Page 40 of Split

Roman’s thumb sweeps in lazy strokes over my belly as we slowly catch our breath, traveling up my ribcage and tracing over the ridges of my bones. “Have you been eating?” he rasps.

I jolt upright, immediately offended. “What?” I choke, his dick slipping out as I twist around to face him. “Of course I have.”

“Then why is Clara telling me otherwise?” he questions, arching a brow.

“She needs to mind her own business,” I snap.

“She needs to mind whoever pays her,” he replies, staring me down.

I glare back at him, shoving off his lap and snatching my clothes from the desk. I hastily start putting them back on, cringing when I have to pull my panties up my sticky thighs. I need to shower him off my skin immediately, but I have a sick feeling that no amount of washing will ever truly get me clean again.

Roman just sits back and silently watches as I get dressed, not even bothering to tuck his deflated dick back into his slacks. He got what he wanted, after all. It’s his world, and I’m just living in it as a pawn on his chessboard when I should be the motherfuckingqueen.

He’ll realize what I really am the moment I escape him.

Shoving my feet back into my boots, I storm for the door, not even sparing Roman a glance as I yank it open stomp out of his office. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I willingly spread my legs for him again.

Too bad winter’s on its way and hell is my new home address.

18

“Ibrought wine!” Cherie announces the moment Roman pulls open the front door of the manor, brandishing a bottle of Rosé from behind her back and waving it back and forth.

“Great!” I reply with all the fake enthusiasm I can muster. I force a smile to my lips, trying to match her energy, but this woman takes perky to a whole new level. If she were a dog, she’d be a chihuahua.

Anton tosses an arm over his wife’s shoulders, grinning like a fool in love as he tucks her in tighter and lifts his gaze to Roman.

“Please, come in,” my husband prompts, his own arm dangling loosely around my waist. I’ll bet we look like the perfect couple right now, smiling and greeting our guests at the threshold of our home. From outward appearances, nobody would know this is all a façade.

The hem of Cherie’s short lavender dress swishes around her thighs as Anton steers her inside, her eyes widening in awe when she glances around the expansive foyer. “This place is incredible,” she breathes, long lashes fluttering as she blinks to take it all in. “How long have you lived here?”

“The manor has been in the family for generations,” Roman replies proudly, fingers tightening around my hip. He pulls me in closer to his side, prompting me to crane my neck and look up at him. “Why don’t you show Cherie to the terrace?” he suggests.

Of course, this was all previously orchestrated. Roman asked Anton to the manor to discuss business, and evidently Cherie insisted on tagging along under the guise of ‘female bonding’. I’m not sure what exactly we’ll be bonding over since I barely know the woman, but far be it for me to pass up a chance at making a connection with someone other than the cast of souls trapped on the estate. I’ve been so isolated lately that I’m slowly starting to lose my mind here.

Roman ushers Anton to his office while I’m left to lead Cherie through the winding halls of the manor, her head on a swivel as sheooh-sandahh-s in fascination at every portrait and room we pass. To her, this place is a spectacle; a time-capsule of generational wealth. She has no idea how creepy it is to actuallylivehere.

The horrors persist, but so do I.

“I had Clara make chicken marsala,” I say as we approach the door to the terrace, glancing back at Cherie over my shoulder. “I doubt it’ll hold a candle to the one you had in Italy, but I figured it was a safe bet since you’d mentioned you liked it.”

She beams a smile at me. “Italian food, Italian wine, sounds like my kind of afternoon!” Cherie sing-songs as she follows me outside. It’s unseasonably warm today, so when Clara suggested moving our luncheon to the terrace, I jumped at the opportunity. Any excuse to get out of the gloom of the manor.

The red soles of Cherie’s designer heels click against the stamped concrete as we move across the terrace, echoing my own. “Okay, this place is amazing,” she gushes, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she sweeps her appreciative gaze over the perfectly-clipped lawn and thick forest beyond. “Ugh,you’re like right in the middle of nature out here! We definitely don’t get this in the city.”

“You live in the city?” I ask, interest piqued.

“Part time, yeah,” she breathes, tucking an espresso strand of hair behind her ear as she spins to face me. “It was a hike to get out here, but Anton told me it was worth it, and he’s totally right.”

I fake a smile and nod in agreement, biting back the sarcastic retort on the tip of my tongue. Cherie seems sweet, but given her husband’s affiliation with mine, I’d be an idiot not to keep my guard up around her. The role I play for Roman as his demure, compliant wife extends to his associates, too.

We take our seats on opposite sides of the square wrought-iron table, already pristinely set with a short vase of black dahlias as the centerpiece. They’re currently in bloom in the gardens, so I asked Lev to cut some for the occasion– because despite my miserable existence here at the manor, I’m nothing short of an impeccable hostess. Those ridiculous etiquette lessons I was forced to endure in my early teens are finally paying off.

Clara must’ve been spying when our guests arrived, because she quickly appears with a wine key and two glasses, uncorking and pouring the Rosé while Cherie tells me all about the vineyard she and Anton procured it from in Italy. I feign interest, smiling and nodding as I sip from my glass. She’s still going on about how quaint and picturesque the winery is when Clara returns with our plates of food, barely even looking my way as she sets them down on the table in front of us.

I definitely didn’t earn any points with Clara when I tattled to Roman about giving her my list.

If I didn’t resent her so much, I’d try to smooth things over. As it is, though, I’m not really interested in putting forth effort with the housemaid when she’s been so cold and distant fromday one. And besides, I’ve got a much better prospective friend sitting right across from me.

---