The clink of the ice announces the last of it.
“If you don’t mind … I just want to wait until she settles. Just to make sure she’s okay.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t bother to look at me, at all, and I get a sense he’s annoyed by my presence. In fact, there’re probably very few things, like that glass of liquor, that doesn’t seem to irritate the man.
Unfortunately for him, I know I won’t sleep with the sounds of her screams echoing through my head all night. So I don’t really give a damn if he’s annoyed.
Taking a seat on the floor at the opposite side of the door, I pull my legs up, wrap my arms around them. From this side, I don’t see any of his scars, only the sharp profile of an attractive, but intimidating, man. One who doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.
For what feels like an eternity, we sit quietly, the sounds of moaning and sobbing bleeding through the door. Nell’s voice is flat and commanding, hardly compassionate toward the woman, as if she’s too tired to deal with her.
Lucian sighs and rolls his shoulders back, and I wonder how long he’s been sitting here. What’s going on with her?
His shirt is unbuttoned some, his tie undone, as though he’s had to get comfortable. Still, the awkward silence hangs on the air between us.
“Your mother told me you play piano. Or played. She didn’t specify if you still do, or not.” I’m not the biggest conversationalist. Lord knows, if there was a book in my hands right now, his breathing would get on my nerves, but this one-way conversation is ridiculous with him. It’d probably be easier if I were staring at his scarred half. At least I’d feel a small amount of pity for him, but from this angle, he just looks like an arrogant, moody prick with a perfect jawline.
At this rate, I’d rather stay awake all night counting cracks on my ceilings.
As I push to my feet, he clears his throat.
“What are you really doing here?”
The familiar pangs of guilt settle in, and for a moment, I feel like fifteen-year-old me preparing to confess to Ms. Phillips that I lost her daughter for a minute. Only, he’s not Ms. Phillips. He’s the Mad Son. Devil of Bonesalt. And my palms are sweating. “While I was … down in the library, she apparently went out on the balcony. I had no idea she would … or that she might try to--”
“That’s not what I mean. Why are you here? At the manor?”
“You. I mean, Rand hired me.”
“No shit.”
“I’m here to work.”
His face kicks to the side, his brows lowering. “Yeah? Sure you’re not here to gather up dirt about the fucked-up Blackthornes, to take back to your little friends in town? I don’t think there’s enough crosses out on the road. Maybe you can talk them into adding a few more.”
Once again, my face heats with embarrassment. “I’m not here to spread gossip. I’m here to do my job.”
“You’ve already done that well, it seems.”
Another shrill scream echoes from the other room, and I drop my gaze as the slap of his words settles beneath my skin. A flare of anger shoots up from my gut. “You only know that because I told you I screwed up. Not because you actually give a shit.”
Slapping a hand over my mouth is futile after what’s already been said, what now exists in the universe. I don’t even know the relationship between him and his mother. I only know that, in the two days I’ve been here, he hasn’t shown much interest in her.
The glare he shoots back at me crackles through my bones, and I slide my hands over my face to keep from having to look at him when he fires me right here on the spot. Muscles trembling, I brace myself for the onslaught of insults and the anger I see churning in his eyes.
Seconds tick in an agonizing countdown to my walk of shame, when I’m forced to go back to my room and text Aunt Midge to come pick me up because my damn mouth spouted off again.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say, worthless as it is.
“You’re not like the last girl.”
Daring a peek through my fingers, I find him staring ahead toward the wall of dolls across from us, swirling the ice in his glass.
“They all cower. But you … you just don’t know when to keep your lips zipped.”
“It’s practically a medical condition. I honestly can’t stop myself sometimes.”
“Honest being the operative word.” Still swirling the cubes, he sighs. “I’ve been surrounded by liars my whole life. It’s strange to hear honesty. However brutal.”
The screams from before have died down to whimpers and quiet sobbing.“I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t even know your relationship with your mother.”
He thumbs at his nose and sniffs. “When I was younger, she’d have these horrible nightmares. Screaming and kicking, and just … unsettling to watch her. I couldn’t go to her, of course, because the staff were worried she’d end up kicking me in the face, or something. So I’d watch from the door until she calmed. Hours, sometimes. Listening to her cry. It was the most honest thing I’ve ever heard from her.”
His comment sits heavy in my chest, as I recall the nights my own mother would come down from one of her highs, lie on the floor, sobbing, while she apologized to me about how much she fucked things up for us. I hated her every other minute of the day, except for those few when I felt like I’d caught a glimpse of her, naked and vulnerable.
“I was thinking I might take her for a walk tomorrow. Get some fresh air.”
The door clicks open, and Nell steps out rubbing her hand across her forehead, until she sets her sights on me and stops with a gasp.
Eyes wide, she turns toward Lucian and lowers her gaze. “I … didn’t realize … you were outside the room.”
Pushing to his feet, Lucian straightens, towering over her and me, even after I finally clamber to my feet, as well. “She’s settled, then.”
“Yes. I’ve given her something for sleep. She’s fine. I would’ve given you an earlier update … if I’d known.” It’s strange to see Nell so nervous around him, fidgeting and keeping her gaze from his, when she acts so aloof with everyone else.
“I wasn’t looking for an earlier update. Her screams were pretty telling.”
“Of course.” It doesn’t take a genius, or junkie, for that matter, to see that Laura is addicted to whatever they keep giving her for sleep. I’ve been around addicts enough to know they’ll do just about anything to get the drug. These fits of hers could very well be real, but with the way Nell hands out sleep aids like candy, I wonder.
Eyes on me, he steps past both of us without another word, and makes his way onto the elevator. I’m inclined to follow, but I wait.
Once the elevator doors close, Nell sets a hand to her chest and expels a long breath. “He must’ve been working in his office. Heard her scream. God, he makes me nervous.”
She’s been here far longer than I have, which means there’s no chance of my discomfort around the man going away any time soon.
“Because of the scars?”
“No. Because he’s just …” A quick glance back at me, and she frowns. “Never mind. I’m tired. I need some sleep.”