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You’re not locked up. The traitorous voice in my mind reminds me.
I continue to stare at the arsenal in front of me. I can’t be stupid. Plenty of monstrous evil men… violent men—and I already know Aidan is violent—they put on a nice show at first. They wine and dine you. They woo you. They buy you nice things. They surround you with luxury and pleasure… it’s all part of the fake fairy tale that makes you too stupid to have a self-preservation instinct when the mask comes off. The poison pill is wrapped up too pretty to deny.
It’s all too seductive and tempting to run away.
And let’s say I did try to run. Let’s say I used one of these guns to stage a prison break. His guards are going to know I can’t bring myself to shoot them. They’ll just call my bluff and take the gun away from me and possibly lock me in my room like a spoiled child.
But what if things got bad? Like really bad. What if Aidan lets the mask slip and I’m really in danger? Could I shoot someone if I was in real danger? I think I could. So then… a gun is just insurance because it would be stupid to leave myself unprotected, leaving myself at the whims and mercy of a criminal.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to slip away and get into this room again, so I take a handgun, and search through the ammunition cabinet, until I find the right sized bullets. I load the magazine and put it in my pocket, then tuck the unloaded gun into the back of my jeans and pull my shirt down over it.
I slip out of the secret room, flip off the light, and put Meditations back in its spot on the bookcase. I leave the study, locking it behind me. I go back to the kitchen, pour some more champagne, and grab a couple more of the mini quiche to take back upstairs to Aidan’s room.
“Mr. Stryker doesn’t allow food in his room,” Gino says when I approach the door. Finally they have an opinion about something.
The food was only a foil to get me back upstairs without too much curiosity about where I went in the middle of the night and an opportunity to briefly go back to my suite to hide the gun. When I’m safely behind my door, I toss back the champagne and eat the mini quiche. I’m not about to let Claude’s artistry go to waste here.
I put the loaded magazine and the gun under my mattress and take a few slow deep breaths. When I feel like I’ve collected myself, I go back to Aidan’s room. I take a long soak in his tub, and then I go to sleep.
Twenty-One
Maddie
“Did you sleep well, Mrs. Stryker?”
“Yes, thank you, Cora.”
Today I’m wearing a pale pink pantsuit, a long double-looped strand of pearls, and silver kitten heels. All things Aidan bought for me on yesterday’s shopping spree.
I sit at the kitchen table while Claude makes me an omelette, which from the looks of it is so much more than a standard omelette. This morning is much less awkward with Cora than yesterday. I can tell she is somewhat skeptical of me, as though I’ve somehow bewitched her sweet boy, but I choose to just ignore this. She clearly has no idea about what’s actually going on. But if she doesn’t, then probably no one else does either. As the household manager, Cora would know what the staff is whispering about.
Which means my security detail kept their mouths shut about my meltdown the night I learned I was basically sworn to Aidan. I have to admit, back when we had the money for help, the best quality for household staff to have was discretion, and I’m relieved Aidan’s staff seems to have it.
Claude removes a pan of fresh buttery croissants from the oven, and I can smell them from all the way across the room. Cora pours me some orange juice.
“Or did you want coffee?” she asks, uncertain.
“Juice is fine,” I say, “Thank you. Also, I hired Claude on full time, so would you be the person to talk to about making sure his pay reflects that?”
“I would, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.”
Cora nods and excuses herself.
I had some time to talk to Claude this morning. He’s partially early-retired but says he misses it. He has no family and it’s pretty lonely with only him and his little scruffy gray dog, Jackson. The dog is staying with him in the cottage. So it was decided that he should stay on full time. By me. I decided that. I’m testing the bounds of my “Lady of the House” status, to see if Aidan really means it, or if he only means it while it’s convenient.
The truth is, I don’t mind reheating things, but I like Claude. He doesn’t just have a French name. He is for real French. With an accent and everything. I’ve learned that he studied at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris which sounds totally made up, but I looked it up. It’s a real place. And very prestigious. Founded in 1895. Julia Child studied there. Claude has informed me that all the best food in the world is French, and I don’t disagree.
I’m honestly waiting for him to break down and sing that Little Mermaid song about the fish, but I will never say this to him. Since Aidan’s guards and his driver are all Italian, it’s a little shocking that the chef isn’t, but Claude has been with the family on and off since Aidan was born.
“Do you expect Mr. Stryker home tonight?” Claude asks as he flips my omelette onto a plate, garnishes it with an orange slice and a sprig of something green and adds a fresh hot buttery croissant. I love the way he says Stryker.
“I don’t actually know when he’s returning,” I say. “He said a few days.”
Claude nods and presents me with my breakfast, and when I indicate that I don’t need anything else, he excuses himself to go work in the herb garden.
By the time I finish breakfast, Cora is back.