Page 38 of Kept

I half-smile, suddenly a little flustered by the look in his eyes. Swallowing, I spin to stare back out of the window. “I don’t belong anywhere, really.”

It’s a confession, a tiny piece of truth in the air between us.

Ryder is right. I didn’t belong there.

I know that. I can feel it with every beat of my heart, every pulse of relief that I’m not trapped within those walls any longer.

But I don’t belong here, either.

I begged them to take me with them, and they did.

But they have their own lives. This isn’t forever.

Swallowing back the burn in my throat, I step away from the window, my hands hugging my elbows. “I should get ready for dinner.”

My hair alone will take forever, and I don’t have a lot of time.

Ryder doesn’t move immediately, his eyes tracking me, lips parting as though he’s not finished with our conversation. But eventually he nods, stepping back and heading towards the door. “I’ll be back to get you in thirty minutes. Don’t leave this room until then.”

The large wooden door slides closed behind him, and I glance around the ornate room. Ryder seems to enjoy calling me Princess, and this room makes me feel like one. An ornate, four-poster bed with soft golden sheets takes up most of the middle of the room, with an equally detailed armoire and dressing table at one side.

Taking my pillowcase, I pull out the items I brought.

My hairbrush is placed carefully on the table.

My dress is hung up in the empty armoire.

My sketchbook is placed next to my bed.

Toothbrush and toothpaste in hand, I pull open the door in the corner, my eyes rounding at the pretty bathroom.

There’s a bathtub, a gigantic, clawed thing with pretty golden feet that looks like it might swallow me up if I tried to lay down in it.

I am in love.

I know what I’m doing later.

But now I’m really late. I scrub my teeth frantically, splashing water on my face and hustle back to the bedroom.

My hair is a lost cause, but I still try to wrestle with it, dragging the strands into a new braid that I’m still looping when Ryder knocks on my door again.

“Coming!” I call. I look like I’ve been asleep for ten hours and I have hair sticking out everywhere, but it’ll have to do. I don’t want to waste my one dress on dinner, not until I know how I can wash clothes here.

My breathing is a little fast as I pull the door open, and the sight of Ryder leaning against the door doesn’t help in the slightest. Dressed in an olive shirt and dark trousers, the shirtsleeves hug his arms, showing the muscle underneath.

His eyes sweep over me. “Princess. You look ravishing.”

I scoff, just a little. I’m the last thing from ravishing.

And why do I suddenly wish I had something prettier to wear? Next to Ryder, I feel like a sack.

I don’t even have any shoes, I realize, as his smart black shoes tap against the oiled wooden floorboards. My bare feet pad along next to him as he leads me down the hall, and I glance around at the paintings on display. My feet trip as I recognize some of them.

“Is that a Monet?” I gasp, when Ryder grabs me to stop me from falling on my face for the third time.

He grins. “It is.”

I crane my neck to look up at it. “It’s an original?”

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