Page 43 of Split

My face flushes hot as I hold his stare, suddenly all too aware of how close we’re standing to one another. With our guest’s departure, our ruse of being a happy couple has officially ended– yet for some reason, I don’t make any move to back away from him. I’m trapped in that emerald-eyed gaze, my palms turning clammy and my pulse picking up speed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Roman grumbles.

“Like what?” I ask breathily.

He steps in closer and leans down, his lips tickling the shell of my ear as he murmurs, “Like you want to get fucked.”

My heart stutters in my chest, a flood of heat rushing to my core. He pulls back to meet my eyes, my mouth hanging open as I struggle for the words to respond.

My body language must tell him all he needs to know, because the corner of his mouth lifts infinitesimally, his hand returning to my lower back. “Come to my office,” he commands in a low, gravelly tone, his palm pressing forward firmly to guide me down the hall with him.

And I hate that I go willingly.

19

Ican’t even remember the last time I felt this content. Whatever business came up between Roman and Anton during their meeting yesterday has taken him away for the night, so I can actually relax without the constant apprehension of facing one of my husband’s mood swings. For once, I’m not looking over my shoulder, trapped in a perpetual state of fight or flight. It’s just me and the dogs, the three of us happily lounging together in the study.

Clara’s also around here somewhere, but since she never approves of me inviting Nox and Vesper inside, she’s been communicating her dissatisfaction by avoiding this room all evening. It’s probably for the best since I doubt she’d approve of me pulling the cushions off the couch, either. I’ve made a little nest for us on the floor in front of the hearth, enjoying the cozy warmth of the fire while flipping through the pages of a poetry book.

I figured I needed a change of pace after Jekyll and Hyde. I was able to draw far too many comparisons between that story and my real life, so I went for something I won’t be able to relate to at all– a book of sappy love poems. It was tucked on a shelf in here amongst the other classic literature, though I can’timagine why Roman would even include something like this in his collection. He’s the furthest thing from a romantic.

Nox makes for a great pillow, and Vesper even allowed me to toss my legs over his body– after an annoyed grunt, of course. In light of Cherie’s comment yesterday, I unboxed my shiny new phone this morning to search for the meaning of the dogs’ names. They’re both Latin words for night, so I guess I now understand why she found them amusing. Roman has fully committed to the gothic vibe of the manor.

The familiar clack of Clara’s shoes rings out from the hall, prompting me to cast a glance toward the doorway of the study as she steps inside. She pauses at the sight of me snuggled up with the dogs, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. Ever the consummate professional, she quickly schools her expression and clears her throat.

“Is there anything else you need before I leave for the night, Mrs. Volkov?”

“No, thank you, Clara,” I murmur in reply, eager to get rid of her.

She nods curtly, her beady-eyed gaze flickering to my furry pillow and footrest. “Be sure to let the dogs out before you turn in.”

“Of course,” I agree with a brittle smile, even though I fully plan on taking them upstairs with me when I go to bed. “Have a good night.”

She tips her head and turns on a heel to leave, the clipping sound of her Mary Janes fading with her retreat.Good riddance.

A few minutes pass before the realization sinks in that this is the first time I’ve been completely alone in the manor. Rather than that thought triggering a feeling of dread, however, a ripple of excitement runs through me. If I want to explore the areas of the house that have been deemed off-limits, now’s my chance.There’s nobody here to stop me.

Vesper grunts as I ease my legs off his back, sitting up and tossing my book aside. “You guys wanna go on an adventure?” I ask as I push to my feet, pulling my cardigan tighter around my body.

Nox pops up right away, wagging his stubby little tail and looking to me for direction.

“C’mon, let’s go,” I whisper conspiratorially, pivoting around and starting for the hall.

Yeah, I fully realize how ridiculous it is that I’m talking to a dog like he’s a person.The dogs are better company than the humans around here are, though, and there’s nobody to witness me making a fool of myself as I creep through the halls chattering to them. We’re all alone in this big old house, and I’m taking full advantage.

The tippy-tap of the dogs’ toenails against the floor follows me as I creep through the darkened hallways of the manor, pausing at the base of the stairs when I reach the foyer. The black chandelier glitters in the pale moonlight, casting a shadow right over the split in the staircase below it. I’ve climbed these stairs many times, but I’ve always gone to the left. Tonight, I’m going right.

Drawing a deep breath, I reach out to set my hand on the cold stone banister, trailing my palm along it as I begin to ascend. My heart beats harder with every step, my throat tightening with apprehension as I follow the curve to the right. My grandfather used to sayif you’re scared of wolves, don’t go in the woods– yet here I am, terrified of the big bad wolf and marching straight for his lair in the east wing.

I linger for a few seconds at the top of the landing, the dogs trotting ahead down the hall as I hold my breath and listen for any sound. Even though I know he’s gone for the night, part of me expects Roman to materialize before my eyes like a specter at any given moment, prepared to dole out punishment fordaring to defy him. Maybe part of me even wants it. The thrill of breaking the rules is driven by the fear of getting caught, after all, but I don’t fall into any traps or trigger any hidden alarms as I advance down the hall of the east wing. It’s terribly anticlimactic.

I try the knob of each door I pass along the hall, finding a couple of guest rooms, a lounge, and another small library.My husband clearly has a thing for books.I’m nearing the end of the corridor when I turn the knob on a door and finally discover a large suite that actually looks lived in, a wave of titillation spearing through me as I step inside and survey the interior.

This must be where he sleeps. The room is easily double the size of my own, well-appointed with dark wood furniture and a large four-poster bed draped in black linens. It’s unmade, the black silk sheets rumpled and hanging off the side.Clara definitely wouldn’t approve.

There’s a large desk across the room by the windows, the surface of which is jam-packed with monitors and computer accessories. The sight of it is a little bit jarring, considering it holds more technology than I’ve seen in the rest of the manor combined. Too bad I’m not some prolific hacker who can use it to my advantage.

My pulse picks up speed as I wander closer to the desk, gaze hooking on a brass key resting atop the shiny lacquered surface.One that looks a whole lot like the key Roman used to lock the tower door.I snatch it up and slip it into the pocket of my cardigan, then reach for the top drawer of the desk, pulling it open and peering inside to snoop.

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