Julian’s knee pressed into the edge of the mattress while he leaned down to study my expression, entirely aware of my astonishing deductive reasoning skills.
“I won’t admit anything.”
“I know.” I swallowed. “I didn’t ask anything.”
“Good girl.” I still hate you and your damn smile. Julian continued preparing himself, adhering the gun to his hip, meticulously placing each stray hair on the gloriously decorated top of his head, and all for what?
“May I go home now?”
“Unfortunately,” he muttered, his back still to me, revealing only the rear of his silhouette, “no.”
“Where are you going?”
Julian spun around, tightening the knot of his tie while looking past his nose at my body resting against the side of his mattress. “We may be together on the outside, but in here, right now, you’re to know nothing.”
“I know enough.” I glanced away, hoping the distraction would help rebuild my confidence, but as I further considered my surroundings, I barely processed a thought. Inhaling a shaking breath, my head lifted toward my intimidating new best friend.
Julian studied me thoughtfully, his right eyebrow lifted in critique of me. “You know nothing. You’re a guest here. Remember that while I’m away.” A guest? I guess that’s better than “the help.” Guests can make themselves at home, right? Ice cream, bubble baths, and on-demand movies, here I come.
“May I ask when you’ll be home, dear?” I sneered, my body filling with disdain and disgust, despite the tauntingly glorious features of Julian.
“You’ll know I’m back when I arrive,” he mocked, as though it was pathetic of me to even inquire. “And fortunately for me, you’ll be right here when I do return.”
I ignored him, knowing no response was better for me than anything in that moment. My stomach twisted as Julian sat against the edge of the mattress, his muscular back grazing my folded thigh as he turned to look at me. His eyes were potent, narrowed, and focused, but seemingly detached. Detached from something that wasn’t me, something that had nothing to do with me. Maybe he realizes he’s a giant dick and needs to be nice.
I tried to look away, struggling to keep my focus on the fluffy white linens beneath my bottom. I wished I was in the kitchen or foyer where I could pleasantly study the knots in his hardwood floors, but I was stuck examining the small threads in the down comforter. A soft melody came into my head, something my mother sang to me when I was a child, something my subconscious reserved when it began to shut down in its peaceful response to fear.
“Aideen.” Julian’s whisper was gentle while his left palm against my cheek tried to alter my focus. It was hard to imagine anything about him would continue to be gentle while studying his crisp suit, the dark obscurity of his ensemble an appropriate reflection of the Julian with whom I had become familiar. The pad of his thumb wiped beneath my right eye, clearing a tear from my frigid skin. I waited for Julian to say more, anything, but we sat in a haunting silence as he examined my face, swallowing his thoughts and keeping them from me.
“If your head hurts while I’m away,” his words were quiet, uncharacteristic, “I left one pain pill in my bathroom for you. Just one.” I blinked. Just one? Was he afraid I’d escape him through an overdose? He didn’t know me at all. The last thing I wanted was to die, especially there. I was shocked he cared enough to consider my headaches, or anything about me, knowing how inconstant his thoughts toward me seemed to be.
“You won’t need more than one,” he answered my unspoken inquiry, his eyes steadily boring into mine. “Don’t pass out while I’m gone. Take a bath, eat whatever you’d like. You’re not a prisoner in this room. Just don’t leave. If you try, I’ll know about it, and I’ll come right back here in an instant.” That’s an exciting threat. Maybe he wants to come back, maybe he wants to actually talk more about the conversation we’re struggling to have. Maybe not.
“Mr. Molloy,” I coughed, my throat dry from avoiding conversation, “may I ask you something?”
“If it isn’t about you leaving.” He squinted, pulling lines of humor along his temples.
“Why are you so concerned about my headaches?” I watched him, waiting for a response that would be enough, something that would remind me he was human. He slowly inhaled, almost painfully swallowing a sharp gasp of breath, before his left hand fell from my face and rested against the mattress, barricading my folded legs within his possession.
“I knew someone once, for just a little while, who had terrible migraines.” His tongue slipped through his lips, nervously licking mid-thought. “They were debilitating and nasty, leaving this person almost a recluse.”
“You have friends?” The thought seemed impossible to me, as though Julian was either too busy with the dealings of his family and protecting their reputations or that he would never keep the company of another human being since his ideas of conversation were so threatening and aggressive. Friends don’t threaten. Friends don’t intimidate. Friends don’t smile the way he is smiling at me right now.
“I’m a busy man.” His top lip pressed between his teeth while trying to subdue the burning grin attempting to spread along his mouth. “But this person was more to me than that.”
“Noelle?” I blurted, earning an expression of mockery. Should I not have said that?
Julian’s head shook, and he stood from the bed, adjusting the length of his dark tie. “No. Noelle isn’t a friend of mine.”
“But Liam said she’s your fiancée. Is that one of the things I’m not supposed to know? I have to pretend to be your side woman? I can’t do that. I’m honorable. I’m not that. I won’t ever be that.”
“Aideen,” he groaned, his head briefly dropping to his shoulders in irritation, “you’re going to find yourself in danger if you continue to probe so much. You’re lucky I’m fond enough of you to not kill you simply for your inquiries.”
“Um…thanks.” I swallowed, gulping air with the knot of nerves wiggling in my throat. The scent of his cologne filled my mind, heightening each sense that hadn’t already submitted to Julian Molloy.
“Noelle is not my fiancée, Aideen. Nor is she my friend.” His eyes returned to mine. “That’s something she and my grandfather desire. It’s never been a wish of mine. I think it’s best if we finish this conversation another time.”
“You’re always doing that to me,” I snapped, unfolding my legs from beneath my arms, swinging them over the edge of the mattress. We sat next to one another on his bed, a concept that filled my heart with a dangerous longing, a deep and heady desire that my better judgment fought to subdue.
“And what is it that I am always doing to you?”
“Putting off things you need to tell me. Keeping from me what I’m entitled to know.”
“I told you, Miss Leary,” Julian stood, towering over me again, “I might leave you wanting, but I’ll never intentionally hurt you. Just know you’re safe right now.”
“Am I?” My left hand tentatively lifted, shaking fingers inching through the heavy cloud of his cologne toward his hip. Julian remained unflinchingly still while my hand raised the front of his suit coat to stare at his weapon of choice. Both of his palms were around my cheeks, forcing my gaze up to him while I held his coat. His grasp pulled, slowly raising me from the edge of his mattress so I stood beneath him, only a breath away from his shimmering teeth.
“You’re the safest you’ve ever been.” I watched his eyes flicker between mine while his words whispered painfully slowly, “You’d be even safer if you weren’t so desirable.”
“There isn’t anything I can do to stop that,” I uttered, lost in the darkening stare of his deep blue eyes as they pooled against mine.
“I’m going to ask a lot of you,” his lips barely moved, his words slipping out confidently, “but that isn’t something I would wish you to change.” I felt my face soften, losing all expression, while my brain cells went haywire, misfiring and stopping voluntary functioning of my body. I was lost. I was terrified. I was hopeful. I was sick. Sick.
“Goodnight, dear.” Julian leaned forward, softly pressing his lips against my forehead before leaving me standing next to his bed. Wanting.
Two hours after Julian left, allowing me full access to his home, I was in the center of his kitchen. I could no longer handle the smell of him, the memory of him hovering over me while I was on his bed. I was motionless for as long as my restless soul allowed, fearing someone would come and harm me in some new Molloy method. After the small silver clock on his nightstand circled itself twice, I decided to wander.
The dark hardwood was cold beneath my feet, and I desperately wished to be home in the comfort of my antiquated, destroyed slippers and pajamas. The table had been cleared, only decorated with a large copper bowl that contained a mango, three bananas, and a coconut. A coconut in January? I spun around the room, holding my stomach as it growled with hunger. I didn’t want to eat his food. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t even trust being in that kitchen. This is Julian’s test. I was going to prove to him that I couldn’t and wouldn’t be trusted within the confines of his home until he explained more to me about why I was there. Malcolm. Julian’s words were spoken so simply. Malcolm planned to kill me, but Julian was there. Stalker turned savior.
I had no contact with Malcolm in months, the last time being a court date to file my restraining order, which he so thoughtfully broke. I expected him to lose it, to act out, but I couldn’t fathom that he would follow through with a plan to kill me. Yes, Aideen, you could have thought of this and that was why you obtained a restraining order.
While I stared at the coconut, examining each stringy fiber that decorated the shell’s exterior, my thoughts ticked. Ticking, ticking. I created a list in my mind of the questions Julian had yet to answer: Why was he there? Why does Julian care about Malcolm or even about me dying? Does this have something to do with that half-wit, Elliott? Why am I here?
I let my finger dance along the tabletop as I padded further into the room, stopping at the chair Julian fit into so precisely hours before. I kicked it with my foot, afraid touching it would somehow harm me, and enjoyed the terrible noise filling the space while the chair scratched against Julian’s pristine floor.
“Arrogant prick,” I muttered under my breath. I hadn’t caught myself from spitting out the thought, instantly regretting it because surely Julian had cameras throughout that place. Maybe not for me, but for his namesake. No. He definitely had cameras for me. He is that paranoid and twisted. I thought about giving him a show. Maybe I could destroy his kitchen. I could break some plates or scratch his stainless steel stove with his Bialetti. I imagined he was sitting somewhere, comfortably reclined in his fancy outfit, watching me debate how to ruin his property. I’m sure he is smug as hell, lying back with a bucket of popcorn and a big cup of cola, watching me like I am in a house of horrors.
I refused to give in that easily. I fell into Julian’s chair with my head and arms dropped onto the table. It still smells like him. The air beneath the table, the wood, my arm, he infiltrated everything. I could taste him in the air. There is no escape. Tears tickled my feet, falling in a melancholy rhythm from the height of Julian’s table. There is no escape.
A whimsical melody sang to me from elsewhere in Julian’s apartment. I thought I was officially losing it. Officially. I lifted my damp face from my arm, waiting for the tune to replay so I could assure myself I wasn’t losing my mind. It played again. And again. Now this is getting annoying. Almost positive it was a ticking bomb, I followed the tune and crept toward my demise. The sound increased its beautifully frustrating song as I walked through the foyer.
I tiptoed through the living room doorway, glancing around each side of the room. The song repeated, blaring at me from somewhere in the room. The space was dark, despite frosted white glowing against the outside of the windows. The snow peered in at me, as curious as I was about my purpose within its confines. I followed the sound, spinning to the leather couch against a dark brown wall. It was across from the slate hearth of the gas fireplace, next to the armchair previously occupied by Liam. In the middle of the couch was a large, thick ivory blanket folded into a soft pile. It looked soft, appearing like a creamy cloud against the imposing sofa. I walked toward it, precariously eager to see what was resting atop it.
A small box covered in deep navy velvet was topped with a silk ivory bow mirroring the blanket beneath it. The melody continued, screaming at me from within the box. Oh, what the hell is this? I untied the bow with rattling fingertips, letting the fabric cascade to the floor, and opened the box to find the culprit. I lifted the ringing phone from ivory tissue paper as steam drifted from my ears. Swiping the screen to answer his call, I held the phone to my ear and waited for his devilish tone.
“Imagine my delight to learn you’re still home, babby.”
“Still home. Still hating you,” I snipped, rolling my eyes at the fact Julian again made me chase him. I followed the song, the sweetly annoying melody, into his living room only to find him calling me from a box. I hate him.
“Fortunately for you, I’m unable to respond to that mouth how I would like.” His laughter sounded friendlier through the phone. “I only stepped out to check on you.”
“You’re checking on me?”
Julian’s laugh echoed in my mind. “How’s your head, babby?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why does it bother you so much?” Heavy, deep voices filled the background with boisterous laughter and the muted hum of dialogue.
“Because I hate you. It isn’t endearing when we hate one another.”
“Oh, darling,” he sighed, “you know that’s not the case.” I smiled, fighting my widening mouth with fervor, biting down on the delicate skin of my lips. He cannot make me smile. He is evil, twisted, wrong. This is wrong.
“Why am I here, Mr. Molloy?” I sat on the couch, mindlessly stroking the incredibly soft fabric of the blanket.
“You don’t like it there?”
“You have a lovely home, but it’s not mine, and that’s where I’d rather be.” His sigh was torturously agonizing while it left silence for my mind to translate.
“I’d rather be home with you right now too,” Julian muttered. Is he flirting with me? Motherfucker.
Despite my resentment, I grinned like a fool. “Stop saying that sort of stuff. I can’t handle your threats, and you’re well aware.”
“You consider my kindness a form of intimidation? Aideen, I’m hurt.”
“You’re not hurt. You’re flirting, and I won’t stand for it.” I defended my dignity, shaking my head in the emptiness of his home.
“What?” He laughed. “I’ll send Liam over if you feel like flirting. I’m at an event. I don’t have time for that, babby. I left the phone for you. It dials one number. Mine. That’s all you’re ever going to need.” Ever. That was a promise that burned with a duplicitous caveat.
“I expect you’ll keep this on you at all times,” he continued, his voice muffled from speaking so low and close to the receiver, “and until I come home, I’ve left you some things.”
“Your gun and a bullet, I hope?”
“More like a gag for that mouth of yours.” He chuckled, a vibrating sound that pulsed through me from the phone. “And consider that a guarantee. A promise.”
“You don’t often make promises, do you?” I scoffed, peering into the velvet box while waiting for his response. Anticipating the crackle of his voice, imagining his lips parting to speak to me, was weakening my resolve. This man is bad, Aideen. Bad. So, so very bad.
“You’re right,” he stated, his tone serious. “Are you about to ask me for something, Aideen, or are you simply curious to determine just how evil I truly am? You want to know if what you think about me is true?”
“I was going to ask you something, but now that we’re on the topic…”
“Gag,” he threatened, but his voice wavered as though fighting a laugh. I made the devil laugh and, damn, it was a beautiful sound.