Page 99 of Nine Months to Love
“Who’s in the basement?”
Stefan’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Behind him, I see one of the guards shift his weight from foot to foot.
“There’s no one in the basement,” Stefan says evenly.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why did that guard—” I gesture toward the one with the scratch. “—refer to another ‘she-wolf’? Why did he say ‘too’ like there’s someone else who attacked him?”
Stefan’s eyes narrow. He turns to look at the guard, who suddenly finds the ground very interesting.
“Oleg,” Stefan growls, “what did you tell her?”
“Nothing, sir. I just... I made a comment. I didn’t mean?—”
“Go,” Stefan cuts him off. “Both of you. Now.”
The guards don’t need to be told twice. They disappear into the darkness, leaving us alone in the garden with only the distant sound of crickets for company.
“I want to leave,” I say when we’re all by ourselves.
“You know why you can’t,” Stefan answers coolly. “I’ve already explained it to you.”
“I can’t breathe here! I need some time to myself.”
“To do what?”
I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “To visit my parents. I haven’t seen my father in a while.”
It’s not a lie. Not exactly. I haven’t seen Dad in months. But that’s not why I want to leave.
I want to leave because I can’t stand being here. In this house. With Stefan.Naive. Stupid. Weak.How can anyone live with those words buzzing in their ear again and again like mosquitoes that just won’t die?
Stefan studies me. Finally, he nods. “Okay. I’ll drive you there myself.”
No. That’s not what I want. I don’t want him anywhere near me right now.
But I’ve backed myself into a corner. If I refuse, he’ll know I was lying. That I don’t actually want to visit my parents and I just want to get away from him.
“Fine,” I say. “See if I care.”
He gestures toward the driveway. “I’ll get the car.”
I follow him in silence. The guards step aside. One of them opens the gate.
Stefan’s Maserati is parked near the garage. He opens the passenger door for me. I slide in without looking at him.
The leather seat is cold. I cross my arms over my chest and stare straight ahead.
Stefan gets in on the driver’s side and starts the engine. The car purrs to life.
We pull out of the driveway and onto the street. Boston slides by in a blur of streetlights and shadows. We pass through Beacon Hill, down toward Back Bay, the familiar streets making my teeth ache and my skin prickle.
After a while, Stefan clears his throat. “Olivia, I’m sorry about?—”
“No.” I cut him off without looking at him. “If you start talking, I’m out. I will open the door and throw myself out of this car. I don’t want to talk. I don’t even want to listen. I just want silence. If you can’t do that for me, then take me back.”
