Page 55 of Shadow Dance

Which is what I wanted.Checkmate, asshole.“Fine.”

“Why, does he make you uncomfortable or something?” Callum arches an eyebrow, and I know he’s thinking of the first bodyguard I had, a total creep who only lasted a week.

“He’s not the problem.” I frown, looking down. “We barely talk.”

“Well, I didn’t hire him to be your bestie,” he snarks. “I hired him to keep you safe.”

“You hired him to watch me for you,” I correct him.

“Same thing.” He snatches a bundle of cash from beneath the bed and drops it into his bag. “I’ll be back in a couple of days. There’s money in that box in the closet, go get your nails done or something.”

That’s how I know he feels guilty about last night. He won’t acknowledge what he did. He’ll just try to smooth things over with gifts.

“I’ll text you when I land.” He leans in to kiss me but I turn my head, and his lips graze my cheek instead. Something flashes in his eyes. Anger? Hurt? It’s hard to tell, but when he goes still, fear crawls up my spine. I realize it’s become a normal reaction, and that turns my stomach. When did the guy I love turn into someone I’m afraid of?

After a minute, Callum straightens up and stalks out of the bedroom. The front door slams shut, and then it’s silent, the kind of silent that makes my ears ring. I sink down onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands, and the ache in my throat dissolves into tears. Last night plays over and over in my mind like a broken record. His rough hands, his insistent mouth, the way he ignored my pleas to stop. I feel sick. How could he do this to me?

I look up as Jaime’s footsteps start down the hall. What is he doing? He has no business being this close to the bedroom—doesn’t he worry about stuff like that? There are a million cameras all over this house, tracking every little thing that goes down.

I stiffen as he appears in the doorway, making myself meet his eye.

A wrinkle appears between his brows as he notices my expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’ll be right out.”

His gaze sweeps over the rumpled sheets, but he steps back and closes the door, leaving me alone again. I wash my hair and shave in the shower, scrubbing myself clean. Opting for comfort, I pull on an oversized, black cashmere sweater that hangs off my shoulder and fleece leggings. By the time I join Jaime in the kitchen, my ballet class has already started.

He glances up from his newspaper, taking in my outfit. “No ballet today, I take it.”

I shake my head, tucking my phone and keys into my bag.

“What’s going on?”

“Can we go someplace else for coffee?” I respond, desperate to get out of the house that feels more like a prison every day. “I don’t want to be here right now.”

He slides impassively from the barstool, following me out the front door. It’s a chilly, gray day, a few sooty clouds smudging the horizon like someone handled the pale sky with dirty hands.

I pause, looking at Jaime over the roof of his car. “Did you sleep with her?”

He lifts his eyes. “What?”

“That girl last night, with the dark hair and the red shirt,” I say. “Seemed like you knew her.”

Dropping his gaze, he opens the door and gets into the car. It’s all the answer I need.

I stand still for a moment, my hand on the door, trying to collect myself. Here I am, Callum’s whore, wanting another man I can’t have. Sometimes I don’t recognize who I’ve become.

When I get into the car, Jaime’s got the heat going. “You should’ve dried your hair,” he says. “It’s cold out.”

I stare unseeingly at the windshield, my eyes blurring. He fusses over my hair, over me being warm, but what about my heart?

When I don’t respond, he sighs. “Listen, Cal mentioned something about you getting your nails done. Do you have a spot you like?”

“I’m not getting my fucking nails done,” I whisper.

“All right,” Jaime murmurs, starting the car. The engine thrums to life, padding the silence between us. “Just coffee, then.”

We begin our descent, flying by the familiar landscape of trees and half-hidden houses, hairpin curves and the hills’ rocky face. The bleakness outside seems to echo the tumult inside me. My phone vibrates with a text from my mom, asking about a book we talked about recently. I type a response, missing her so much my heart hurts. I thought I could last until Christmas, but after last night that’s too far off.

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