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I did have a meeting today, but circumstances have changed. It might do Clara some good to join me, and to see what happens when people cross me.
CHAPTER 7
Clara
In the end, I can’t bear to sleep under a magnifying glass. I wander the room trying to find cameras and microphones and come up empty. I give up and go into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and use a damp washcloth on the worst of the soot on my arms and legs. I try to draw some more, but I end up just sketching tally marks into the notepad until the entire page is covered. It’s desperate procrastination. I need a shower.
I take another look around the bathroom, trying one last time to see if I can find any cameras. The mirror itself could be one big screen for all I know. I think about smashing it and decide against it just as quickly. If Raleigh is trying to convince Thomas to let me go, I shouldn’t make her job more difficult by trashing the room.
Still. The idea of Thomas seeing…
I rummage through the linen closet for towels and do what I can to tuck them into the molded frame of the mirror, covering most of it. I wait, but Thomas doesn’t come barging in to stop me. Maybe, mercifully, there aren’t cameras in the bathroom.
Or maybe Thomas isn’t watching at all right now.
I decide to do a more direct test. I go through every drawer in the bathroom, looking for anything I can use for paint. There are various lotions, which won’t be visible enough. I’m about to give up when I spy a tube of lipstick, forgotten by some past ‘guest’ in the final drawer. It’s a bold shade of maroon.
Perfect.
I go to the window facing Thomas’s room and draw a mark with the tip of the lipstick. It almost glows against the glass, backlit by the rising sun. I wait, trying to squint as if I can see through Thomas’s window, but there’s nothing to see, and no sound in the hallway.
I keep drawing.
When I’m done, and Thomas still hasn’t shown up, I feel like I can finally breathe a little. Thomas isn’t watching. I hurry to the bathroom, but instead of turning on the shower, I start filling the tub. Peeling off my smoke-stained pajamas feels like tempting fate, but nothing happens. I step into the tub and sink down into the scorching water- and instantly melt.
I really do mean to take a quick bath, but once I start carefully combing through my hair and lathering soap over my body, time loses its grip on me. It’s a relief to stop smelling the smoke in my hair, and to scrub away the sweat. It’s a relief to sit and soak.
But also, my own hands on my skin remind me of Thomas
I bite the inside of my cheek and focus very hard on the fine crown molding along the ceiling, and not the way Thomas knew exactly how to wake my body up in the most intimate ways.
At least he tried to manipulate me through seduction instead of torture, I tell myself, desperately trying to remember the reality of the situation, and not the fantasy that my body is remembering.
I’m cleaning the last of the conditioner out of my hair when the slam of the door jerks me to attention. I shriek and dunk deeper into the water, curling into a ball that hides as much as I can, but it hardly matters.
Thomas strolls into the bathroom with a pile of clothes in one hand, the other tucked casually in his pocket, and looks down at me.
“Pardon me,” he says, sounding completely unapologetic, “there aren’t any cameras in here, and it was getting a little too quiet. I had to see for myself that nothing… suspicious was happening.”
I can only choke on my shock. He’s not even trying to pretend this was an accident. Instead, he seems to be… relishing it.
Thomas’s eyes trace up and down my body, curled into a ball as it is, and I can’t believe I thought his gaze was authentic a few hours ago. His attention now is so intense I can hardly breathe. I desperately want to cover my face to hide the burning in my cheeks, but I can’t bear to move.
He turns toward the counter, giving me blessed relief from the touch of his eyes, and sets the pile of clothes on the end of the counter. “Iris has graciously offered to buy you some new clothes. None of yours survived the fire.” He waits a beat for my reaction, but I’m still too horrified to speak, so he continues. “Until she gets back, you can borrow an outfit of hers. Once you’re dressed, we’re going to brunch.”
He turns back to me, and to my horror kneels beside the tub. For a wild moment, I think he’ll dip a hand into the water and touch me. But then he stands again, my crumpled pajamas in his hand. With one last graze of his eyes, he turns and leaves me to my bath.
It turns out that, aside from being a formidable enforcer and mafia boss right hand, Iris is incredibly fashion-savvy. She chose a cream-colored silk button-up and burgundy wide-leg dress pants for me that fit well despite her more generous curves and longer legs. She’s also loaned me some slip-on sandals that can pass for dressy. I’m self-conscious about how obvious it is that I’m not wearing a bra through the fine fabric of my shirt, but hopefully I’ll only have to deal with that for a few more hours.
Hopefully, this brunch is a sign that Raleigh’s intervention is working.
I find my door unlocked when I try to leave the room, but Thomas is waiting right on the other side of it. He looks me up and down, and I feel my whole body blush red, but his eyes are more clinical than they were in the bathroom. He gives a single nod of his head in approval, and gestures for me to follow.
I don’t dare try to start the conversation until we’re in the car. But as soon as the doors close around us, I’m too aware of Thomas’s presence and the fact that we’re alone in a small space to get a word out. I stare fixedly out the windshield, my cheeks perpetually flushed, as we leave the estate and descend the winding road into the city.
I’m not surprised when we head toward an affluent shopping district. We’re in the heart of Warwick territory, and most of the shops- and all of the land- belong directly to the family. Thomas parallel parks in a narrow side-street, and I let him open my door for me. I wonder how we’re going to have a private conversation in a place that seems to be teeming with weekend shoppers, but I don’t ask. Better to wait, to try to gauge how much Raleigh’s been able to convince Thomas I’m not worth the trouble.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Thomas says, as he takes my hand and tucks it deliberately into the crook of his elbow, “there’ll be a third guest at the table.”
