“Don’t come in. I’m naked,” I shout and turn on the shower. I can’t let anyone see me like this.
I step into the spray of cold water, not giving it enough time to heat up.
“Ella.” Hannah calls again and I know she heard me. She steps into the bathroom with her eyes closed, her hand outstretched.
“What are you doing?” I shiver as the water turns warm. I wipe water from my eyes as I stare at Hannah.
“I know you said you were naked, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I dip my head into the spray of water and visualize it washing today away. “You can open your eyes.”
Hannah does and she exhales like she’s relieved it’s really me. Her eyes narrow.
“Why are your eyes bloodshot? You look like you were crying?”
I laugh. “Always jumping to the worst.” That isn’t true about her at all. She always seems to know. “I got shampoo in my eyes.”
“You were gone a long time.”
I’m very aware of my nakedness, Hannah clearly isn’t since she sits on the toilet seat like she’s settling in for a chat. “I took a long walk.”
“Where?” She isn’t believing me.
“Can I finish my shower?”
She gets up. “Of course. I’ll wait in the bedroom.”
Once Hannah leaves I stand under the spray of the water and try to wash the horrible feeling from my skin. My mind skips to Lucas and I allow it to settle there. To settle on his touch, on what we did. His torn up hands flash in my mind and I push it aside and picture his face, how he had looked when I’d touched him. That’s the image I cling to when I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a towel. I tell myself that I’ll be fine. Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I smile.
“You’ll be fine.” I whisper. But my reflection doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
LUCAS
The tux I put on I hate. It’s a reminder of every party I have been forced to. Each part I’ve had to play. I normally can, but this time it feels different. It feels like a betrayal to Ella.
I don’t want to step outside my bedroom in case Ella sees me. I can’t stand to see any more pain in her eyes. I tighten my fists. Inside the gloves are clammy and each cut burns. It’s a perfect distraction.
The hall where the balls are normally held has been transformed. Sandra rises from the lone round table that sits in the center of the room, it’s surrounded in a circle of candles. No doubt my father’s doing. Sandra rises when she sees me. I tighten my fists again. I don’t look to George who pulls out my chair for me.
“Master Lucas.” Sandra bobs her blond head. The yellow ball dress is over the top and I want to turn on my heel. But my father’s wrath no doubt would be unleashed on Ella.
I shut everything off, something that I am grateful for now. I never thought I would appreciate one of my father’s lessons.
“Lady Crowley,” I greet her.
“Please, call me Sandra.”
I smile. “You look lovely, Sandra.”
She doesn’t smile, her eyes narrow. Lovely isn’t what she is going for. I sit and so does she. George pushes her in first before assisting me and the date begins.
“I hope you like my dress,” Sandra says while George fills up our wine glasses.
“It’s very pretty, Sandra.”
“I thought it would be more than pretty, Master Lucas. It is after all your favorite color.”
I hate that color.
I force a smile. “Of course, yellow is very striking.”
She frowns. “I had thought it perfect for my bridesmaids.”
I sip the wine. “There is really no need to rush.”
Sandra purses her lips and glances to George. “Could we have some privacy?”
George nods and leaves.
“I’m not sure if your father has explained to you how this goes, Lucas.”
Her tone and demur has changed completely. I can see why my father picked her.
“We will get married.” She picks up her wineglass and takes a sip before pulling a face. “My father has invested a lot into this marriage and I intend to make sure he gets his money’s worth.” She smiles at me now, like a doting wife.
“So why don’t we start again.” She picks up a little silver bell beside her plate and rings it. George reappears. That is new. I glance at George to see what he makes of being called like a dog. His face gives nothing away.
“We will both have the chicken, minimal sauces.” She glances at me with a smile. “I’m watching my figure for my wedding.”
The silver knife on the table is polished and sharp. How long would it take for her to bleed out on the table if I stuck it in her neck? “There is no need to watch your figure, you're perfect.” I smile.
She raises her head in victory. Like it took her two sentences to put me in my place.
“Oh, and take this wine away, I want something older.” She shrugs her shoulders. This time George looks at me and I give him a nod, to do as she says, for now.
My hands are clenched through most of this and I feel liquid in my gloves. I relax them, while placing them on my lap. The temptation to hurt her is starting to overwhelm me.
“I’m not exactly happy with all the décor, I have been snooping around the house.” She shrugs again with a self-assured smile on her face. “Some of it is so out-dated. Who was the most recent designer?” She sips the wine that she had George take away and her face twists again.
“My mother,” I tell her. I don’t think, I can’t.
“Well, it needs a woman’s touch.”
George returns and maybe it’s a good thing he does. The chicken dishes are set in front of us and he waits outside the circle of candles. Sandra moves most of her food around the plate, making it look like she’s eating. I don’t even pretend and she doesn’t notice. She talks about our wedding and the house.
“The attic area is nice, but we need to do something with it.”
That gets my attention. “You have been in the attic?”
She tries to look shy, but she can’t pull it off. I wonder if she’s even a virgin, there is nothing innocent about her. Sandra is sharp and cunning. She could have her results fixed if she wanted to. Money could buy you a ticket to the top table.
“No, one of my friends volunteered to go up and report to me on the décor.”
Volunteered. Forced would be more accurate. The meal drags, she talks, and I laugh and smile when appropriate. George serves dessert and I know I’m close to the finish line. I have thought of burning her with the candles, from stabbing her or just gagging her with a napkin so she would shut up. I’ve kept myself entertained.
I push in my dessert after a moment and place my napkin on the bowl beside it, ready to end this. Sandra’s eyes snap to my bowl and she stands.
“Well, I will wish you a good night, Master Lucas. I am very tired and will end this wonderful night.”
I don’t stop my grin as I rise. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
She steps around the table, her eyes downcast, trying to look coy. When she reaches me, she looks at me from under her lashes. She’s waiting.