8
After Charlie and his brother are done plotting, he chaperones me out of the living room and into the kitchen.
It’s just as I remember, airy with ample space. The walls are a warm, pallid yellow and the high, vaulted ceiling is crisscrossing in dark wooden beams. In the heart of the dining area, the long table hosts a proud spread: breads and jams in jars, sliced sandwich meats stacked against each other, and three different styles of eggs. There are plates and glasses laid out, surrounded by shimmering silver cutlery. Guess someone knew we were coming for lunch.
Beyond the table, the clear stretch of windows—on either side of the open French doors—are pouring with electric orange sunshine. I squint to adjust to the brightness, with my temples borderline pulsating again. I’m cold, too. The afternoon chill is harsh, causing hairs to stand up razor sharp on my arms. I hug myself, sinking into Charlie’s side for heat. It’s nice to be able to seek out his body heat. It’s nice to be home. Seeing this place brings back so many memories—especially the garden. Bizarrely, it reminds me of when I used to train out there to escape Charlie’s sexual attention.
I won’t be doing that anymore.
My head bolts to the left at the sound of clattering. There’s a skinny, old lady dithering about in the large cooking space, stacking up pots and pans near the sink. She’s got gray-streaked hair pulled away from her tan, wrinkly face, and frail looking limbs, dressed in a dirty apron.
“Buenas tardes, Señor,” she croaks, and head-bows to Charlie and me. “Buenas tardes, Señorita.” Her eyes are on mine, hollow and brown, sunken into her skull. She looks like she’s had a tough life.
“That’s Eliza,” Charlie leans down to say, steering me over to the table by a hand on my lower back. “She’s the housekeeper. If you need anything whenever I’m not around, ask her and she’ll get it for you. She’s a good woman. Been around since I was a kid.”
I nod as he pulls out a chair and pushes me up to the table. He disappears out of the kitchen for a moment, returning with some kind of beige, wooly shawl. He drapes it over my shoulders and gives me a squeeze before reaching for the plates on the table.
“Thanks, Charlie,” I say, tipping back my head to see his face.
He flashes a smile, one that melts my body. “You’re welcome, baby.”
The housekeeper brings a jug of orange juice, cool water, and a steaming pot of coffee on a tray. I can smell it before she announces what it is. That’s all I want, coffee. No food. The thought of eating still makes me want to puke.
When Charlie’s done serving our lunch, he lowers onto the chair at my left and pours two coffees. I wrap the soft shawl around myself and pick up the fork to push scrambled eggs around my plate, plucking up the stomach to eat, but my attention is constantly pulled. My eyes flicker up at every sound: combat-suited Los Zetas wandering past the back doors several times, and Eliza is so loud it hurts my head, rattling about at the sink.
“Just relax, Blaire,” Charlie says, noticing my unease. “There’s no one here who shouldn’t be.”
“Why isn’t your other brother here?” I vaguely remember Andres. He came with Charlie to get me from Maksim. I assumed he would be in England, too.
“He’s been in Mexico the past week sorting some political business in my absence. Why’s that?”
“I overheard you talking to him,” I confess, and Charlie’s eyes lock on mine. “Before, when you sent me home, I mean.”
The memory is both good and bad. That’s when I first heard Charlie say he loved me, and also when my life spiraled out of control.
“I know you overheard,” Charlie says, chewing slowly on a piece of bacon. “I saw it on the CCTV system.”
Looking away, I pull a slice of toast apart, feeling guilty for eavesdropping. “I just wanted you to know, is all. I don’t usually snoop.”
“S’all right, Blaire. I’ve nothing to hide from you. Next time, just come in. Andres would’ve loved to meet you.”
“It was hardly the right time to come in.” I flash him a mocking glance. “You had just basically told me I had to choose you or Maksim.”
A heavy smash! rings through the kitchen, and I jump in my skin, gripping Charlie’s arm. It’s Eliza, scurrying about picking up broken shards of glass with a cloth.
“Finish that later, will you?” Charlie says in Spanish, rubbing my hand on his arm to sooth my anxiety. “And have Nic tell all of Rank Two to standby on point A and B out the back.”
She leaves on command with a head-bow, swathing the towel over the sink edge. Charlie asks if I’m all right, and I tell him that I am. I’m just jittery and jumpy. It’s that cell Robert locked me in, and the drugs. They’ve fucked with my head.
I challenge myself to focus and mouth a piece of toast, but my stomach churns.
“Do you understand why I sent you home?”
“What?” I say to Charlie, spitting the half-eaten toast on my plate. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because it’s important. I tried to make you pick one of us for a reason,” he says, snagging a napkin from the table to wipe my mouth. “I wanted you to have a choice. But I didn’t get a chance to elaborate on my reason, given you never replied to my text.”
“I know you were giving me a choice. I did understand.” I pinch the napkin from his hand. “I didn’t mention it because of that. I just wanted to tell you I was eavesdropping.”
“All right. I get it,” he says, pulling back from questioning me. He gestures at my food. “Is your head still hurting? Is that why you’re not eating?”
“No. I’m just not very hungry.”
“You need to eat something,” he says on a sigh. Though his tone is soft, he sounds like he’s ordering me to eat rather than asking. “You’re too thin, Blaire.”
“Maksim never made me eat if I couldn’t.” I push the plate away and rest back in the chair, nestling in the shawl. “I’d like to take a shower.”
“After you’ve eaten something and seen the doctor, you can take a shower.”
“What?” My face scowls with affront. “I don’t need to see a doc—”
He stands from the table, cutting me off from speaking as he wanders into the cooking space. He moves about to boil water on the stove, pours a mixture of nuts into a little bowl, and gathers a whole bunch of fresh fruit. I sit here baffled for a moment, watching him chop up the fruit, prepare a hot drink, and he lays everything on a serving tray. He returns to put the tray down in front of me on the table, lowering onto his chair. “If you don’t want the eggs, eat this—I’m not asking, Blaire,” he cuts me off again. “That’s herbal tea. It’s good for you, so try to drink at least half of it if you can.”
I turn at the waist to glare at him, clutching the shawl at my chest. “Don’t force me to do things, Charlie.”
His eyes enlarge, burning with surprise and provocation.
“It didn’t work before, and it won’t work now.” I kick back my chair to get up, at the same time stating I am going to have a shower. “Thank you for the food and the tea,” I add because I adore this man beyond words, and know he’s just being nice. “But I’m just not hungry.”
A moment passes between us where I sense he wants to push me but isn’t certain if it’s the right time or if it’ll do any good. I don’t look away. I hold my own, determined to set our boundaries. This is how we were before; we worked to reason with each other, and I’m not about to let that change. I’m not his pet.
He eventually reaches for a napkin to wipe his mouth and gets up with me, towering over me. “Once you’ve had a shower, will you try to eat something?”
I turn up my lips in a shrug. “Sure.”
“All right then,” he says, nodding a couple of times. He touches the base of my spine to usher me out of the kitchen and across the entrance hall.
I’m relieved that didn’t turn in to something. Disagreements with him usually do.
A few of his men standing guard at the main doors step up to greet us, clasping guns over their stomachs. They eye me with sly, brown-eyed gleams, and grin up at Charlie in what looks like approval. He introduces me with pride, going through a haste of traditional Latino names. I’m not one for talking, so I force a smile and walk off.
“Tis’ nothing personal,” I hear Charlie say from behind with amusement before he jogs up to catch me on the staircase, smirking.
“You don’t need to come with me if you’re busy,” I say, nearing the landing top. “I’m capable of taking a shower, you know?”
“You are so rude.” He chuckles, nodding left. “Come to my room, Blaire. All your things are there, so you can have a shower and relax in my bed if you’re not feeling great.”
“My things?” I glance down the hall. I was sort of looking forward to seeing my old room. I was looking forward to being in my old, personal space.
“Yeah, your clothes and all your books.” He tucks a length of hair behind my ear, running his fingers down the strand. “I bought everything you need, including nice casual outfits for lounging about, rather than the sports stuff you usually wear. C’mon.”
“Oh. But...” My eyes dither left and right, between his bedroom direction and mine. “I don’t want to cramp your private space if you’re—”
“You’re not cramping anything.” He chuckles again while bending to kiss the side of my face. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I want you in my bed, relaxing. C’mon, baby.”
———
I let Charlie take my hand and guide me down the long hallway to a set of double doors at the very end.
I freeze on the threshold and squeeze his fingers, glancing up at him.
“What’s wrong?” he says, tipping his head. Curiosity shines in his eyes as they flitter back and forth through mine.
“I don’t know.” I frown and blink at once. “I’m...nervous.”
He smirks, glowing in fond amusement. He lets go of my hand to push the doors open, making the panes creak.
The first thing I notice is his clean, musky scent mixed with a citrus, polished leather fragrance. It’s the brown leather seating area at the foot of the bed, a huge couch and masculine, twin armchairs set around a sturdy coffee table, resting on a mink colored rug. The solid floors are highly buffed with deep red grains in the wood, extra shiny in places from the afternoon sunshine.
“Go in,” Charlie encourages, shutting the doors the second I’m across the threshold.
I gaze about, thinking this is the only place in the house that resembles him. It’s a combination of old and new in style and machismo. Matte gray papered walls, and a stark, brass chandelier hanging down the center of the pitched ceiling. A large canopy bed crafted from dark wood dominates the space, dripping in gray blankets and huge plush pillows. It’s on a risen floor base surrounded by soft mood lighting, set between bedside cabinets and twin balcony doors framed in heavy, dark red drapes. The view over the backyard is breathtaking: a never-ending stream of green grass surrounded by tall, thick trees blooming in white flowers.
Warmer now, I slip off the shawl, pass it to Charlie, and walk into the seating area. He hangs it on a hook on the wall, standing back to observe me.
There’s a big, open fireplace in the left corner of the room, on a curve in the wall. It’s next to a floor to ceiling bookcase inundated with books, where a flat screen television hangs in the center. An open archway governs the other wall between grand dressers housing glass decanters of liquor. Above the dressers, there are gigantic pictures in sleek black frames, one of them boasting the words, You Don’t Even Know You’re Dead. I frown, thinking that’s a weird statement. The open archway leads to a walk-in closet, and then to a tiled en-suite bathroom with a central roll top bathtub.
“I like your room,” I say to Charlie, holding his sharp gaze as he strolls up to me. “Will I stay in here with you from now on?”
“Course you will.” His smile dazzles with dark possibilities. When we’re toe to toe, he leans down to kiss the edge of my mouth, and my stomach tightens with fluttering desire, a sensation of power I almost forgot.
“I’m glad you like it in here,” he says, standing up straight. “I’ve wanted you in my personal space for a long, long time.”
“What does that mean?” I point past him at the statement on the picture.
“Well, people walk this earth thinking they’re gonna live forever.” Watching me, he hooks lengths of hair behind my ear, deliberately stroking the area near my eye. “Life is more beautiful when we know we’re gonna die one day. Call that picture a reminder.”
I raise my eyebrows, moved by his metaphor. I knew Charlie had depth but to me, that picture is a whole other level of intense.
Reaching back over his head, he pulls off his sweater in one clean motion, undressing for whatever reason. I catch a glimpse of his bronze, sculptured stomach before he fixes the hem of his t-shirt, dark hair trailing from his chest to his pubic line. It makes me feel all hot and bothered. It makes me think about the times I felt his heavy, powerful body on mine, crushing me into the mattress when he would kiss me.
I suspect we’ll have sex soon, and it makes me nervous. I wonder how anyone—any woman—knows what to do with him. I mean, Charlie has the talent of touching, kissing, and seduction, down to a fine art. It’s all second nature to him whereas I know nothing but what Maksim has taught me—and that isn’t a lot. Even when I went down on Charlie, he ended up leading. He always took control.
“What are you thinking about, hmm?” Charlie asks, bending at the knees to meet me at eye level. He kisses my cheek and then my nose, creating a globe of intimacy around us.
I flash a stupid, bashful smile, scratching a spot on my neck. “Nothing.” I’m not going to tell him that I’m thinking about his sexual talents or what Maksim taught me. That’s private.
Charlie frowns and smiles at once, then he playfully swats my butt and nods for the archway. “Let’s go shower. The sooner you’re feeling fresh, the sooner I can get some food inside you.”
We’re taking a shower together?
Weirdly anxious, I walk with him through the closet where it’s wall to wall clothes. The left half is female attire: tracksuits, jeans, trousers, strappy tops, and sweaters. Trainers and flat shoes line the bottom shelve under a stretch of drawers. None of my old stuff is here. It’s like every essence of who I was is gone.
Charlie’s scrutinizing me from the archway, leaning against the frame on his shoulder. “What is it, Blaire?”
“Are all my things in my old room?” I ask. I’m confused, since he said he brought it all in here.
He shakes his head, telling me pretty much anything I had from before is in the trash. “I even made Tatiana take back the money you had. But if there’s anything you want or need, you tell me and I’ll get it for you, all right?”
I blink at him in disbelief, a little hacked-off he made Tatiana take back the money I earned—James could have had it.
“All right?” Charlie says, raising his eyebrows.
I lift my shoulders, shrugging at a loss. It’s not all right, but I don’t want to argue with him. I’m not sure how long we have together, so I must make every second count.
I pivot around as a distraction, taking in the rest of the closet. There’s a vanity set up in the heart of the space, an oval seating area with a ceiling high mirror surrounded in lights. My eyes reluctantly wander back to the clothes, noticing there’s no sportswear. I ask why there isn’t any sportswear, and Charlie says I don’t need to train right now.
“What do you mean, I don’t need to train?” My focus snaps in to place. “Maksim used to say—”
“Maksim isn’t here, baby,” Charlie shuts me down from speaking, wandering past me for the bathroom. “Hair ties and the dryer are in there”—he gestures at the vanity unit on his way—“I’m not sure if you used things like hair straighteners or makeup before I met you, but I don’t want you using any of it now because you don’t need it.”
“I never used stuff like that,” I say with obvious resentment, entering the bathroom with him. It’s gigantic, tiled from floor to ceiling in sandstone with gray flecks; smells like musky soap and a hint of aromatic spice. Covering the left wall, the walk-in shower is also mammoth, built over a floor to ceiling frosted window.
Charlie leans in to flick on the shower faucet, filling our silence with a light sprinkling sound of rain. He crosses the room to drop his sweater in the hamper next to the vanity sinks and grips the front hem of my sweater. I snatch for his hands but immediately stop myself, holding heavy fists at my sides.
“Just relax,” he whispers, and he doesn’t hesitate to peel off my sweater, regardless of my palpable unease. He tugs in places where it’s sticking to my skin and pulls it up over my head, smoothing my hair back after. I fold my hands behind my back, not wanting him to see the needle track marks again. He squats at my feet to help me out of the horrid trainers, gripping my ankles one by one.
“I have to say”—he arches a brow, smirking up at me—“I never, ever thought I’d see you in pink.”
I snort. “Me either.”
My stomach tenses when he grips the waist of my sports trousers, toes curling as he slides them down my legs with my underwear. Half-naked, I stand here in my bra, warmth misting my skin from the shower. Charlie gets up and walks around me. I mimic his motions, not wanting him to see my back.
“Turn around,” he says, chuckling in confusion as he grips my arm to keep me still. “I’ll unclasp your bra.”
“I can take it off. Stop, Charlie!” My pulse soars, and I can hardly breathe I’m so wired. “I-I can take it off.”
“Blaire,” he sighs my name, assuming to know what I’m doing, “you don’t need to hide anything from me. I’ve seen every inch of you from your mind to your body, including all your scars.”
“I’m not hiding! I just—”
“Stop,” he insists, leveling his eyes at me. “I bathed you every day while you were in the coma. Getting you ready for a shower is nothing.”
I glare at him. I don’t know why, I just don’t want him looking at my back. It’s hideous.
He walks up behind me and pushes my hair out the way, draping the thick length down my front. He unclasps my bra, causing the cups to loosen at my breasts, making me feel less and less protected—or less hidden.
“I think every single inch of you is beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, making the spot tickle. A single finger traces some of the whip marks, from the nape of my neck, down my bumpy spine, to the base of my back where the skin is smooth. I shiver and recoil under his touch, sharp chills cascading down my arms. “Including your scars,” he adds, his breath touching my naked shoulder.
I turn up my head to look back at him—scowling at him. “Why did you get the branding removed?”
His eyes search mine, burning in the promise of devotion. “I didn’t think you’d want it on you forever.”
No, I didn’t. That marked me as Maksim’s. He said so.
Charlie tells me that he could have had all the scars removed, too, but that would have taken months of preparation and operations. “Skin grafting is a delicate procedure that requires a high amount of healthy white cells in the body, something you were lacking since you had blood poisoning. So, I was waiting till you were awake to discuss it with you, to see if that’s what you wanted.”
“Is...is that what you want?”
He shakes his head, eyes dancing between mine. “I don’t want you suffering anymore, Blaire. I love you just the way you are.”
I stare up at the ceiling with a million things going around in my head. So much has happened since I last saw him. So many things have changed. But not him. How can that be?
“While you were in the hospital, I didn’t leave your side,” he says as if he needs to. “I was there day and night bathing you, keeping an eye on you. The only time I left was to come back and make sure the house was ready for you to come home. And I had that meeting with your brother...”
“You don’t have to explain.” I wipe my nose to rid the spidery itches. “I know you were there.” I was dreaming of you.
Silence engulfs us. I glance back at him to see if there’s something wrong. A deep frown falls over his eyes as he stares at me in obvious guilt.
“Don’t do that, Charlie.”
“Do what, Blaire?”
“Blame yourself for all that’s happened.” I turn in to him, flicking the bra off my arms. “Blame is a heavy burden to bear.”
“If I didn’t send you home, you’d be safely in Mexico. You wouldn’t have nearly died. James wouldn’t have been able to take you.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, shaking my head at him. “I was always going to go home. Maksim was always going to do whatever he wanted to do. James was always going to try and take me because he believed he was keeping me safe.”
Charlie’s nostrils flare as the muscles in his jaw work overtime. Reaching for my arm, he concentrates on peeling the cotton wool off my inner elbow, secretly looking at all the puncture marks there. He’s distracting himself, I know because I do that.
“I’m sorry I left,” I whisper, refusing to let him paint over our cracks. “I’m sorry I went back to Maksim. I’m sorry I didn’t read or reply to your text message. If I had, then maybe I would have come back, and this wouldn’t have happened.” My head throbs with all the tension, but I must apologize. I never should have gone home to my master when Charlie gave me the option to stay. He’s the only person in the world who has ever given me options, and I walked away. I fucking walked away. What was I thinking?
Without answering me, Charlie scoops up all my clothes and dumps them in the hamper. “Go get in the shower, baby.”
“Are you okay? Charlie, I’m really sorry.”
“I’m fine.” He winks, forcing a placid mood. “And you have nothing to be sorry for, ever. Nothing you’ve done was your fault. You didn’t know any better.”
He said that before when I was trying to convince him I’m a monster. I didn’t believe him then, and I don’t believe him now.
Defeated for what else to say, I step into the shower and stand under the tepid flow. My hair heavies, hanging down my spine, while I close my eyes to enjoy the water spraying across my face. Large hands slip around my waist from behind, Charlie’s muscular body coming up flush against my back. His embrace binds me tight, huge arms enveloping my body. I let out a content breath and rest on him, sheltered in his affections. This is all I want, to be right here with Charlie. Why do we have to fight so hard to be together?
“I’m so glad you’re home,” he whispers in my ear and kisses me there, causing the hairs on the nape of my neck to stand up. “Not a single second has gone by where I haven’t thought about you. Not a single second has gone by where I haven’t missed you.” He kisses my ear again, driving me crazy inside with sensations—anxiety, flutters, confusion. I still don’t completely understand the way he makes me feel. All I know is, it’s good.
He grabs a bottle of shampoo, squirts a healthy amount in his hand, and lathers my hair, kneading my skull. I shut my eyes again to lose myself in his attention. He warns before he washes my body, massaging soap into my shoulders, arms, and then my center. My stomach quivers like mad as his fingers trace my pubic line, toes bunching against the shower tray. He grips my wrists one by one and lifts to shave under my arms before rinsing me off.
I blink about when I can’t feel him touching me, to see what he’s doing. Something super sleek and cold glides up my legs, from my ankles to my knees. He’s kneeling at my feet like he’s worshiping me, giving my legs a shave. He looks like a Godly creature, glistening under the shower.
This is what I miss the most about being with Charlie, feeling like I’m someone. I’m not a pet or a soldier ordered to attack and murder. I’m just a girl and Charlie wants me unbiasedly because I am.
In a moment of pure gratification, I drop to my knees and take the razor from his hand, putting it down on the edge. I cup his stubbly face in both hands and look at him, really look at him.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, shifting to stop the water from spraying me in the face.
I shake my head, lips opening to speak, but it takes so long just to voice, “Thank you, Charlie.”
He frowns, folding his hands over mine on his face to hold me as I’m holding him.
“Thank you for coming for me when I needed you the most. Thank you for respecting me and showing me happiness when I lived with you.” I swallow past the weird lump in my throat, blinking away the sting in my eyes so I don’t miss a single second of seeing him. “Because of you, Charlie, I know what it feels like to be loved.”
“Oh, Blaire...” His arms wrap around me before I can breathe another word, enveloping me in the powerful protection of his affections. I curl up between his legs, clinging to him so desperately. “No matter where you are or what trouble you’re in,” he says, and promises, “I’ll always come for you.”