Something big has happened. Something that’s changed everything for all of them.
I just don’t know what.
Aiden’s hand drops to my lower back as we enter the house.
“Foyer. Living room,” he says, indicating with his right hand. He gestures to his left, carelessly. “A sitting room.”
Although I barely have time to take in what I’m seeing, I can see a theme forming. There’s a lot of hardwood flooring, carved wood furniture, and dark metal details at the windows. The rugs are rich jewel tones, embroidered tapestries hanging on some walls of the rooms.
There are books too, set on shelves in a huge library. I can’t help but cling to their existence like a drowning man searching for something to stay afloat.
More than the rooms, I find myself looking at Aiden. I can’t help it.
I tell myself I’m trying to find his weakness, look for a chink in his armor, but I don’t even believe my own lie.
Aiden might as well be stone, as cold and hard as the bust in the hallway we pass through. It’s a man I don’t recognize, just the same as the one before me.
I thought I recognized Aiden immediately at the restaurant because he looked the same. The more I look, the more I realize that isn’t exactly true. He doesn’t look exactly the same.
For one thing, the sharp angles of his face are no longer as dramatic as they were when he was a teenager. He’s not as lanky anymore, his cheekbones not as defined. There’s an adult hardness to his face, a weight that is more muscle than fat. He looks solid, strong.
He looks like the kind of man I would let finger me inside his car.
God, I can’t believe that happened. I keep thinking about it, dizzy at the implications. He touched me and I didn’t want him to stop.
I told myself I wanted him to stop, told myself I didn’t like his hand on me. But there was a burning low inside me when his hand rested on my leg. Something that made me wet, made my legs tremble.
When Aiden’s fingers pressed against my panties, I imagined him pulling over to fuck me. I imagined a dangerous fantasy, a fleeting image of him leaning me over the seat and sinking into me from behind, right in view of anyone passing by.
Fuck, Rose. Stop thinking about shit like that.
Aiden gestures toward another door and I realize we’re farther into the house now. I know I should probably pay attention, learning this place backward and forward in case I need to escape.
“Kitchen,” he says. “Pantry beyond that.”
He isn’t looking for a response. It’s a good thing. I don’t think I could give a convincing one.
It doesn’t matter that this house is beautiful. I hate it. I don’t want to live here. Not when I didn’t choose this.
Not that it matters.
We walk through more rooms. I only half-listen, already feeling the exhaustion of my recent trip home and the night I’ve suffered.
I just want to sleep. I want to sleep and maybe when I wake up in the morning, it’ll be a dream. Or maybe Aiden will be gone, and I’ll find a way to leave. I’ll get out, find my father, and we’ll both leave.
We’ll both get out of this city and the shit that’s suddenly coming for us.
Finally, we’re back at the front of the house, standing by the stairs. I find the strength in me to say something, hoping I’ll get a brief reprieve, even if I’m stuck here.
“Where will my room be?” I ask.
Aiden raises an eyebrow. “Your room?”
“It’s late. I want to go to bed.”
I don’t know what time it is, but I know it’s not late. I just want to get away from him.
Aiden’s gaze finds mine. His blue eyes are unreadable, and I find my stomach dropping, uncertainty holding me in its icy grip. I hate not knowing what’s coming next.
