Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
13
Rowan
What was I just saying to myself last week about a gilded cage?
I can hardly believe it’s been a week, but the calendar doesn’t lie. I’ve lived in Lucian’s house for seven days. I’ve wandered through this palace of a house, smack dab in the lap of luxury. And I still don’t know why I’m still here.
It’d be helpful if I could ask him about it, but that would involve telepathy. I haven’t seen him since that first day in bed. If I had known he would cut himself off from me for a week, I would’ve said something before he left me alone in bed. I might’ve thanked him or something like that.
How was I supposed to know he would disappear?
No, disappear isn’t quite the right word. He’s still very much here sometimes. I’ve heard his shoes hitting the hardwood floor in the hallway more than once. I even saw him go into his room—at least, I saw the back of him a split second before he closed the door and shut me out. So I know he’s been here.
It’s just that I haven’t seen him face-to-face. And I don’t know whether it’s been deliberate on his part or what. Is he going out of his way to avoid me?
It’s so stupid, even wondering about things like this. I’m sure he doesn’t waste a second thinking about me—if anything, it probably makes him feel better, more secure, knowing I’m right here whenever he wants me. Whenever he gets that itch that only I can scratch. Otherwise? I might as well be nobody. Why would he think about me even a second longer than he had to?
But I’m not a pet. I’m not something for him to own, to visit when he feels like it, and leave for someone else to take care of when he gets bored with me.
I would tell him this, too, if he would show his face. I really would. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I sit alone for hours on end. One day bleeding into another, and I’m still no closer to knowing when the hell I can go home. Or if he ever intends on letting me go home at all.
At least there are plenty of books to read, and he already told me I have the run of the house except for his room, so I’ve spent some time catching up on movies and TV shows I either didn’t have time to watch before or couldn’t afford the subscription for. He has everything, of course, all the channels, all of the streaming services. I have the entire world at my fingertips.
I don’t have anybody else to talk to. I don’t have him. I don’t even have the household staff, though they’re kind and thoughtful. Greta, the cook, is especially sweet. She never asks questions about why I’m here or who I am. There’s no judgment, either. She asks if I’m hungry and what I like to eat, and the next thing I know, there’s an entire meal in front of me.
I can’t help but remember watching Beauty and the Beast with Mom when I was little. Lucian isn’t a beast—not physically, anyway—and I’ve never considered myself a beauty people randomly break out into song over. But this is a lot like that situation, where Belle was locked away in the Beast’s castle. She could do anything she wanted except leave. She could have everything she needed as long as she obeyed the rules.
Only this is no fairy tale.
It might be easier to handle if I knew when I could leave. If there was something on the horizon to look forward to.
It’s enough to make me laugh when I take walks around the grounds, always aware of being watched. There are guards all over the place—some of them easily visible, some not so much. I can’t make a move without one of them observing it. Sometimes I want to do something crazy, like jump in the pool or uproot one of the plants, just to see what they would do. Let them earn their money.
Nobody in her right mind would want to leave this place. I know that. And I don’t want to leave, not exactly. If I could stay here with the promise that things would make sense and be less awkward, I would happily say yes. If I could come and go as I please, and if I didn’t feel so much like I’m alone on a desert island.
Because Greta is the only person who talks to me. I’ve said hi to many of the men I’ve come across, but all of them look either annoyed with me or like they’re afraid to say anything back. What? Did Lucian warn them not to talk to me? What could be so bad about that? If he’s going to leave me here, essentially stranded, I should at least be able to have a conversation with somebody.