He showed himself out. A whole minute after the door clicked shut, Monica released the tension from her body, gasping for air and telling the traumatized woman of her youth still inside of her that he wasgone.He was not coming back. There was nothing he could do to her.
Yet that part of her soul currently curled up on the floor, crying, couldn’t be consoled.
You’re safe. It’s safe. This is your safe place. You overcame him here. He didn’t violate it.
She slowly opened her eyes. She was still alone in Le Salon.
I should make sure he’s left the building.She could call down to the lobby, but it was easier to take a peek for herself. Besides, she needed fresh air before the customers started arriving in another ninety minutes.
Yet when Monica stepped out into the hallway, careful to ensure she had her keys on her, she was met with the cool and calculating look of someone she had not expected.
“How much of all that did you hear?” she asked Judith, who stood right next to the front door with her key dangling from her hand.
“Not much. Enough.”
“I thought I told everyone not to come in early.”
“I haven’t come in, now have I?”
“Dancing around my instructions doesn’t mean I’m not angry at you.”
Judith pushed past Monica, unlocking the door. “No need to be angry at myself. I’m sure you’re far angrier at yourself than you could ever be at me.”
She disappeared into the Salon. Monica, who had been so composed despite Jackson being so in her presence, finally broke down into the first fury of tears that she had been holding back. To be called out like that… soperfectly…
Her composure returned by the time she rode the elevator down to the lobby and maintained her professional façade with the concierge and doorman. They knew what she was about.
The whole city did.
Chapter 20
Controlled
“Monica.”
The way her husband said her name that night when she got home from work was comforting. It was also like sharp nails on the soft skin of her back.
Henry stood in the bedroom doorway, hands in his pockets and hair slightly ruffled on his head. She sat at her vanity, staring at the bags beneath her eyes and the lines on her face that told the tale of her childhood, of Jackson. No matter what skin treatments she used, she couldn’t reverse how her past left tales of trauma on her skin, like tracts of terror.
“Yes?” she quietly asked.
He had probably rehearsed a dozen things to say. Did they race through his head now? Did he dither between which was right, which was wrong?Choose wisely, Henry.Monica was more delicate right now than she liked to admit. What her husband said would either make her cry or set her free.
“Why don’t I take care of you tonight?”
She sat up, drawing breath that told her she didn’t know if this was a trap or something sweeter. “Is that a request, sir?”
Monica didn’t mean to sound sarcastic. But she was still thinking of Jackson, and it was how she felt about the title.
“It’s an invitation, Princess. I’ve just noticed you’ve been on edge. Still.”
“A lot is going on.”
“Hence my offering to help you forget for a while. Surely, this stress you’re still under isn’t good for you.”
Damnit, he’s going to make me cry.
Monica spent a few seconds considering the options. Yes, she would like to spend time with Henry, but she was also closed off in her world. It was far easier to stew in her panicked memories of Jackson, of losing Abigail for a week than to come to terms with what she wanted. And she had been failing in her self-imposed duties toward her Dom, who must have been upset about the lack of closeness between them. The last time they truly had a good time together was the Château when Abigail went missing…
