Page 9 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

I forced a smile and tried not to see the statement as an insult. I wanted to be the anchor tethering Belle to this life. I didn’t want to have to ask for help. But I couldn’t deny that I’d failed to be what she needed. I couldn’t deny that she was still in danger, and I had not been able to do anything about it. I couldn’t pretend I had this situation under control.

“I’m going to talk to some of the people who think they’ve seen Miranda over the years,” Georgia told me. “And I’m going to try to find the old staff.”

“Georgia, it was over forty years ago,” I told her.

“Forty years for them. You’re living it now,” she pointed out.

As much as I wanted to argue with her, I couldn’t deny that she was right.

5

Belle

I dragged myself out of bed the next morning. I’d taken one of my sleeping pills at Smith’s not-so-gentle request, and it was well past nine when I managed to gather my energy and face the day. I slipped on the velvet dressing gown Smith had given me for Christmas—sapphire blue to match my eyes, he’d said—and made my way down the spiral staircase. I’d been drinking that dreadful herbal tea for weeks. This morning I needed a proper cup of something stout and British. Passing the sitting room, movement caught my attention. I turned to stare at a mysterious pile of blankets. It stirred and I let out a little shriek. Georgia shot up, glaring, still half-asleep. Her ink-black hair was piled on top of her head in a wild bun. The blankets slipped to reveal a set of round, brown nipples. I turned away, shielding my eyes.

“Morning,” she called grumpily.

“Georgia— “I said through gritted teeth as Smith came skidding into the foyer, fully dressed in a wool sweater and jeans “—it’s nice to see so much of you.”

“Maybe not that much of you,” Smith said dryly, casting an exasperated look her way.

Georgia stretched her arms over her head and yawned, putting even more of her ample breasts on display. “Did I forget to warn you that I sleep in the nude?”

Smith shook his head and guided me away. “Sorry about that.”

“I was going for some tea to get going, but I’m awake now.” I shot him a frustrated smile that was more grim than greeting.

“I think you could still use a cuppa.” He navigated us towards the kitchen, taking my hand in his.

“What is she doing here?” I asked.

At least three possible excuses seemed to pass over his face judging from the way his eyes narrowed then softened, his mouth opened then closed, and his nervous glance in my direction. “I forgot to tell you she was coming. She called yesterday, but…“

“You got distracted,” I said flatly.

“Honestly, I forgot myself until she arrived last night. I’m sorry that you found out that way.”

“Every woman loves finding a beautiful, naked sociopath in their house in the morning.” I moved away from him, rifling through the cabinet and pulling out various tea tins. I popped the lids off each until the floral, astringent scent of Assam hit my nostrils. I shoved the others back inside.

Smith turned on the hob and placed the freshly-filled kettle on it. “I wouldn’t call her a sociopath exactly.”

“That’s the hill you’re going to die on?” I asked as I searched for a teapot. I’d become too reliant on Mrs. Winters the last few weeks, so much so that I barely knew my own kitchen.

He found it first and placed it on a silver breakfast tray along with a gold-rimmed cup and saucer. Smith didn’t say anything as I shifted my attention toward the fridge.

“Let me,” he said when I turned with butter and marmalade in my hands.

I watched as my husband toasted a slice of bread, waiting for him to fill me in on the details of our unexpected guest. Instead, he focused on making my toast with the intensity of a Michelin-starred chef. He still hadn’t spoken when the kettle whistled. I picked it up off the hob using a kitchen towel and poured the boiling water into my waiting teapot. The team bloomed in the steaming water, releasing the promising smell of comfort, but today it only turned my stomach.

“How long is she going to be here?” I demanded as I placed the pot on the tray. It was bad enough that I’d had witnesses to my mental breakdown. Now we were adding another. Georgia Kincaid was far from my favorite person. Plus, there was the fact that she had other people she should be worrying about. “What about Clara? She should be with her. She needs actual protection.”

My best friend had people actively working to hurt her, and they nearly had earlier this year. I was just going crazy. It didn’t matter whether I had a bodyguard if the threat was my own mind.

He put the plate of toast on the tray and turned to finally face me.

“She’s going to help me look into some things. She’s not here to be your babysitter.” Smith placed his hands on my shoulders, angling his head so that I was forced to meet his green eyes. It was hard to look into them and see the love there. I didn’t understand how he could still feel that way after what I’d done.

“What kind of things?” I added suspiciously.