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Noriko
“Don’t look so scared, little wife,” Mr. Blackwell said with a smirk. “Whatever I plan to do to you, I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”
I had never in my life met such an arrogant…impossible, frustrating man. A blatant, aggressive man. He was looking at me like…like he wanted to devour me. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move. His eyes roaming over my face, his fingers gripping my hips, he looked ready to lunge for me.
I wasn’t sure I could stop him if he did.
The car halted. I blinked, the spell broken. “We’re here. Home sweet home.” I detected a hint of bitterness in his voice. “My plans for you must wait, I’m afraid.” He slid me off his lap just before the driver opened the door.
“Oh.” Underneath this rush of relief, I was…disappointed. Why the hell would I be disappointed?
As I sat there trying to figure out what was going on with me, Drake shuffled smoothly along the seat, picking up his earpiece as he went. He slid out of the car with all the grace of a panther.
I sat there like a mute.
Mr. Blackwell stuck his head back into the car. “You coming?”
Yes. Right.
I grabbed my bag and scrambled out of the car, tripping on the door edge. A hand grasped mine to steady me. It took me a second to realize it was Mr. Blackwell who stopped me from falling.
Our eyes met.
Something…strange went through me.
Something that felt very much like…hope.
He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. I felt the ghost of his touch still on me.
“Welcome to Blackwell Manor.”
I turned to get a look at my new home. And almost fell over.
The mansion was so large I had to turn my head from side to side and up and down to take it all in. The two projecting wings of the house disappeared out of view. Three stories of gray stone slabs with a dark, steeply pitched roof, spires and turrets, ornamental sculptures and gargoyles edging the thing like morbid cake decorations. It sat like an alien among the peaceful trees surrounding it.
Holy hell.
“You’re gawking,” Drake said in my ear.
I flinched away from him, snapping my mouth shut, angry at myself for losing my senses. “I am not.”
“Try to keep up, will you, dear?” Drake strode up the steps to the front door, his long legs consuming the distance. I followed.
As we approached the entry door, it swung open. A woman, perhaps in her forties, her back board-straight and her chin held high, held the door open. A conservative black dress sat on her plump form and a pristine white apron circled her waist. I couldn’t help wonder how she kept it so clean.
He motioned for me to enter first. At least he wasn’t entirely devoid of manners.
“Oh, there she is. Master Drake,” the woman said, “she’s a beauty.”
“Too bad about her attitude,” I heard him mutter.
Scratch that. My new husband was utterly mannerless.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” the woman said, her voice shaking with obvious pleasure. She took my hand in both of hers. I was treated to such an enthusiastic handshake that it rattled the teeth in my skull. “We are so pleased you’ve arrived.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Loretta, the head housekeeper here. If you need anything, anything at all, or have any problems, come straight to me.”
“I’m Noriko. Thank you. Again.”
“Welcome home.”
Home. This word echoed around in my head like a gong. This isn’t my home. I didn’t say my thoughts out aloud.
“You don’t take your shoes off here,” Mr. Blackwell said as I prepared to slip off my flats. “We don’t do that here.”
I blinked a few times, trying to let this different custom sink into my body. It felt so…wrong to walk inside with outside shoes on. So dirty. “Are you sure?”
“Are you questioning me again?”
I fought back an urge to roll my eyes.
My low-heeled shoes echoed as I stepped into the marble of the entryway. I had to hold back my gasp as I raised my eyes up.
Inside, the mansion was even more obscene. The entryway soared up all three stories, held in place by thick marble pillars, a gliding stairway wrapping around it, hallways branching out from it. The door clicked shut behind us, leaving me in the white-cold glare of the huge crystal chandelier hanging down like a wasp’s nest.
“There’s no need for you to come with us,” Mr. Blackwell said, addressing Loretta. He turned towards me, a wolfish glint in his eye. “I can show Mrs. Blackwell to her room.”
From the trap into the spider’s lair.
He reached out. “Let me take your bag—”
“No,” I snatched the bag out of Mr. Blackwell’s reach.
His eyes narrowed imperceptibly at me.
Shit. If he opened my bag. If he looked inside…
I was screwed.
My father was dead.
“I mean,” I fumbled, “that I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
“It would be no trouble.”
“Please,” I said quietly, honesty making my voice quiver, “let me hang on to the one thing left that is mine.”
After a pause, he nodded. “As you wish.”
He led me up the staircase. I tried not to gape down the wide hallways that reached out like arms, solid walls lined with paintings or sculpture pieces. This place felt like a museum. Not a home. I was sure to get lost here.
I felt lost already.
“The top floor is reserved for our private suites,” Mr. Blackwell said as we reached the top floor. “We’re in the east wing.” He stopped suddenly, turning to stare at me. “You are not to go in the west wing.”
I glanced up the other hallway shrouded in darkness. Every other hallway had been lit except this one. I took a step towards it. “What’s in the west wing?”
Mr. Blackwell snatched my arm, yanking me back. “I just told you never to step foot in there.”
“Why—?”
“Never. Do you hear me?” A darkness glittered under the surface of his eyes.
He was hiding something in the west wing. Curiosity flared in my gut like embers catching on paper.
I could do nothing but nod.
He let go of me so suddenly I almost stumbled back, before turning and continuing on. I chanced a glance back at the dark hallway behind me before I followed him.