Page 66 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

“In all the research you did on her?” Jane guesses, her blue eyes studying me shrewdly. She goes to the kitchen and returns with the decanter.

There’s no point hiding it. I nod.

“It doesn’t matter how much intelligence you have or who follows her and reports back. You can’t know a person until they show you who they are.” There’s a warning in her words and more than a hint of challenge.

“I want to know who she is.” The confession slips from me before I can take it back. Maybe it’s the Scotch or the surprise of today’s news. Maybe where Clara Bishop is concerned, I can’t focus long enough to restrain myself.

Belle doesn’t respond, but she bites her lip thoughtfully before checking her wristwatch. “I need to meet Philip,” she announces. “Will you be okay waiting for her here?”

“Yes.” Relief floods through me. I need to talk to Clara...alone. The last thing I want is to share her with her friends tonight. Belle must understand this.

“I’ll wait in her room,” I tell Belle, and she begins to gather her things, then I turn to Jane. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Let her tell you,” she advises me. “Be patient. It’s not easy to split yourself open like that. It takes courage.”

“I will,” I promise.

I amble into Clara’s room, and I’m immediately bombarded by her even though it’s empty. Her scent lingers in the air. A pair of shoes waits for her. She’s everywhere, and my body responds possessively, growing more anxious as each second ticks by and she doesn’t appear.

Belle’s blonde head peeks in through the door. “I’ll be leaving now. There’s not much in the fridge, but make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” I grit out, dropping into a chair by the window where I can watch for her.

“She usually leaves the office around six,” she tells me. “And Alexander?”

I swivel to look at her as she steps inside the door frame. “If you fuck with her, I don’t care who you are, I will track you down, cut off your balls, and hang them from the Clock Tower’s little hand.

My eyebrows lift in a combination of surprise and respect. “Noted.”

Since I’ve never had any doubt I would hurt Clara, I might need to increase my security.

“She needs to feel safe,” Belle adds softly. “Give her that.”

I swallow. “I will.”

Belle leaves me alone with my thoughts and the ghost of Clara’s absence, and I turn to keep vigil at the window. I’ll do more than make her feel safe. I’ll keep her safe—at all costs.

I losetrack of the hours I spend waiting for her to come home. Norris is near her, ready to see her safely to her flat. The last thing she needs is me showing up, not with the media circus it would cause. When a familiar Bentley drives past, relief floods through me. Soon. She’ll be here soon. And then we can sort out this mess.

A door opens in the distance, but I don’t move. Footsteps in the hall slowing slightly the closer they get to her room. Finally, she fills the doorframe, dressed in a simple blue dress that hugs her curves—curves that make me mental. I frown, wondering if she’s self-conscious about them. If she is, I’m going to have to fix that. She stands for a moment, mute, her hair cascading around her shoulders before she moves to the bed. She still doesn’t speak as she plops onto it. Instead, she grabs a pillow.

I wait for her to open up.

She doesn’t.

Make her feel safe. That was Belle’s advice.

I only know one way to do that, but first, I need to know if this is just another exaggeration of the so-called press. I won’t make the mistake of believing whatever they print.

It takes effort to go to her and keep my hands to myself. She blinks up at me, the evidence of tears smudged under her lower lashes. I want to reach out and wipe it away—wipe all of this away. But first.

“Is it true?”

Fear flits over her face, and I tense. “Yes.”

Hearing her say it breaks me. It’s not enough that she’s had to live with it. The goddamn press believes they can drag it up to sell fucking tabloids. I turn away, afraid she’ll see my rage and feel anything but safe near me. But I can’t contain my anger. It bursts out of me, sending my fist slamming into the plaster wall.

So much for keeping control of myself. I pull my hand out, watching the plaster crumbling. This sends Clara shooting to her feet.