Page 45 of The Silent Princess

“The library?” She arches a brow, thinking. “Well, I don’t see why not, unless the girls’ shoe closet isn’t done.”

“It’s done. I finished it earlier.” She takes her time, index on her chin, enjoying making me squirm.

“Alright, but I expect dinner ready by seven.” I nod several times, knowing I've already prepped most of the ingredients and can make dinner in ten minutes, which will give me more freedom this afternoon. Her hand finds my cheek, and I almost step back, taken off guard.

“You look lovely, Ella. Such a beautiful young woman now.” There is a shine to her eyes, and I am stuck, trying to seek authenticity in her mask. She offers me a tight smile, then passes by me, leaving the hotel lounge as I remain sitting on the stool. What was that?

Taking my phone out of the tiny purse, I text Tristan. It is two p.m. His last text had a certain urgency, and it made me want to cover his eyes with my palms, making his world quieter, with no more distractions.

Me: Now?

His answer is immediate, as if he has been standing by his phone, waiting.

Tristan: Stand outside. I’ll be there in five minutes.

How does he know where I am? Thanking the bartender, I walk out of the hotel and stand in this too-short dress. Rays of sunlight lick my skin; people come from every direction, sunglasses on. A lady passes by me with a large dog.

“You look so pretty,” she says, causing me to blush, talking to me as if I was from her world, a regular in this fancy neighborhood.

“Miss?” somebody speaks, and I turn, noticing the doorman elegantly fitted in a long black suit, motioning his hand to his left, toward a black Land Rover with tinted windows. A man opens the door from the street side and circles the vehicle. Tristan walks straight in my direction, like a husband picking up his wife. Looking left and right with a worried gaze, he glances once behind his shoulder, then back at me. When will I wake up and realize this was all a fantasy?

Drinking me in from head to toe, his jaw flexes as his gaze softens once it lands on me. He stops a meter away, all devastatingly handsome in his dark suit, impeccably ironed, his brown hair arranged as if he'd just run his hand through it, his square jaw freshly shaved, the small bump on his nose adding character to his handsome face. My heart stammers, and despite my inability to talk, I am speechless.

“Ella,” he says like a claim, so low I am not sure if I have not simply read it on his lips. “You look…” His jaw clenches. “Like a fallen angel.” Pink blemishes blossom on my skin.

“Where are we going?” A shadow of a smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s a surprise,” he signs. I frown, but relax as he takes my hand gently. “Do you trust me?” he asks as he walks me to the car, opening the door near the sidewalk. Do I? I have not known him for long, and our lives could not be more different, but…Yes. I think I do. Like I could be blind and give him my hand, like the sun could stop rising tomorrow and I would still trust him to lead me through the dark. I squeeze his hand in response and watch him absorb my affirmation with a soft rise of his mouth. Once I am seated, he leans in, clasping my belt, his face so close to my chest I forget how to breathe. His eyes linger for a second on my lips as he jerks back. And then, right before closing the door, he raises my hand and kisses my knuckles. Like a knight. A gentleman. His lips caress my skin with reverent admiration, and I melt at the touch, our gazes locking like two soulmates greeting each other in another lifetime.

Tristan

Nervousness has never been one of my character traits. Had I not crossed this street in this angel’s direction, I suppose I would never have experienced it in the first place. There are worse ways to encounter this unsettling emotion than in the close proximity of a young, mesmerizing woman. A quick check behind the car tells me we have not been followed. Not that it is a regular occurrence, but given the current climate, I would not put it past Cole to track me down. Actually, I am sure he already does, or at least tries to, since Matt found a small tracker under my car and a listening device glued beneath my desk. Whoever they sent to pour blood on my chess set was skilled enough to sneak in and out discreetly, without being caught by our cameras. Nate and I decided to reinforce security with code access to the elevator and an identity check in the hallway after the badge point. I have also added a bodyguard to Nate, Maddie, and our mother.

There’s traffic, and I check the dial of my watch. Three o’clock. How long does Ella have before going home? The middle seat, empty, laughs at me for being closer to her than I am. She’s looking outside, and I wonder if, had I not interrupted her, she would have let the tip of her nose meet the glass, hypnotized by watching the city unfurl before her.

“Ella,” I say, trying to keep my tone low so I do not startle her. Now that I have her attention, I sign, “How was it with your stepmother?” Did our little encounter this morning have the desired effect? Or should I make myself clearer?

“It was, I don’t know,” she signs, her shoulders defeated. “I don’t want to bore you with my…” She shakes her head, “life.”

“I would like to know, Ella,” I sign, spelling her name with an additional sign before the E. She freezes, her small mouth rounding into a delicate curve.

“What did you… What did you just sign?”

“Your name,” I say, repressing a smile.

“No, you…” She stops. “Please, don’t call me that.”

“Like?”

“You know what I mean. I…” Arguing silently is a first for me, and I am enjoying every second of it. Her little pout, the velvet crease between her dark, thin brows, her jaw clenching in frustration, all of it makes me want to be the only one allowed to deliver her from her torment.

“I think it suits you. Even in this dress that seems to belong to someone else, these shoes that look as though you want to throw them out the window…” Leaving her barefoot, which I would not object to, since it would give me an excuse to carry her in my arms.

“And this bag, which I have no objection to, but from what I have seen of you, is not remotely big enough to hold your books, headphones, water bottle, and all the other little things you seem to carry around.” Her eyes follow my hands, and I get the sudden urge to stop and do something about this woman staring at me. Still, Ella does not seem like any woman I have ever encountered, and I would be damned if she pushed me away because one bold action carried me too far past her boundaries. I swallow a groan, keeping my monsters at bay from this perfect creature.

“I called you a princess because this is what you look like to me, even in your jeans and T-shirt or working blouse. I have been around a lot of elite circles, and trust me when I tell you that no one has ever made an impression on me the way you have. If you did not seem so appalled by violence, I would cut your forearm, right here.” My index finger roams over the inside of her arm, the skin thin enough to provoke me with a cobalt maze underneath. “Just so you could see for yourself the blue shade of blood dripping from your veins.” She has the grace of a princess, the softness of a ballerina, the silent calm of a queen. She may be a maid, but she was never meant to remain one. Her particular stillness belongs only to people who can handle silence, radiating composure while watching others fidget and overshare, panicking in the face of their aplomb. I know it because that is who I am too.

“From now on, that is how I will call you, to remind you who you are until one day you see it too,” I sign. Merging the words princess and the first letter of her name, I create a sign and show it to her as she suddenly looks away, burnt. “Hey.” My voice breaks our silent conversation as I catch her chin with my right hand, turning her to me, her expression like a sky after a storm. “What’s going on?” The sound ripples over her bare skin, goosebumps blooming on her neck.