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So I can sit in solitary silence for another week? No thank you.
My stomach growls, so I lean forward and pull the sandwich plate toward me. “I would like two things.”
“Okay…”
“First, I want to meet the new dogs.” I take a bite of the bacon goodness.
“And second?”
“I need a mattress.”
“Uh…” Ginger looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“If my husband isn’t going to sleep in our room, then neither am I.”
“And just where do you want this mattress?”
“My studio.” I stand, taking the plate with me. “I have work to do.”
CHAPTER88
King
“What?”My whiskey breath fogs the glass, as my forehead remains pressed to the window.
I don’t know why anyone would be knocking on my door. The whole point of staying in this guest room is to stay out of sight, but my household seems to be overrun with people doing whatever the fuck they want.
This room is on the second floor, opposite end of the house from the master bedroom, and over my office, meaning I have a partial view down into Savannah’s studio.
And even though she’s pulled the sheer curtains closed over all the windows, I can see the shadow of her as she moves through the space. I can watch her outline as she paints, even if I can’t make out the strokes of her brush.
She’s working too hard. In there all hours of the day and night. Pushing herself too far after what she’s been through.
Like now, it’s after midnight and the light is still on in her studio. I don’t have a view of the whole space, so I can’t be sure what she’s doing, but she’s awake. Because she always turns the lights off to sleep.
And that’s the worst part…
I take a deep breath, my exhale fogging my view all over again.
The worst part is that she’s no longer sleeping in our bed. She’s abandoned it just like I have. And that means I don’t get to have those few private moments with her anymore. The only moments I had where I was close enough to see her fading bruises. The only moments where I was able to feel the smallest lingering connection with her.
And it’s been nearly a week of this torment.
Not that I deserved better.
I don’t deserve any part of her.
I tried to get the staff to remove the bed she had made up in the corner of her studio, but they’ve taken to straight up defying my demands. Telling me to do it myself.
My fists clench on the windowsill.
Why can no one respect my decision here?
Why can no one understand that I’m doing this for her?
Another, slightly louder knock sounds at the door.
“What?!” I storm across the room. “What do you want?” I bellow, ripping the door open.