Page 70 of The Widower
“God, you scared me!” I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart racing from the shock of Colin’s voice right behind me.
“Maybe you should pay more attention when someone’s approaching,” he said calmly.
“With all that noise out there? Not exactly easy,” I shot back, turning my gaze to the window again. The storm was getting worse by the second.
“I’ve already talked to Helen,” he continued. “She’ll get a room ready for you and Hanna to spend the night.”
“I haven’t decided if we’re staying yet,” I said, turning to face him—only to find his dark eyes locked on mine.
“That wasn’t a request,” he said, his tone quiet but commanding. “It wouldn’t be responsible of me to let you drive in this storm.”
“Right…”
“What is it, Isabelle?” he asked, a low growl in his voice.
“Nothing. Thank you for... the consideration.”
Colin shook his head and disappeared down the hall.
That man is so strange. He’s like one of those butlers from an old horror movie—shows up out of nowhere, then vanishes the next second.
I checked my phone—midnight. I couldn’t sleep, and judging by the sound outside, the storm had only gotten worse. Deep down, Colin had been right—it wouldn’t have been a good idea to go home tonight.
I’d called my mom about an hour ago, and she’d said everything was fine.That alone eased me a little.
Hanna, on the other hand, was sleeping like a rock. I decided to get up and wander around the mansion for a bit—burn off some energy or something. I didn’t feel comfortable, that much was certain.
For a few minutes, I paced from one side of the house to the other, but it didn’t make me any sleepier. Quite the opposite, actually. To my surprise, I ran into Colin heading toward the kitchen.
“Do you need anything?” I offered. Even though it wasn’t my shift, I liked being helpful when I could.
“No.”
“The storm got worse, huh?” I said, trying to start some small talk for reasons even I didn’t understand.
“Yeah.”
He grabbed an apple and walked straight into the same room I’d been sitting in, gazing out at the storm through the tall windows.
The man was a well of charm. Talking to him was basically a monologue.
“This place is enormous,” I said. “I still get lost sometimes.”
And there I was, the idiot, still trying to make conversation.
“You’ll get used to it.”
He didn’t even look at me once—just stood there, silent. I hated being in a room with someone who clearly didn’t want me there, so I took a few steps toward my room.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, finally meeting my eyes.
“I never sleep well when I’m not home.I know, it sounds silly.”
“It doesn’t sound silly. It is silly.”
Always the gentleman, this one.
“I figured you’d say something like that. Your words don’t bother me anymore—I guess I’ve gotten used to you.”
