Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I frown as she starts to clean my nails. “Why? Who on earth would anyone ever want to be forced to marry a man?”
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just mean that I’m very lucky he gave me a job. Mr. Van Buren can be nice if you let him.” She’s beaming as if someone lit her up and sent her off in a freaking air balloon. That kinda happy.
I narrow my eyes. Is she … in love with him?
“Well, anyway, don’t mind me,” she says, brushing her thoughts off as she grabs a towel. “I’m only an assistant trying to do her best. And if you’d let me, I can be of great help to you.”
“Right …” I mutter, getting up.
“Just don’t ever think about trying to escape again,” she adds jokingly, but I don’t find it funny at all.
“Don’t you feel bad about any of this?” I ask as she drapes the towel around me.
“I always try to see the good side of things. And Mr. Van Buren has many. It just takes him a while to show them,” she says, nodding. “But if you give him time, he’ll show his true colors. Trust me, you’ll warm up to him in no time, I promise.”
I find that hard to believe. In fact, she sounds pretty much delusional to me. “Is he keeping you captive here too or something?” I ask as I get out of the tub and dry myself off.
She laughs out loud. “No, of course not, silly.”
“But you’re never allowed off the property, right?”
“I work for him 24/7. I can go off the property but not much.”
“Then you’re as much a prisoner as I am,” I retort.
“Oh, no. Mr. Van Buren views me as his most trusted assistant. It’s why I told him you escaped.” She tries to swallow those last words, but it’s too late. The awkward silent stare we share feels as if it lasts an eternity, like lightning prickling all around us.
“I-I …” she mutters.
“Don’t,” I say, snatching the second towel from her hands so I can wrap it around my head. “Just don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” She looks down at her feet as if she’s unable to look me in the eyes. “Please, don’t make me choose. It isn’t fair.”
As I walk past her, I whisper into her ear, “Life’s not fair.”
I sink down onto my bed and cocoon myself in the blanket, hiding beneath the fabric so I can be alone for a little while. I can hear her shuffle around the room, probably cleaning up after herself or trying to cover up my crimes … I don’t care. If she hadn’t come into my room and screeched her lungs out, maybe I could’ve gotten to that gate before those assholes grabbed me. I’d be free by now.
Instead, I’m stuck here because she did what she thought she needed to do … choose him.
It’s always him.
Everywhere I go, everything I do … it all revolves around him, and he knows it. He probably revels in it too. I wonder if he’s going to punish me for what I did. If he’ll punish her too for not stopping me in time.
A sudden click of the door alerts me to the fact she’s left the room, so I lower my blanket to confirm. Finally, I’m alone. The first thing I do is check the windows. Of course, they’re all locked again, and the bobby pin has disappeared. She must’ve found it and took it with her. Dammit.
I roll back onto the bed and gaze at the ceiling, wondering if there will ever be another chance or if that was my last … and if I’ll always feel this alone.
Jill is the only one I can talk to, but she’s not a friend even though I sometimes wish she could be. But with one foul look and a judging voice, I chased her away. Maybe I was too harsh on her. After all, she was only trying to help me.
But she also destroyed my only chance at escaping too.
I grab the pillow and hug it tight as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks again. Fuck. I never used to cry this much, but I can’t seem to stop. Not even as Jill comes back inside with a cup of steaming tea and places it on the nightstand beside my bed.
“Here, drink this. It’ll warm you up,” she says with a gentle smile. She seems genuinely worried about me, and the way she bites her lip when she looks my way tells me she’s conflicted. Just as I am.
“Thank you,” I mutter, smiling back.
I don’t know why I smile.
I know I’m not the only one who doubts her own decisions.
And that we can all use forgiveness every once in a while.