behind, that this didn’t involve me.

But I could still hear everything.

His deep voice was distinct, like aged scotch, weathered wood, ancient stones. “Your mother is leaving.”

“Oh, okay.” Claire probably hugged her mother, because she spoke with a muffled voice, like her mouth was pressed against her stomach. “I love you, Mom.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I were in a room where I didn’t have to hear this.

Beatrice’s voice came a moment later, after a long and distinct pause. “I love you too, baby.”

Silence.

Like they were all staring at one another.

Beatrice didn’t say anything, so Benton took over. “Mom is going to be gone a while. Visiting your grandparents in London.” There was no anger in his voice like I expected, because all he cared about was making this as easy for Claire as possible, softening the blow before it struck.

“Okay,” Claire said. “See you when you get back.”

More silence.

My eyes remained closed, visualizing all of this, Beatrice standing at the door with her bag over her shoulder, knowing she was going to walk out of this life without looking back. This was the end.

But for Claire and Benton, it was just the beginning.

The door opened then closed.

My eyes opened.

Claire spoke. “Constance said she’s going to stay awhile. Told her I’d show her Budweiser.”

Benton was quiet.

“She liked my horses too. I think she likes Strawberry the most.”

Still nothing.

“Daddy…you okay?”

After a long stretch of silence, his sigh was audible. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Let’s make lunch.”

Benton let me get Claire ready for bed. He had been in a foul mood ever since Beatrice left, so he wasn’t quite present.

I had no experience with childcare, had been forced to learn when we were stuck in Hell together, but now it felt natural, as if I’d been doing it my entire life. I dried her hair, watched her brush her teeth, and then put her to bed.

When I came back into the main living room, he was sitting in his armchair and staring at the fire. One elbow was propped, his fingertips against his temple, and his other hand was around his glass. A glass full of scotch.

He seemed to be ready for bed, because he was in nothing but his sweatpants.

Didn’t seem to care about his vanity in front of me.

But then again, he didn’t seem like a man who cared about anyone—especially in his own home.

His blue eyes remained on the fire, either unaware that I stood there or ambivalent to it.

After my suffering, I assumed I wouldn’t feel compassion toward anyone, because no one else had survived what I’d survived. But the empathy washed over me, seeing this powerful man hold on to his glass of hard liquor like it was all he had in the world.

I could have just gone to bed without a word, but I decided to take a seat.

His eyes flicked to mine once I joined him, the rest of his body still.

“Do you mind?” I grabbed an empty glass.

No response.

I tipped the decanter and filled my glass. The fumes immediately hit me in the nose, like smoke from a fire. It’d been a while since I’d had a strong drink, usually sticking to wine, but right now, I’d earned something with a kick.

I took a drink and let it slide into my belly.

It burned all the way down.

His eyes moved back to the fire, and he did the same.

There were no tattoos on his fair skin. No scars either. Just tight skin over bulging muscle. Each of his pecs reminded me of the large stones back at the settlement, huge boulders that were too heavy to move.

I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t help it.

His eyes remained on the fire for a while before they flicked back to me.

Our eyes locked.

Seconds passed.

I didn’t look away.

He didn’t back down. Didn’t blink. The fire reflected in his eyes, looking like ice-blue flames instead of the inferno of red.

My eyes dropped to the scotch. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Beatrice.” I looked up again.

He still stared at me. “Don’t be sorry for things you shouldn’t be sorry for.”

“I just mean…I can tell how much this bothers you.”

He brought the glass to his lips, took a drink, and not a drink like the one I’d taken. It was a big swallow, like water after a long run. “Not your problem.”

“I still care.”

“Don’t.” He looked at the fire again, holding the cool glass against his temple.

I stared at him a while longer, seeing the bitterness in his gaze, the icy cold. “I know it’s not my place to say anything—”

“Then don’t.” His jawline was masked in shadow, making a distinct dark line that separated his chin from his veined neck. He had a hard face, and by hard, I mean so sharp it was like a broken shard of glass. Everything from his fingertips to his furrowed eyebrows. Masculine. Ferocious. Monstrous. His only softness was his blue eyes.

My voice was controlled and low because my restraint overcame my attitude at lightning speed. “The only reason why I’m not gonna tell you off is because you got me out of there.”

His eyes flicked back to mine.

“But that patience isn’t infinite. I killed a Malevolent, and I stabbed many others. I’d have plunged that blade into my stomach and taken my own life in a heartbeat. So, when I get pissed, I’m really pissed.”

His hand slowly lowered the glass from his temple, holding it over the edge of his armrest.

“I’m not your enemy. I’m not your friend. But I am loyal to you. Always.”

The blueness was still, like the calm sea between Spain and Italy, just smooth.

I commanded his entire focus, but once I had it, I was on edge. My breathing grew heavy because he was innately intimidating, whether he was calm or hostile. “And I know you’re loyal to me. So, let’s act like it.”