Goddess
Ihear the locks disengaging on the other side of the door. I’m still on the bare bed I retreated to after Huxley left me here. I’m ready to ponce. How dare he treat me this way—so cold and detached. I seriously underestimated him. Could he be even worst than Arlo? The door swings open, but it’s not what I expect. It’s not him. Two middle-aged women walk in wearing hideous brown, scoop neck tunics and black uniform pants.
“Morning, dear,” the shorter one greets. Without incoming light, I could not tell how much time had passed. I vaguely remember dinner with Huxley before taking our drinks to his truck. I have no recollection of how I got here or where “here” is. “My name is Hazel, and that is Marisol,” she says, pointing over at the other woman.
“We’re Mr. Lair’s housekeepers,” Marisol explains, finally speaking up. “Come with me while Hazel prepares your suite.”
I want to question what is there to prepare? The room is empty … I checked. I don’t want to give either of them a hard time because my issue isn’t with them. Besides, by following Marisol, I get to leave that room. Possibly even determine where I am so I can get the hell away from here.
Marisol leads me into the kitchen. It gives off an industrious vibe—stainless steel appliances and dark gray cabinetry. The white countertops and marbled island are the only things that manage to balance the cold, sterile space.
“Have a seat at the island while I whip you up some breakfast,” she suggests after handing me a few white pills and a glass of orange juice from the tray on the counter. “It’s just ibuprofen,” she adds, accurately reading my skepticism.
I hate to admit it, but my head is pounding. I’m sure it’s courtesy of the shit Huxley drugged me with. But how could she possibly know that? Has he done this before with someone else? Are they a part of his kidnapping?
“Thanks,” I say, taking the pills and juice from her. “But how do you know I have a headache?”
“I didn’t,” she assures. “I’m just following instructions. What would you like for breakfast? I can make just about anything, but stuffed French toast is my specialty.”
“Sounds delightful, Marisol. Make enough for two. Add eggs and bacon to that,” Huxley interrupts, walking in freshly showered. His tank clings against his chest while his gym shorts flow loosely, hiding his muscular thighs.
I walk over and have a seat at the island, and he joins me. “Anything special for you, Goddess?” Marisol asks. I never gave her my name, but I’m not surprised she knows it. If I had to guess, she and Hazel know a lot.
“No, thank you. The French toast, eggs, and bacon are fine.”
Huxley surprises me by grabbing two bottled waters from the fridge before returning to his seat next to me. “Here. You need to drink plenty of water.”
“Why? Because you drugged me?”
“Don’t!”
“Don’t what? Am I supposed to pretend last night didn’t happen? Like you didn’t drug me and bring me God knows where?”
“That’s enough, Goddess.”
“Do you need a moment, sir?”
“No. It’s fine,” he assures her.
“Dammit, Goddess. You’re in danger, and I was hired to protect you.”
For a second, I’m stunned silent. It takes a moment to register what he just professed. Finally, the fog clears enough for my lips to move.
“What do you mean I’m in danger? Is it Arlo? Who hired you? My father?” I fire questions in rapid succession.
“Drink your water. That’s all I can tell you for now. I just couldn’t listen to you go on a second longer with the accusations. I’m not the bad guy here.”
He chugs his water before getting up to assist Marisol. He drops this bomb on me and then leaves me with even more questions than before. Fuck. If this is true, I owe him an apology for the things I accused him and his mother of. When was he hired? Was our meeting out on that road a coincidence or planned? And if he was truly hired to protect me, then why drug me?
I can feel my headache finally starting to dissipate. “I’m sorry,” I say once he sets a plate of breakfast in front of me. If I’m really in danger and you’re trying to protect me, I take back all those things I accused you and your mother of. It’s just the drug thing was a huge breach of trust.”
He grabs a plate for himself before pouring us both a glass of orange juice. Marisol tells us to enjoy ourselves and that she will be back later to clean up.
“Look. I only had a small window to get you out of Marietta. I didn’t have time to explain or answer questions, and I didn’t think I could have gotten you to agree without telling you something. That and I couldn’t have you seeing where this place is. This is my private estate that I use for my protective detail.”
“Is it because Arlo found me that we had to leave?”
“Yes. Now eat.”
He takes a bite out of his stuffed French toast, but my appetite diminishes by the second.
“But I filed that restraining order and made those domestic abuse complaints. He can’t get within a hundred yards of me now.”
Huxley pauses mid bite. “He doesn’t have to. That coward isn’t planning to touch you himself. And before you think any of this is your fault, it’s not.”
“But me going to the police station to file the reports will antagonize him. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
“No. He was antagonized the moment you had the strength to leave him. It’s a threat to his power and the optics of not being able to control his own fiancée.”
“So it is my fault? Oh, God. What if he tries to hurt my father to get back at me?”