Beautiful Monster (Dark Lies Duet 2)

By the time I'm finished, the water is boiling away in the kettle. Christian is distracted, typing furiously on his phone, so I go to the kitchen and fix a cup of tea using the complimentary bags offered. There's honey, too, and a small bowl of lemons. I cut a few slices and add them to the brew. A few sips are enough to take the edge off the soreness.

How much longer is this going to go on? I have no doubt Christian has the resources to hide me away wherever he wants to, for as long as he wants, but we can live this way forever. And I don't want to. Always on the run. I've had enough of that—ironically, thanks to him.

“I'm sorry. I was supposed to do that.”

I didn't realize he was watching. “It's okay,” I insist. “You're busy.” As if to prove my point, his phone rings, and he turns away to take the call.

I should go back to the bedroom. It's late, and I'm beyond the point of exhaustion. But while my body is wrung out, my brain won't slow down. I know any attempts at falling asleep would be useless, and I would only be hopelessly frustrated after lying in bed for ages with nothing to show for it. It's not like Christian would join me, either, since I'm sure he'll be on the phone for a while. So I would be alone. Nothing but me and my thoughts and the memory of nearly dying at the hands of a woman who pretended to be a doctor. Or maybe she was a doctor with a side hustle.

Rather than go to bed, I curl up in an armchair near the window and admire the lights twinkling on the lake below. It's so peaceful. I wonder what it's like for people down there right now, people whose lives don't involve running from hired assassins. Why would anybody want to kill me? It wasn't long ago that I doubted Christian when he claimed my life was in danger. I still don't understand why, even if it's clear he was right.

He finishes yet another call made in rapid-fire Italian before leaving his phone on the coffee table. “Aren't you going to try to rest?”

“How can I? I can't stop thinking.”

“That's understandable.” He comes to me, stroking my hair like he did before. It's a comforting gesture, one I wouldn't mind him continuing, but it's still so out of line with the way he's been lately. I wish I knew what to expect. I can't enjoy this or even relax very much if I never know what to expect.

“Why are we here?” I look at him in the reflection. “Why did you bring me to this place?”

“To keep you safe, of course.”

“Safe from what?”

“To start, from assassins. I would think you'd understand that by now.”

“But why? Why did she do that? I've never hurt anybody. I've never done anything.”

“I know that.”

“Then why?” All he does is snort, derisive, before turning away. The teacup shakes so hard it splashes liquid on the bathrobe. I set it aside and stand. It's time to get some answers. I doubt he'd want to leave me alone right now, so he has no choice. There's no escaping me.

“Remember when you talked about us being equals? You said it would happen once we're married.” It's still hard, not choking on that word. “Why wait? Why not start treating me that way now? How am I supposed to ever trust you or believe you if you won't be honest with me? This is my life. Don't I at least deserve to know why it's in danger?”

“Why is it not enough to know I'm doing everything in my power to keep you safe?”

“Because I would like to know what to look for, too. I was completely unprepared for that woman.”

“Because you didn't believe me when I warned you.”

“You didn't suspect her any more than I did.”

“That isn't true. I suspect everyone. Why else do you think I'd been hesitant to leave you alone?”

Right, because he's never been possessive for no reason. Rather than throw that in his face, I reply, “If we're ever going to be equals, you need to start now. Unless you meant nothing you said. Answer my questions. That's all I want.”

When he hesitates, I cross the room to where a well-appointed bar sits in one corner. Maybe if I loosen up his tongue a little, it will be easier for him to fess up.

When I turn around with a glass of whiskey in hand, he sighs and drops to the sofa. Interesting. When he knows he's cornered, he doesn't waste time keeping up the fight. I wouldn't be surprised if he got all forceful and demanding, but instead, he submits. Sort of the way I've learned to do with him.