The only place I felt safe from the world was my villa. I clicked on a lamp in my living room and made my way upstairs to shower and change. Sutton had my panties, and the evidence of what his mouth did to me still lingered on the inside of my thighs. I stood in the quiet, with nothing other than the steady stream of the shower running and my thoughts. Steam swirled through the air and began to fog up the mirror where I stared at soft red marks the size of Sutton’s fingerprints. They dotted the skin on my neck and hips, reminding me that I could wash his scent off my skin. I could force myself not to think of him. But his bruises were still there, on my skin and inside my soul. For a split second, I thought we could force the hands of fate.
I was wrong.
If there were any way for me to stay in pajamas and fuzzy slipper socks while hiding out in here reading books and wasting my days away living in someone else’s world, I would have been all over that.
After a steaming hot shower, I lit a candle and curled up in my favorite chair with a fresh cup of hot tea, letting the lavender and chamomile soothe me the way a mother calmed a sick child. For the longest time, I sat in silence. No television. No music. No books. Just me, a beige comfy chair, and walls the color of soft sand. They reminded me of my life. Everything felt like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. Everything I thought I knew seemed so far away now. Leaving Torryn always seemed like a fresh start, an escape. Now it felt like a death sentence.
The things he said about Dad couldn’t be true. My father was a simple farmer, not the leader of a rebellion. I knew him better than anyone—other than Mama. Surely, I would know if all that was going on under my own roof. Right? If Dad truly hated the king as much as everyone claimed, there had to be a good reason, and the only person who knew that reason was on his deathbed and out of his mind.
A light tap on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I set my tea on the end table, the ceramic mug clunking against the polished wood. The rubber grips on my slipper socks stuck to the hardwood floor as I moved to answer the door.
“You weren’t in the library…” Keaton stood in the doorway. His black V-neck T-shirt clung to his chest while his jeans hung low and sexy on his hips. He left his hair down today, so the chocolate brown curls wisped across his forehead and over one eye. Any other day, I would have taken my finger and brushed it out of the way. Today, I didn’t have the energy… or the right.
“I took the day off.”
The air between us was stiff and awkward, nothing like it used to be, and I felt to blame. I did this. I would apologize to Keaton but that would mean I was sorry for what I did. I wasn’t. I was only sorry he had to see it.
“Do you feel okay? Are you sick?” His gaze slid down my body, calculating, studying. I never walked around in my pajamas, and I hadn’t missed spending a day in the library since the king put me here. “Is it the prince? Did he hurt you? If he fucking hurt you, Katie I will—”
I held a hand in the air to cut him off. “I feel fine. I’m okay. And this has nothing to do with the prince.” My stomach tightened at the mention of Sutton.
I wish you could be just Sutton and I could be just Katie.
Keaton leaned against the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know if I ever told you this, but…” He paused then his eyes glinted with a smirk. “I’m allergic to bullshit.”
“Good thing I’m not a bull.” I laughed, hoping it sounded genuine.
He stared at me for a second before speaking. A week ago, I would have known exactly what was going on behind his bright eyes. Now I didn’t have a clue. “Fine. If you say you’re good, I have to believe you.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a tiny piece of paper and held it in front of him. “I just came to give you this.”
The sun was starting to set, and the cool evening breeze floated in from the water. The piece of paper fluttered in the wind. “What is it?” I asked as I took the note.
He pushed off the door frame, standing over me while he tucked his hands back into his pockets. “I found out who sent the email.”
I’d almost completely forgotten about the email.
“I don’t think this concerns me anymore.” I held the paper out, offering for him to take it back.
Threats and rebellions and secrets were the last thing I wanted to think about right now.
He glanced down at it briefly, then back up at me, then tilted his head to the side. Something in his tone made my insides churn. “I think it does.”
I unfolded the paper and glanced at the name. “Jonathon Cirillo,” I read out loud. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“He’s the man who bought your farm.”
The wind breathed another breath, gentle, but this one sent a chill across my skin. “This can’t be right. I met him. He’s so peaceful and kind.” Just like my father was. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Look, Katie. I know I told you to stay away from this, but I was wrong. I think…” He almost looked nervous. Keaton was never nervous. “I think you should talk to him. I’ll go with you if you want.”
What did I have to lose? If Sutton was telling the truth about my dad, if there was an army out there with my father’s name on it, maybe this guy could tell me why.
“Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll go see him first thing in the morning.”
His hard face softened, his eyes gleaming like I just told him the secret meaning of life. “Meet me in the East Garden. And Katie…” He pulled his hands from his pockets and turned to walk away. He looked out over the South Garden then threw a smug look over his shoulder. “You made the right choice. You’re better off without him.”
The next morning, I went to the kitchen hoping Mrs. Fletcher hadn’t tossed my brownies in the trash thinking I abandoned them. I tossed and turned all night. My mind was bruised and my heart was brittle, but I refused to break. I listened to the waves and pictured Sutton’s smile and the way we laughed and teased in the Billiards Room, the way he finally began to open up. I let the memory of his touch take me back to a place where my happiness and hope wasn’t poisoned by secrets.
Morning dew glinted off the grass as I walked through the garden. The sun smiled at the earth and the clean sweet scent of freshly bloomed flowers mixed and blended with the salty aroma of the sea. All the darkness from yesterday splintered away. Maybe today I would get answers. Maybe those answers could help me move on, help us move on.
Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes caught mine the minute I walked into the kitchen. The benevolence in her gaze made my heart hammer in my chest. Madeline stopped humming and looked up at me like she found out my dog just died—only I didn’t have a dog. The sudden hushed conversations and careful glances of the rest of the staff did nothing to calm my racing heart.
Maybe I looked like crap. I ran a hand through my hair then tucked a lock behind my ear. Did I look like crap? Or did they know? Had someone seen us yesterday? Panic gripped my chest. Oh God. They knew.
“Good morning. I came to salvage my brownies.” I walked through the kitchen to the counter where I left the pan yesterday only to find it had been moved. “That is if you haven’t chalked them up to a lost cause and thrown them away.” I laughed but it sounded more like a dying cat, not at all convincing.