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“Our greatest joy and our greatest pain come in our relationships with others.”-Stephen R. Covey
It’s beendays since Atticus has been home. After what felt like him tearing down his room was over, everything becamevery silent. Too silent. Francis informed me he’s taken off to Seattle for a few days.
I had no way to get in contact with him. I wondered if he ran off to another lover but quickly banished those thoughts. He may not be in his right mind, but I think that’s the last thing on his mind right now. He has demons he needs to straighten out.
I spend my days in the library and my nights tucked in his bed. Surrounded by his scent. I think of the small pieces he gave me. The forced rape one the most prominate. He was a victim as well. Although I know he can never see himself that way.
I want to fix him, make him see he’s worthy of love.
Francis walks into the library and I pause the book I'm reading. "Yes?"
"You need to get ready to depart very soon, miss. The private jet is on its way to get you."
"Do I need to pack? Exactly how long?"
Francis smiles. "I would just pack some books and your little diary you keep."
Of course he knows about that. Although, I've never told him. Maybe he took a peek when I first arrived. I stand, grabbing the stack of books I have as my To Be Readpile. I walk to my room, opening my closet to grab a small duffle bag, and stuffing my books and favorite slippers inside in case he finally decides to get rid of me, at least I can keep these things.
I zip the bag and find Francis waiting for me. I follow him out to the landing strip and climb into the jet. Once I'm buckled and we finally take off, I pull my book out, but nothing seems to keep the worry at bay. It grows stronger with every stretch of sea.
I want to throw up. Crawl back into bed and wake up with him next to me.
I have no real reason to worry. I said things that were hard to hear, yes, but true. Atticus may not have taken them that way.Maybe he's tired of dealing with me and now he's finally going to kill me. Or worse, send me back to Joseph.
When I land in Seattle,a driver waits for me. I climb into the car and realize that we're going to the penthouse. I'm let out at the font instead of the garage like I'm used to with Atticus. The door man holds the door open for me and the attendant at the desk rushes to me, holding out a card for me. I make my way to the elevator and find the code for the penthouse on the inside of the paper.
I type in the code, waiting patiently as it climbs up to the very top of the building. The doors open, revealing absolutely no one. My heart sinks and I walk to the window that overlooks the city. My eyes hang on the space needle as the sun goes down behind it and its lights begin to illuminate.
The elevator dings and I turn, heart falling as Luca steps through. He smiles, white teeth flashing. He knows he's got that whole pretty boy thing going on for him. "Pretty Prisoner. I'm so glad you made it here. Travels were safe, I assume?"
"Please, excuse me for sounding rude, but where is Atticus?"
Luca's smile falls. "That's why we brought you. He's out of control."
I step closer, my white skirts dragging and the corset feeling extremely tight on my chest. "What do you mean?"
Luca shakes his hand, holding out a hand. "Come with me."
I realize justhow underdressed I am when we reach the club. My simple, white corset dress is dull compared to the glitter and silk most women have on.
Luca tosses an arm around me. "Don't mind them. They're mad they could never look so beautiful and elegant in something so simple."
"Thank you?"
He laughs, "You know, if you're tired of hanging around that grumpy bastard, I'd be more than happy to show you how a real man could treat you."
I blush, slightly. "That's not necessary."
"You let me know once you see him if that's still true."
Luca pushes the door open to a private poker room. The room that started it all. The furniture is the same. The smell and colors. Even Atticus is the same. Slumped back in his chair as he smokes a cigar and takes drinks out of a bottle. The only thing different is his eyes. Glazed and red, bags underneath. And the woman in his lap. That’s also new. I try not to get hurt, but it’s hard. He may be messed up on a substance but… Well, he never did say we were exclusive, did he?
He had the option to not be, but me? I never had a choice.
“What is she doing here?” Atticus slurs.
“Coming to make you act right.” Luca supplies, leading me to sit next to him across from Atticus.
