Page 47 of Never Let You Go

Christopher grabs the coffee I push his way. “She’s my CPA,” he whispers to me.

“I got that. I think?” I whisper back.

“I can hear you,” Emma says.

“I know,” Christopher replies, undeterred.

“I’ll need her contract,” she says.

“Whose contract,” Christopher says.

Her eyes land on me. “For payroll.”

“Alexandra’s contract is in the pile of shit,” he answers. Then he pushes himself from the counter and moves to the table where she can’t see him anymore, taking this morning’s mail with him. “Sorry,” he mouths to me while rolling his eyes.

I stifle a laugh and feel all warm. I think back to something Skye told me the other night, after we shared the galette, and my amusement at the situation with Emma turns into a mixture of tenderness and gratefulness for Christopher. As I tucked her in for bed, she couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I helped Daddy choose a princess bed for you.”

I hugged her close and promised I wouldn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask more. But my inner princess was doing somersaults. I’m not sure what a princess bed is, but it has to be better than the twin size mattress and frame I’m currently sleeping on. Not that I’m complaining. I’m so tired, anyway, I fall asleep the minute my head hits the flat pillow, and I wake up in the same position I fell asleep in.

Since I know he’s planning to upgrade the bed in the room I’m occupying, I figure it’s safe to ask a question that’s been puzzling me. “So… I’ve been doing some shopping.”

His eyes flit from the mail to me. “M-hm.”

“And… I’m a little tight on storage space.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I was trying to open that closet in the corner of my bedroom, but I can’t figure it out.”

“What closet. There’s no closet in your room. We can get you a dresser. I’ll get you a dresser.”

Gosh, no, I don’t want him to get me a dresser. First a bed, now a dresser? No way. I’m enough of a burden already. “No… I don’t need a dresser. Just, there’s this closet, under the eaves? To the left of the window? It’s like flush with the bookcase, in the angle. There are hinges, and a handle, but it won’t open.”

A faint smile plays on his lips, and his eyes do this thing, just fleetingly, where the dark embers of his irises light up and the corners crinkle just so, while he does a sweep, not just of my body, but, it seems, of the entirety of my being. He nods slowly. “It’s not a closet.”

“Gotcha. A closed bookcase. Thought I could use it to store some stuff?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Never mind.”

“You couldn’t store anything in there,” he says.

“I don’t need much space. Just maybe for my shoes and sweaters?”

“It’s a hidden staircase.”

“A—A wh—?”

“A concealed staircase. Meant for servants back in the day, to get from one story to the other without using the main staircase.”

“Oh…” Way cool. A Victorian house with a hidden staircase. All I need now is a ghost.

Wait.

“Where does this staircase go?” I ask, but my stomach jumps. I know the answer. There’s no level above me, and under my room is—

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