“We’re here to see the man of the house,” she casually relayed. “He is not expecting us, but I don’t doubt that he’s intrigued by our visit. Tell him it’s Evangeline… and Monica Warren.”
The guard peered into the darkened car and shrugged at Monica’s presence.He must be newer.Fine with her.
He went back to his box to radio the house. Waiting for him to return was worse than watching the raindrops slowly meander down the windshield, the wipers lazily brushing them away while Eva attempted to maintain her cool.
“I hate this place,” she muttered. “And I’ve never been here before.”
Monica glanced at her. “Good thing you’re with me, then.”
Eva said nothing. The guard was returning, anyway.
“You may proceed, but you will be met at the door. Do not enter without an escort.”
Has he become more paranoid?Monica kept that thought to herself as the gate slowly creaked open and the Jaguar inched through. Only then did she notice some changes in the past decade. Gone were the hedges that once presented stately division between parts of the large yard. Instead, it was a free layout, with what looked like small patches of wildflowers. Trends changed, didn’t they? Monica had made similar adjustments at the Château over the years. Her customers’ tastes demanded it.
They parked in the darkness. Dinnertime, but Monica wasn’t hungry. Nor did she expect they’d be invited to dine with the owner of such a large estate.Family home. Owned for generations.One would never guess that the parents of the current owner had wildly different tastes. Even by the time Monica came to know this place, so much had changed from the photos she had perused in tightly curated albums of decades past.
Nobody came out to greet them, not that Monica expected them to. Yet Eva idled in her quiet car after the engine was cut and the rain continued to patter on the windshield. Monica opened the passenger side door. Soon, Eva took the hint and followed, neither of them with a hood nor an umbrella. They were slightly soggy by the time they reached the front door, which opened to reveal a young woman in a slightly revealing black dress.
He always had a type.Petite. Brunette. Pale.This was one was paler and had darker hair than Monica, but her eyes were completely different.Different in their indifference.This woman had just enough power in the house to receive visitors, butprobably not much more than that. She was not paid. She lived here for free, instead.
“May I ask who is…” Her head slightly tilted when Monica came into the light of the open doorway. She brushed off the sprinkled rain from her travel coat and brushed her fingers through her hair. “…Calling…”
She knows who I am.It was in the way the woman looked at her, virulently, with just a hint of envy that she would never measure up to Lady Monica Warren.
“Monica Warren, wife of Henry Warren.” She cleared her throat. “This is Evangeline Warren, my sister-in-law. We were not expected, but I presume we’ll be accepted. After all, your employer knows why I am here if he does not yet knowthatwe are here.”
The young woman in the black dress turned around. “I will let the master of the house know. Please, wait here.”
“No need, Paisley.”
That voice curled the hairs on the back of Monica’s neck and took her back to a darker, more sinister time when she was the woman who would answer the door and ask who was calling.I’d see a woman older than me, but not so much older that she could be his mother.That woman was long gone by the time Monica came around. It wasn’t until the Warrens that she discovered what a mother-in-law was.
She forced herself to look up at the railing of the second floor. Coming down the stairs was a man as dapper in his light-colored suit as he always was. Dark blond hair fell across his forehead and threatened to blind one of his eyes, but he always parted the bangsjust sothat he saw everything, even if Monica couldn’t see the deliciously dark twinkle behind his hair.Never know them. Never care.There was a time when she wanted to know everything – and then a time when she regretted knowing anything at all.
The man who smelled of spices and arsenic strolled confidently forward and only had eyes for Monica. She puffed herself up, remembering her anxiety exercises that told her to keep her breath steady and her eyes level. This man was always watching her. Waiting for her to flinch so he knew hehad her.
“Monica.”
There was no love in his voice. Little respect. She felt the same way about him.
“Jackson.”
She was proud of herself, in a way. While the back of her mind screamed the nameAbigail,her girl’s name constantly on the tip of her tongue as a heart-tugging reminder of why she was here, Monica still had to come. She still had to show up and say to her former tyrant,“Yes, I want your help. I need your help. You’re the only one who can help me get my little girl back.”The traumatized woman who was last in this house couldn’t have done it – or so Monica assumed. For ten years, she never returned. She knew other women had come and gone from this den of debauchery, and Jackson had not peacefully released her into the wind. For months after Monica began dating Henry, her ex-Dom harassed them over mail and phone. The only reason they didn’t tack a restraining order out against Jackson was because they simply wanted him to go away without more public and legal drama. Since Henry’s father owed a ton of debt to Jackson at the time… miracles happened.
Now Monica hoped for another one. This time for her daughter.
“What brings you back here… Mrs. Warren, isn’t it?”
Monica sensed Eva’s increasingly irate presence behind her.
“Right. Ms. Warren. It’s been several years since we last spoke as well.”
Eva kept her mouth shut. Monica was grateful.
“Why don’t you ladies follow me into the study? We have a fire going there and it’s quite cozy on such nights as these. Paisley?” He turned to the woman in black who had been keeping a close eye on Monica and Eva. “Bring us some tea. Our guests must be cold from their trip.”
Paisley glared at Monica before heading toward the kitchen.No matter how much you deride me, he’ll never love you.
