“You free tomorrow?” he asks softly. “Let’s push the boat out and do lunch as well as coffee.”
“Sure,” I mumble, getting up and pulling on my robe. It’s not Nath’s fault he works for an institution of liars. And he’s a good friend. One of the only ones I have now. Mom trusted him with her life. I trust him too. “Let me know what time and where.” I hang up and stare at the door. I can feel the tension in the house even locked away in my room. I can’t bear it. I look at the piles of apartment brochures on the sideboard. Perhaps it’s finally time to get my own place. A big glass box on top of a building, all spacious, peaceful, and light.
Maybe. Is that what I need? Or is it simply the glass man inside?
No.
I take a deep breath and leave my room, forcing my feet to take me to Lawrence before my head has a chance to foil my plan. I push the door to his bedroom open, finding him lying on the bed in his silk robe that’s embellished with flamingos. He’s twiddling his thumbs, chewing his lip. “You’ll get scabs on your lip and your lipstick will clog,” I say, pacing over and dropping to the mattress beside him. I turn my head on the pillow to face him. “You need a shave.”
He reaches up to his jaw and feels, grimacing. “I was too busy whittling about you last night. I forgot.” Reaching for my hand, he pulls it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. The arm of my robe slips down, revealing my welts. They’re still red. Still fresh. I don’t rush to cover them. “Tell me about him,” he says, shuffling down the bed and mirroring me.
I indulge him, if only for his sanity. Even if it might send me over the edge. “His name’s James.” And he has more secrets than me, which pretty much makes him the most enticing man I could find. And his ways in the bedroom make him all the more tempting. “We spent the first few days of our professional relationship avoiding each other’s eyes.” That’s a lie. I avoided. James goaded. “And then one evening when I was leaving, he said something that triggered something in me.”
“Triggered what?”
“Lara.”
Lawrence gasps, and I nod. He knows what I’m capable of. He knows I’m lethal when I put my mind to it. “Did you disengage him?”
“Yes.” I can’t help secretly smiling as I picture James’s head trapped between my thighs. “And he threw it back at me. Played me at my own game.” I frown. It wasn’t my game. It was totally his game. “I was on my back before I realized I was moving. And then he kissed me.”
“And tied you up.” Lawrence reaches for my wrists, wincing when he turns them over.
“I asked for it.”
Did you though, Beau?
I fall to my back and stare at the ceiling. James wasn’t talking about what he did to me in the bedroom. He was talking about something else, and I’m so fucking furious that it’s playing on my mind.
You think you have bigger secrets than I do.
“It was nice. To be that lost, it felt freeing. While James played games with my body, my mind was wiped clean for the first time in a long time,” I admit.
“It can’t be healthy,” Lawrence whispers, and I turn my head on the pillow to find him.
“And this is?” I ask, motioning down my body. “This invisible cage I’m trapped in? The relentless need for retribution? The never-ending cycle of hate, pity, and anger? That’s healthy, is it?” My time with James made all of that vanish, if only temporarily. Not that it matters. It’s done. James and I are done. I lean over and peck my uncle’s cheek. “I’m not seeing him again, so you don’t need to worry.”
“Why? If he’s all that to you, why aren’t you seeing him again?”
I get up and go to the door. Because he started asking too many questions. Because he could become a habit. Because I’m a little bit afraid of who he is. “Because my wrists can’t take it,” I say on a smile, pulling the door closed on high, cheeky eyebrows. And as soon as the wood is between us, my face muscles give in to the effort it’s taking me to smile.
“Beau?” Dexter calls from downstairs.
I lean over the banister and find him at the front door in his blues, a box across his arms.
“Delivery for you.”
I frown and make my way down, pulling the lid off while it’s still in Dexter’s arms. I’m greeted by a pile of black lace. My frown deepens as I reach in and pull it out.
Dexter breathes in as the material unfolds, tumbling to the floor. A dress. “Good grief,” he says, taking it in. “Do not let Zinnea see that; it’ll be gone forever.”