Page 78 of Mine

I grin, sliding it into my pocket. “Thank you.”

“You have ninety minutes once you arrive.”

“An hour and a half to shop? That’s ridiculous.”

“One hour, then.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Ninety minutes.”

Cillian appears in the doorway.

Astor stands, rounds his desk, and hands me a cell phone.

“This isn’t mine.”

“Right. It’s mine—one of mine, I should say. Yours for the day. The password is 0524.”

I gape at him. “My birthday.”

He nods to unlock it. When I do, I find one contact—him.

“I want my phone, Astor.”

“No.”

“You are a little sh?—”

He grabs my waist, pulls me to him, and leans into my ear. “Careful, my dear, or it will be two fingers next time.”

“Careful,” I whisper back, pressing my cheek to his. “Or there won’t be a next time.”

With that, I yank out of his hold, peck him on the cheek, and saunter down the hall.

Though the drive takes an hour, the scenery is worth it. The sky is a brilliant sapphire blue, the sun blanketing budding mountains in a warm, crystal-clear light.

I roll down the back window and hang out my head like a child, allowing the wind to whip through my hair.

Cillian put in his earbuds almost immediately after beginning the journey, signaling to me that he didn’t care for small talk. Which was just fine with me because I don’t want to either. Why? Because I’m sleeping with his boss, and we all know when you have a secret like that, the less you say, the better.

We arrive in a town that looks like a postcard. Small, quaint, and deceptively casual. Luxury stores are everywhere. It’s what I imagine Aspen to be.

Cillian walks a few feet behind me as I take my time meandering down the cobblestone sidewalks. There are a few times I even forget that he’s there. I wonder if he worked as a bodyguard in his past life. I could totally see it.

I buy new clothes, toiletries, and cosmetics, plus a pretty candle to light in my room.

I could live like this, I find myself thinking several times. I could live as Astor Stone’s captive. What a mind-fuck. Feminists would hate me.

Thinking of his wife, Valerie, I wonder how many times she did the very same thing I’m doing now. Walking these same cobblestones, visiting the same shops, using the same card, all while feeling grateful to be under Astor’s control.

I stop short in front of a store called Twiddle Toys, gaping at the doll in the window. She stares back at me with dead eyes and a shy smile. It’s the same doll that was placed next to my bed, except this one’s head is still sewed on.

I push into the store, ignore the saleswoman’s greetings, and look around, recognizing nearly everything. It’s almost an exact replica of the baby’s room in Astor’s home.

Valerie shopped here for the daughter she would soon lose.

A wave of sadness rolls over me. I can’t imagine losing a child.

My stomach sinks with guilt.

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