Page 46 of Ruined Wolfsbane

“No,” Malachi assures me. “He’s gone until Monday.”

Thank the universe for that. Even though I’m starting to think Valentine Wyldhart might not be the boogie man Patrick made him out to be, I’d rather not deal with him after the craptastic day I’ve had.

We pull into the Grimm, or Wyldhart, brothers’ underground garage, and Xander turns off the car. He and Bastian get out.I close my eyes and linger in the vehicle a moment longer, needing time to get myself back together.

I don’t know when it got so hard to keep my mask on all the time and pretend everything’s fine.It used to be simple to hide what Patrick does. No one ever saw me. Not teachers. Not classmates. Not coaches.

All they ever saw was my cold but polite mask.

Not someone about to splinter into a million pieces. Not someone who wakes up every day and desperately tries to stitch, duct tape, and super glue her life together.Not someone more scared of anyone finding out about the bruises under her clothes than getting more of them.

Now, I have not just one but multiple people who notice when something’s off with me. People who care when I miss class and question the shadows in my eyes.

My heart’s at war with itself. Half of me wants to lean into this feeling of having people who care and have my back. The other half knows my story isn’t the kind that gets a happy ending. Pretending otherwise will only make it hurt that much more when it’s ripped away.

“You want to go inside, baby girl?” At Malachi’s soft question, I push my melancholy thoughts out of my mind. Dwelling on them isn’t going to fix anything. Whatever’s going on between me and the Wyldharts isn’t going to last forever. They’ll get bored of me eventually. All I can do is enjoy it while it lasts. I can make memories now to get me through the hard parts later.

Mind made up, I nod at him and slowly get out of the car, stiff muscles protesting the movement.

Malachi waits until I’m on his side of the car before starting toward his brothers. He puts his hand on my back while we walk. I soak up the warmth that seems to pour off him, while trying not to lean into his touch too much.

We reach Xander and Bastian and go inside as a group. In the mudroom, an older man with a head of white hair and a matching, neatly trimmed beard is waiting for us. He’s dressed in a black suit that’s perfectly pressed, without a crease out of place.

His sharp brown eyes roam over us before he speaks. “Sirs.” He nods at the brothers before turning to me. “Madam. I’m Archibald, head of the Wyldharts’ staff. Should you need anything, it would be my pleasure to sort it for you. May I get you any refreshments before dinner?”

When the Wyldhart brothers don’t respond, I realize Archibald is waiting on me to answer. I mutely shake my head, overwhelmed by the stately butler. Despite my mom’s and Patrick’s wealth, we never had a butler or any other household staff. I’m confronted again with the sheer absurdity of the Wyldharts’ money and unsure how to act.

With a kind smile and a twinkle in his eyes, Archibald says, “Dinner will be served at seven. Please let me know if you require anything. It is truly a pleasure to meet you, madam.”

“You too,” I say quietly, so far out of my depth it’d be funny if I weren’t worried about drowning.

“Thanks, Archie. We’re going to show Briar around and wash up before dinner,” Malachi tells him. Archibald dips his chin in acknowledgment before turning sharply on his heel and striding away, coat tails fluttering slightly.

Bastian notices my wide eyes and smiles at me. “You get used to it.” He echoes his cousin’s words from this weekend.

Yeah, I really don’t think so. Growing up in a modest house like a normal person before we moved into Patrick’s monstrosity makes it pretty hard to get used to this extravagance.

When I turn to Malachi, he’s already assessing me, his head tilted in thought. “Does Patrick not have staff?”

“Other than a cleaning woman who comes during the day, nope.” I let out a small, slightly bitter laugh. Household staff like Archibald or a chef would see too much for Patrick’s liking. The house is a ghost town most of the time.

“Why not?”

I sigh, realizing I should have anticipated his prodding. “Because he doesn’t want anyone seeing our, uh, altercations.”

“You mean when he beats you,” Malachi growls, bristling on my behalf.

“Yeah,” I confirm, shrugging like it’s no big deal. While I’m used to the beatings, I’m not used to talking about it. After everything today, I’m at my limit of discussing it.

Acknowledging all the things I shove into mental prisons makes them rattle their boxes harder. It’s already hard to keep everything locked away on a normal day. Today, I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle to keep my feelings chained up.

Malachi making me think more about Patrick is the exact opposite of what I need in order to get everything under control.

I look away from him, wanting this conversation to be over. Luckily, Bastian walks further into their mansion, and I follow him. I’m not running away from Malachi’s questions, per se. I’m simply walking quickly in the opposite direction. Absquatulating, if you will.

Bastian points out the various rooms we pass in the basement, like the game room, movie theater, and home gym. There are so many rooms on our way to the stairs to the main floor that I lose track of all of them.

On the main floor, the insanity continues. Bastian shows me multiple grand living spaces, two ballrooms, several formal dining rooms, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and more. I don’t remember much of what he shows me other than the ballroom that has an absolutely gorgeous Bösendorfer grand piano off to one side. Oh boy, I would love to play that baby. I’ve only played the worn piano at my high school, never one that beautiful.

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