But that’s not where Logan is taking me. Moonlight glints off a structure ahead. I’m not wearing my contacts or glasses so it takes me a moment to recognize the sheen of glass.
“A greenhouse,” I breathe, delighted.
When he opens the door, warm air embraces me, along with the scent of jasmine and vanilla. Logan sets me down. The moonlight is enough to guide my path through the dark rows. I can pick out the groups of plant by scent. Herbs, orchids, a few vegetables, and finally the last rows dedicated to hybrid after hybrid of—
“Roses.” I swallow a stone that’s suddenly formed in my throat. “These are my mother’s.”
I look to Logan and he doesn’t deny it.
My eyes go back to the roses. “You brought them from Thornhill.” I delicately touch a prickly leaf.
“I wanted them close,” he says. “Easier to care for.”
“My father told me he wouldn’t let my mother’s garden go, that he’d hire someone to keep it up. That the hybrids she was working on would be looked after, kept alive until I had time to return and continue her work.” But he didn’t. He sold Thornhill. It was Logan who cherished these roses and kept them thriving.
“Dad lied to me. About this. About everything.” I turn and walk down the rows. Logan follows, a giant shadow dogging my steps. But I’m grateful for his presence. His warmth.
“Thornhill was promised to me, did you know that? I wanted to live there, convert one of the greenhouses to a lab. Dad convinced me to move into the city. Now I know why.” I let out a hollow laugh.
I stop at the edge of the greenhouse and press my face to the cold glass. I won’t cry. The hurt is so constant, it’s seeped into my bones. It’s part of my blood.
My father has always been like this. Since the day I was born, he made it clear that I mattered less than the stem cells I could give my ailing mother and the accolades I would win in his name. I’ve carried that pain and rejection every day of my life. Take it away and I wouldn’t be Daphne.
Logan
The pain in Daphne’s voice stabs me. A tear beads in her lashes and she blinks it away.
“My father only cared about what I could give him. Never about me. I never mattered to him.”
Finally, she sees the truth about her shit dad. There’s no satisfaction in the fact, though, because I can see how much she’s hurting. I reach out to touch her, but stop with my hand hovering in the air. I don’t want to add to her pain.
Then she turns and sees my hand, smiles, and reaches up to clasp it herself. “I did matter to my mother. But I was her donor, you know. She loved me, she did, but our time together was colored by the disease. I never met anyone who cared about me for me...until I met you.”
She looks up at me and I almost back away from her adoring smile. Her trust hits me like a blow.
“Everything’s changing,” she murmurs. “I’m changing. But I didn’t do it fast enough, did I? As soon as I walked back into Belladonna, I turned into the old Daphne. A pushover, pleasing everyone but herself.”
I start to make a noise and she goes on tiptoe to press two fingers to my lips.
“I’m not making excuses,” she says quickly. “Everything that happened, I allowed it. But please, let me say this. I never got to properly say it when you found me that day at Mom’s grave. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
I swallow hard at her apology, not sure how I feel, but she’s not done.
“Adam steamrolled over me and I let him. I was a grown woman but I let him and fear of the board make me a doormat just like I always was for my father my whole life. And that’s my fault.”
She releases me and turns away.
“Anyway, I just wanted to finally say it out loud. I’m sorry I immediately fell back in old patterns. But the old mold doesn’t fit anymore. In a way, it never did. I feel stronger now. I didn’t know the world could be this…big. That my life could be so full of color. I feel like I’m starting to become the woman I was always supposed to be.” Her voice grows stronger as she moves through the greenhouse. I catch up to her at the door. Her head’s tipped back and the moonlight bathes her face. “And that’s all because of you.” The last words come out as a whisper but I hear them all the same.
“Come on,” I wrap my arms around her. I can’t help her words affecting me. She’s saying everything I want to hear. And though there’s a part of me that still clenched in suspicion of her playing me…the rest of me?
The rest of me just wants to hold my Daphne. Hold her close forever and never let her go.
“It’s late. You need sleep for tomorrow.”
“More torture?” she asks lightly.
I want to say no, but I can’t lie. Owning Daphne’s body is the only way to exorcise my demons. And if there’s a chance, even the slightest chance that this could all be real, that there could be a future for us…
“It’s okay,” she whispers, and snuggles against me as I carry her to bed. I tuck her in, careful of her piercings. I fuss as long as I can until there’s nothing left to do. But I can’t bring myself to leave. I slide my hand over the coverlet, smoothing it over and over again, feeling her warmth underneath.
“Lie with me?” she asks sleepily. She’s so beautiful, soft and warm in the bed, inviting and tempting like nothing else. It’s a bad idea, but I can’t refuse. I’m tired of fighting. There’s nothing else I want than to hold her close for hours.
“This isn’t a precedent,” I mutter as I slip in next to her. Her smooth legs tangle with mine and my boner tents the sheet. I grit my teeth, willing it to subside. I really do just want to hold her and I’m not sure I could deal with the intensity of fucking her again right now. If I started, I’m not sure I could stop. “I’m not doing this every night,” I growl churlishly.
She doesn’t acknowledge my warning. “You were the only one who could get me to sleep,” she reminds me, sighing happily and tucking her head under my chin. Her breathing evens out immediately, leaving me wondering if I’m living my nightmare or my best dream.
Twenty
Present Day
Daphne
The sun slants across my face and I stretch. Logan is gone—I didn’t expect he’d stay. That he held me last night so I could fall sleep is enough.
Last night felt…important. Like maybe a breakthrough of some kind? Even if only for me. It was important for me to officially apologize and acknowledge my responsibility for what happened. I can’t control what Logan believes. I can only control my actions and responses.
And I’m done being a doormat. For my father. For Logan. For anyone.
He left long instructions for my day. No more butt plugs, thank gods. My ass still feels stretched and sore—in the most delicious way.
I take his list of commands and head to the bathroom. Submitting sexually to Logan is different than being a doormat. I’m participating with him and there’s a willing exchange of control. It’s thrilling and life-giving.
When I look in the mirror, a beautiful, vibrant woman looks back, her eyes wide and soft and filled with satisfaction. No longer a mousy wallflower who thinks she should stay quiet in the background.