SERENA

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MAC’S HOUSE WAS A ONE-story perched atop a hill. The rear of the house was situated on solid ground, but the front was propped on stilts. It looked like sixties architecture and obviously had been very modern in its day, now it just seemed boxy and dated.

The bodyguards pulled up behind us on the narrow drive, climbed out of their vehicle, and then walked around surveying the area. I did a three-sixty turn but I couldn’t see any other houses. It struck me that I was going to be isolated up here with a man I barely knew.

I stared at his broad back as he unlocked the back door. He’d barely said a word the entire drive. I’d made the mistake of asking him if I could turn on the radio and gotten a surly response.

I had a ridiculous image of being carried into the house like a true bride. Instead, he pushed open the door and ordered me to wait on the stoop.

I could hear his footsteps, as he strode through the house. He returned and ushered me in with a curt gesture of his hand.

Though the rain had finally stopped the sky was still heavy with dark clouds and the gloomy light entered through the wall of windows that looked out over the city. I suspected the interior had been updated recently, since the kitchen opened onto the living room, and was done in granite and stainless steel. I strode through the rest of the house and cracked open the doors. If I had to live here I was certainly entitled to explore.

As it turned out, there were very few doors. Behind one was a vast room which held nothing but a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The back wall was clear glass. A well-equipped gym lay behind it. The glass appeared to be seamless but I was sure there was some high tech door that led into the exercise area. There was a door within the bedroom which led to a connecting bathroom.

I crossed back through the living room. The other end of the house held only a bathroom and a locked door.

I returned to where he stood, his arms crossed over his chest clearly impatient to get on with his day.

“My bedroom door is locked.”

“That’s my office. There’s only one bedroom,” he said, “which works perfectly for the purpose of protecting you.”

This was going to be worse than I thought. I refused to sleep in his private lair. I walked into the living room and stood in front of the couch. “Does this pull out?”

“No.”

I leaned over and pressed on the cushions. They were uncomfortably firm. “I’ll sleep here.”

“Christ, you’re a hard-headed woman,” he grumbled. “I’m going back to work. Tom’s going to run you through an escape plan so don’t give him any lip.”

“A what?”

“If there’s any trouble, you need to be able to get to safety.”

I turned to shoot him an annoyed look, but it was wasted, he’d already turned his back on me and was heading toward the door.

I didn’t give Tom lip, but I was not a very cooperative student. I trudged lethargically after him as he walked me through the escape plan they’d hatched.

Sensing he was going to take me through it a second time, I plead exhaustion and headed to the living room. I kicked off my pumps, positioned a throw pillow to cushion my head, then curled up on the couch. I was sick of crying, sick of thinking. I wanted oblivion.

When I woke, the night was black and someone had draped a blanket over me.

I padded in my stocking feet over to the windows. The house had an amazing view of the city lights below. It was a seductive place, perched atop a cliff with no neighbors nearby. A bachelor’s paradise. I wondered how many women he’d brought here, or maybe he was loyal to the blonde I’d seen him with. Had he broken the news to her? Had she taken it as Ryan had, without putting up any sort of fight, or was she lovesick and desperate for him?

Crying had left me dehydrated. I found my way to the kitchen with my phone light. The refrigerator was filled with ready-made meals. Mac’s life was regimented and organized. Nothing homey or cozy here. I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned back against the counter and drank.

I polished the bottle off and then decided to take a shower. I needed to wash the horribleness of the day away. Using my phone as a flashlight again, I made my way to the small bathroom down the hallway.

The bathroom had an outdated blue and white color scheme, with mosaic tiling in the shower and a geometric pattern on the linoleum. It seemed to be the only room in the house that had never been renovated. I reminded myself that I hadn’t actually seen the entire house, since Mac’s office was clearly off limits to me. 

I caught a glance of myself in the medicine cabinet mirror. I looked worse than I expected. My skin was bloodless, but my eyes were bloodshot.

I removed my black dress and nylons, then popped off my lacy bra and shucked my matching panties. I left the dress in a puddle on the floor. I now hated that dress and everything it signified. I wanted to burn it. I took time, though, to hang my fancy underwear over the towel rack. I was a fiend for beautiful lingerie. It was my one real indulgence.

After a long hot shower, I stepped out, grabbed a folded towel from the rack by the sink, and began drying myself. I realized then that I’d forgotten to bring a nightgown to change into. I wrapped myself in the towel and walked back toward the vast living room, testing the doorknob on the office—yup, still locked.

My boxes had been stacked in the corner. I set my phone down on the floor, propping it against the wall to illuminate the corner. I pulled the tape off the box labeled bedroom. I’d written that when I’d had the crazy expectation that I’d actually have a bedroom. Surely, at some point, this house had had more than a single, grand bedroom.

I got on my knees, and started digging. I regretted now my messy packing job. I’d basically torn my clothes from the hangers and yanked them from my drawers and just stuffed them into the box.