Page 27 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)
Chapter 27
G retta strolled into the private train car Philip had sprung for. The red wallpaper and gleaming gilt fixtures hurt her eyes, but after the swamps, it was the most wonderful train car she’d ever seen. It had two sleeping chambers and its own bathroom. Privacy and hot water.
Ansel would get the chaise lounge in the parlor. It was upholstered in pink satin and barely seated two comfortably. She smirked as he looked it over.
With a shrug, he dropped his duffel bag and case of repellent beside his new bed. The train whistled and lurched into motion.
They’d been lucky to make it on time. Gretta had spent an hour at the police station trying to convince the cops they had pixies stranded in their swamp. They’d nodded and yes ma’ammed her before offering assurances they’d look into it. Which meant she’d have to have Nat send somebody, and that could take days.
Brand was going to kill her. She’d have to think of some way to make it up to him.
Gretta opened one of the bed chambers and tossed her bag inside. After her sleepless night at Isobel’s, she barely resisted collapsing on the bed.
Philip opened the opposite door, and she poked her head out.
“I’m going to get cleaned up,” she said.
“Meet me in the dining car when you’re done. We need to talk.”
She nodded. After grabbing clean clothes and toiletries, she locked herself in the bathroom. It was the size of a shoe box, but the shower felt elysian after mucking around in the swamp.
When she came out, she found Ansel sitting on the chaise with one foot propped on his bag, flipping through some periodical he’d brought along.
“I’m meeting Philip privately for dinner,” she said, tying her hair with a fresh ribbon. “Have whatever you want to eat brought here.”
He sat straighter, and his foot landed on the floor. “Why does he hide under a cloak? Is he horribly disfigured?”
Gretta frowned at his hopeful tone. She and Philip had beef, but she didn’t consider it fair to talk about his looks. “Put whatever you order on his tab.”
“Who is he to you?”
“We work together. Sort of.” She wrapped her ponytail in a bun and stuck a hairpin in it.
“Yes, but are you also in a personal relationship with him?”
Gretta recoiled. The pins in her hand dropped to the plush carpet. “What the hell— no ! Oh my god, I can’t even torture you with a lie because the idea horrifies me too much.”
“He seems rather protective of you.”
“Philip may be an asshole, but he objects to his colleagues getting kidnapped and held prisoner. You’re lucky he didn’t hack your balls off.”
“What about the troll?”
“You’re lucky he didn’t pop your skull like a grape.”
Ansel retrieved a pin from the carpet and gave it to her. “I mean, is your relationship with Brand romantic?”
Gretta stared at him. Then at the ceiling.
Why couldn’t she have kept her hands to herself the night before? Things had been bad enough when he obsessed about their past, did she have to add his sexual interest to the mix, too?
And of course he’d end up being the jealous type. Men never behaved possessively of her, and she had no idea how to manage it. He obviously wasn’t picking up her non-verbal cues, so maybe a more direct approach was in order.
She fastened the final hairpin and put a hand on her hip. “Alright, Lab Coat, let me clear something up. I shouldn’t have given you mixed signals last night. If it encouraged you to develop a crush on me, I’m sorry. But you are not my boyfriend. My relationship status is none of your business. What we did was a mistake, and it will never happen again. Now can we please be mature about this?”
He looked more confused than ever. “You think I have a crush on you?”
“Well…yes?” He’d been giving her moon eyes all morning. She couldn’t have misread him that badly. “I mean, don’t you?”
“Gretta, I’d like to clear some things up myself, if you’ll let me. I’ll be brief and to the point.”
Had she misread him? She didn’t have much experience interpreting male emotions, and as far as last night went, she supposed he reacted how many men would. Especially one who’d been deprived a long time.
“Okay,” she sighed, sitting on a brocade ottoman. “Clear away.”
He pressed his fingertips together in a businesslike manner. “First, I know I’m not your boyfriend. And I know last night didn’t mean anything to you.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
“And I don’t have a crush on you.”
“Okay…” So she was terrible at reading men. Astonishing, truly. “Good.”
He shook his head as though she’d argued with him. “I mean crush is an inadequate word. I don’t know what the right one is, but my feelings have evolved since we were children. Getting to know you again has intensified them.”
Her head jerked. Hearing him say it out loud hit differently than assuming it.
He continued. “Those kind of feelings don’t matter because I fucked up any chance you could share them. I know it, I accept it. But I want the chance to earn your friendship back.”
She closed her eyes because she suddenly couldn’t handle looking at him. When she turned from him, his face ducked to follow hers.
“If that isn’t possible,” he said, “tell me you’ll keep me around to punish me or to use me, I don’t care. I’d gladly take it because I can’t go without you in my life again.”
Her emotions exploded, spilling like marbles across the floor.
Why did he have to keep saying shit like that? It was messing with her head. She would not let it get to her heart.
She stood. “Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
Immediately, she came up with several perfect things to say, all of them clever and cruel. She took a breath, ready to lay into him.
What came out was a shaky, “I have to meet Philip.”