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“The housekeeper?”
“Yeah.” Charlie sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I sent her away when I brought you here. She's back now.”
“Oh...” I linger by Charlie, picking at my nails. I don't really know what to say.
After a while of silence, he faces me, his arms still folded over his chest. I don't look up at him, but I can sense he's staring at me. He stares for so long that I burn under his gaze.
What is he thinking? Does he think I'm crazy?
I am, so I wouldn't damn him if he did.
“The job is happening tomorrow-” he breaks the silence.
Finally, I lift my eyes to his, immediately wishing I didn't. He still cannot hold my focus.
“-We need you to shut London down,” he glances away, and then back at me but only for a second, grinding his jaw, “and then... and then you can go home.”
WHAT?
But we still have a week left... And he wanted to go out for dinner...
“We'll leave first thing in the morning,” he says.
Out of nowhere, while I’m staring at his face, tears well-up in my eyes.
“You got that, Blaire?”
I nod at him a few times, trying to study his deadpan expression.
He says nothing, and I can't stomach the way he's struggling to look at me, so I walk past him for the garden. I need some space.
Home. I'll be going home tomorrow and all this will be over.
Why the hell do I feel so sad?
“Blaire, I’m sorry,” Charlie says, following after me. “Wait.”
I stop on cue, as if his orders affect me like Maksim's do.
“I don't want you to go,” he whispers from behind. I can feel the warmth from his body at my back. It makes me think about how I woke up this morning without him in my bed.
“I want you to stay with me,” he says. “I'll make Maksim give you to me, even if I have to pay him to tell you you're free.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. That's not ever going to happen. Maksim will die before giving me up indefinitely. I'm his. I know I'm his, and even while he's clearly scared of Charlie... I just know he won't give me up. I don't even want to choose Charlie over Maksim, because when all is said and done, Maksim and I are the same—we're both as fucked up as each other.
“Blaire, I want you—I dunno how many different ways I can tell you,” he sounds frustrated, his tone of voice sharp and demanding. “I want you to come and live with me in Mexico.Iwant tobe with you.”
I remain quiet, staring down the garden, my throat swelling up even more. I just don't know what to tell him.
“All right,” he says, clutching at straws, “if Mexico is the problem... You can't stay here—Maksim knows where the house is—so I'll buy you a place in England, or wherever youwant tobe, set you up with an allowance so you'll never be without, and I'll come see you as often as I can. No one will know where you are...” he goes right into selling a new life to me.
Does he really think Mexico is the problem?
He touches my arm from behind, trying to grasp my attention. “Why aren't you saying anything?”
I scratch my face, searching for the words. “I... I just... Thanks for treating me well, Charlie. It's been... different.” That's all I have, and I say it knowing my fairytale has come to an end.
“Thanks?” he questions, scoffing like he can't quite believe I just said that. “I don't want you to thank me. I want you to say you'll stay with me. Please, Blaire... Or tell me what I have to do?”
