Page 25 of A Thin Line

I could easily get lost in this place.

Soon, he stopped at an open doorway. “This will be your room.” He waved me into the space. The lights were already on so my eyes could take it all in. The large queen size bed was what I focused on first. The posts were of rich wood with a light burgundy-and-white canopy and a short headboard. There was a handsome polished dresser on one side; on the other were two doors, one to a bathroom. My belongings were set in front of the other door. And there were lots of windows covered in beautiful drapes that matched the canopy of the bed. On the other side of the room was a sofa and coffee table. The polished wood floor was partially covered by two expensive-looking rugs, one under the bed area and the other under the sofa area. There were several antique lamps around the room and a ceiling fan in the center.

And, like the hallways, there were oil paintings on every eggshell wall.

It was striking and, like everything else in this mansion, large.

But it wasn’t a place I belonged.

“The door locks so you can have your privacy, and you have your own bathroom. Greg brought up your things, but it’s possible you forgot something. If there’s something you need, you can let me know in the morning.” I simply nodded, because I had no words. “I do expect to see you at seven in the kitchen, at which time I will give you your assignment for the day.”

Ugh. After the long night, he wasn’t even going to let me get decent sleep. But I suspected that would be low on the torture scale he’d be subjecting me to over the next several years.

And I would die before I’d ask him for something.

So I nodded again, already feeling submissive—and, had I not been so exhausted, I would have been furious at how quickly I’d become a docile doe. I’d probably not be much better after only a few hours of sleep.

“Get some rest.” With that, he exited the room and closed the door behind him.

I didn’t waste any time locking it before turning back around, my back resting on the door for a moment as if to give me strength. I knew I should hang up my clothes but that felt like I’d be admitting defeat all too soon. And even though this room didn’t really feel like mine, I explored it a bit anyway. Behind the closed door was a walk-in closet, not huge, but bigger than my closet at home. It was far more than my small bags warranted, but I tucked them all in there and closed the door again.

Then I peeked out of one of the windows next to the bed. Although it was dark outside, I could see a large yard with trees shading most of the glow of a streetlight. I planned to look out there again first thing in the morning.

Fetching my phone out of the business jacket I was still wearing, I sat on the sofa and sent a text message to my dad. We made it to Denver and I have my own bedroom with a door that locks. I’m being treated okay. I just don’t know what my job will be yet. I’ll let you know more in the morning.

I didn’t want to tell him about the mansion. This family had seen to it that my father was penniless when what he’d done obviously hadn’t taken much from them.

Even though my mind was racing, I had to get some sleep. I took one of the suitcases from the closet, realizing I’d put it away too soon, and set it on the bed, pulling out my toothbrush and toothpaste along with my favorite nightgown, a Hello Kitty pink cotton oversized sleep shirt. The bathroom was simple but elegant in its own way, with its wooden floor and ceramic fixtures.

Soon I was in my pajamas, my teeth freshly brushed, my face scrubbed clean of the day’s grime, my feet grateful to be out of the heels I’d been wearing all day. I returned to the closet and put my dirty laundry in the hamper. That was one question I had already—where would I wash my laundry? There were too many questions right now but the answers would have to wait.

Before I tackled the bed, I thought about my phone again. This time of night, I would ordinarily set the phone on the nightstand so my alarm would wake me up in the morning. During the summer, I’d been sleeping in until seven or eight, depending on what my day looked like, but I’d need to set an earlier alarm—and thinking about that made me realize that I had forgotten something very important: my phone charger.

It still had forty-percent of its battery power, but it would need to be plugged in sometime tomorrow. I chided myself for forgetting, because this phone was my only means of communicating with my father. And that was the one thing I would need to keep myself sane during this imprisonment.

A message from my dad lit up the screen. Princess, I’m so sorry about all this. I feel awful, because I’m the one responsible for all this.

There was no stopping the tears when I saw those words. The last thing I wanted was my father feeling guilty about something these…these entitled rich people had been responsible for. All my father had wanted was for Winchester’s environment to be protected and, in the process, to remain lovely, unscarred. But all the Whittiers cared about was money—money to ensure they maintained this disgusting lavish lifestyle I was surrounded by.

It made me resolve again to make Sinclair Whittier’s life as difficult as he was going to make mine.

Chapter 9

When I awoke to my cheery phone alarm, my eyes were crusty and puffy from crying. The phone still had some charge but it wouldn’t last.

I’d given myself half an hour to get ready, so I knew I might not have time to do everything I normally did in the morning—but I didn’t regret getting as much sleep as possible. I decided not to shampoo my hair, so I pulled it into a high ponytail before jumping in the shower. Immediately, I hated how much I appreciated that the water was consistently warm the entire time. Ours at home fluctuated, even when someone else wasn’t using water elsewhere in the house.

After toweling off, I filled the sink with cool water and splashed my face. When I looked in the mirror and dabbed a dry cloth over my eyes, I frowned. Those green eyes he’d raved about the night before were bloodshot and dull; my normally shiny straight brown hair was mussed and tangled, my skin pale. It was going to be hard disguising the evidence that I’d cried for the good part of an hour last night.

I’d do my best to hide it with makeup.

The puffiness had subsided a bit, but the red rims were hard to hide, even with eyeliner. But I figured I could blame it on a lack of sleep.

I’d warned my dad about the charger situation and he offered to mail mine to me—but that was silly. I assured him it would be okay but that I might be out of touch for a bit. I also asked him to start thinking if there was someone who could maybe take him to his appointment in October, and he said he’d take care of it. But the way he said it made me nervous and I’d told him Do NOT cancel the appointment!

I put on a plain black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and sneakers and I left my hair up in the ponytail. For all I knew, I’d be doing physical labor, and I wanted to dress appropriately.

At least that was what I’d tell Whittier if he asked. I also hoped he was offended by it, because it was clearly not upper-class attire.

---