Page 31 of Little Dove

Wait a minute, why is he locking the door? And why is he still in here?

I spin around, glaring at him when I see him leaning against it, watching me with an unreadable expression. “I am not?—”

“I’m sorry,” he interjects, halting my words.

“What?”

“I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you on the plane. I shouldn’t have, but it pisses me off to see you deprive yourself of something when you have no need to. Knowing that you’ve let yourself always come last, when you should have never had to do that in the first place.”

Well, that’s one way to take the wind out of my sails.

Some of my anger and hurt dissipates. “Thank you.” And since we’re giving apologies, I add, “And I’m sorry I snapped at you the way I did on the plane.”

“But not for what you said?” he asks directly.

“No.” It’s true. I can be sorry for the tone it was delivered in, and maybe I could have handled things more tactfully, but I don’t regret anything I said. I still mean it, and after walking out to find Camilla sitting there that way, it’s clear I was correct.

“What you said about never doing what I want because you’ve had to deal with men telling you to your whole life, are you talking about the foster families you were with, or what that fucker said when he grabbed you in your salon?”

My entire body freezes. That is the last thing I want to talk about. Instead of giving him a straight answer, I merely reply, “You said you looked into me, so you should already have the answer, Lazaro, and I’m not rehashing it with you. I want to take a shower, climb into bed, and sleep.” Or at least try. With the way things have been going, I’m probably going to have nightmares.

“I only know the basics, not everything in depth.” He straightens away from the door and moves to stand in front of me. “I want to hear the answer from you, not a sheet of paper.As for the rest of it, the bathroom is that way, and it should have everything you’ll need.”

“If you don’t know, then it’s not any of your business. And if you want any kind of cordial relationship, or friendship maybe, then you won’t go reading whatever you have on me. I have worked hard to put that behind me, Lazaro, and that’s where it’s going to stay. I’m going to shower, goodnight.”

I turn and stalk toward the open doorway across the giant bedroom, walking inside and shutting the door behind me. I’m plunged into darkness, and I start to panic immediately.

Shit. Shit. Light. I need to find the light.

My hand moves frantically along the wall until I finally find the switch, flicking it on and drawing in deep gulps of air, trying to stave off the panic attack that’s threatening. It takes another minute, but finally, the tightness in my chest eases and my breathing slows.Okay, okay, I’m good. I’m okay.

I force myself to look around at the giant bathroom, focusing on how luxurious it seems and feels. The room is huge, almost as big as the bedroom out there. Whoever designed it definitely wanted to keep the gothic theme going.

To my left is a doorway that opens into a very large walk-in closet that curves in behind. I’ll have to check that out later. To my right is a spacious glass shower, complete with marble tile throughout, fancy shower heads and dials, and even two wide marble benches, one on each end. Were they planning on hosting orgies in there? To the left of the shower is another door that I assume leads to the toilet.

Rich people really do like having their own private toilets. The room is capped off with an obscene number of chandeliers. Four, to be precise.

Straight ahead, though, is the real eye catcher. On each side of the room are two huge vanities, with one extending down lower and showcasing a mirror with LED lights around it, andstorage for anything a woman might need to do herself up. At the end of the room are three floor-to-ceiling windows, their panes framed by gothic arches, with a clawfoot tub set directly in the center. The tub is black, with a white interior and gold faucets.

It’s a bit too dark for my taste, but damn, I could get used to this.

I move away from the door, searching for a towel before finally locating one under one of the sinks. Oddly, they don’t have a linen closet in here, but then again, if this room isn’t used often, that makes sense. I’ll check out the closet for some clothes after I’m clean.

The shower is a dream, though it takes me a couple minutes to figure everything out. Why do they have to make these things so damn complicated? The hot water eases the tension in my body, and I finally allow myself to relax. I’ll definitely be asleep quickly once I get in that bed out there, and something tells me it will be just as soft and luxurious as it looks.

I wrap a towel around me and then around my hair, before I make my way into the closet. Holy shit, it’s just as big and opulent as everything else in this place. The black clouded marble tile extends in here, and all four walls are lined with shelves and spaces for things to hang. In the center sits a large square ottoman, with the same black chandelier hanging over it as in the bathroom. The decorator sure is consistent.

I look around, trying to find the clothes that Lazaro mentioned, but freeze when I notice something. There are men’s clothes in here. Not many, but enough that it’s clear someone has been using this closet. And they look pretty big too…

Sure enough, the suits are giant sized. Two guesses who they belong to. I bite back a scream of frustration, both at him and myself. I should have known he’d pull something like this. He could have at least told me and not acted like he was taking me to my own room.

On the opposite side of the closet, there’s an array of different clothes hung up and sorted. Cabinets with glass fronts showcase shelves full of shoes. When I start pulling out some of the drawers, I find a mixture of underwear, pajamas, yoga pants, and even a few lingerie pieces. All of them still have the tags attached.

So he’s been planning this all along. This time I’m going to punch him even harder in the balls, and then I’m punching his stupid face. Once again, a man has decided where I’m going to be put, and he expects me to just go along with it, compliant and obedient. Well, he has another thing coming.

I let the towel drop to the floor, pulling out a simple pair of black underwear, a black cotton bra—because no way am I facing him without being fully clothed in every possible way—and a pair of polka dot pajamas that cover me from my neck all the way to my toes. Not a speck of skin showing. I find a pair of comfy looking slippers, trying not to love them with how nicely they fit and feel on my feet, and then head back out to the bathroom.

I towel dry my hair vigorously, using some of the products I find in the make-up vanity, before I finally feel confident enough to walk back out there and face the man who is forcing me into a situation I don’t want, and one that I’ll never be ready for, even if I did.

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