Page 14 of Masked Hearts

“My next reaction will depend on what your response is.”

I look at her in the mirror. She’s leaning against the door frame, looking borderline ethereal and overall unbothered, while I look like a wet rat that was dragged from Paris to Marseille.

You know who doesn’t look like a wet rat? Antonio. And I hate it. It would make it a million times easier to hate him and fake all of this if he was ugly or at least average, but no. Of course, God sent me a 6’5, green-eyed, curly-haired, glasses-wearing pinnacle of a man to marry.

And under normal circumstances, that would be exactly what I dreamt of, but not right now. Not when I need to stay focused.

“By your silence, pink ears, and slight smile, I’m going to take that as a yes.” Eleanor’s voice rips me from my hormone-induced daydream.

“He’s okay.” I grab a towel and dry off my face.

Lies.

“That’s all you should be focusing on then.”

“All I’ll be focusing on is the fact that this is strictly business.”

I’m sure he’ll leave the first chance he gets, anyway. But until then, I’ll be using him and his pretty green eyes to get the fuck out of this hell hole. Even if I have to drag him down with me.

Chapter five

Theá

Itossinmybedfor the millionth time since I put my phone down and decided to sleep. Thoughts about my impending future circle my head on repeat.What if he’s an asshole? What if we barely speak?I mean, if we didn’t speak, it would make it easier to play along. Especially since I could just carry on with my life like it currently is, just with a stupid ring on my finger. I can’t help but wonder if my mom found herself facing a similar fate. Did she feel this confused, or was it worse since she was already married to my father and had four kids? She was probably so scared, so alone.

My confusion and self-pity turn to rage in an instant, and all of it is directed towards the man who’s putting me in the same fate he watched kill her.

Sighing, I reach over to my bedside table and check the time on my phone.

A little after midnight—perfect.

I slip out of bed, grab my phone, my copy ofWhiskey Kissesby Sienna Cross, and a random blanket that I use for colder nights.

Sneaking around my house is usually not needed since this is the one place I have free reign, but there’s one room in the house I’m not allowed into: my father’s study—aka, the library. It’s the most beautiful room in the entire house; the way the moonlight streams in through that giant window behind his desk sets the perfect tone for a late-night reading stint.

I sneak down the hall towards the stairs. I’d be stupid to think my father is asleep, but I am smart enough to know that Friday nights are usually when he likes to sneak in women. So I know he’s occupied. I’m not even entirely sure he’d be upset if he caught me, because I’m sure he keeps whatever sketchy shit he does under lock and key, but I’d rather not find out.

It’s not like I’m particularly interested in seeing whatever he does, anyway.

The stairs are usually the worst because they creak, showing the manor’s true age. I hop up onto the banister and slide down, avoiding the entire ordeal.

Once I’m in the kitchen, I resist the urge to flick the light on and head straight for the fridge, using the flashlight on my phone as my source of light.

I chuckle as I wonder just how strange I might look to anyone who could happen to stumble in on me right now.

Fuck, no leftovers. I scan the fridge. Usually, Jacques makes enough for midnight snacks, but I assume our new house guest had it for dinner.

I grab a soda and the jar of pickles, then I head to the pantry and scan for the peanut butter.

“Damn, only crunchy,” I mumble as I grab the jar. It’ll have to work.

The last thing I need for my perfect late-night snack is a spoon, and with that, I’m tip toeing my way over to the study.

The heavy door groans as I push it open, and I silently curse. Why can’t we live in one of those ultra-modern penthouses? Why did it have to be this crusty, old manor that I’m sure dates back to the second French empire? That’s probably why my father likes it—it must make him feel like he’s royalty, too.

I pull the door shut since it’ll be the only way of alerting me if someone happens to come in here.

Heading straight for the desk in the centre of the room, I drop off all my items and chuckle at how virtually spotless the desk is. It’s so evident that it’s only clean because something is purposely being hidden.

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