Page 33

I move past the vengeful Medusa into a large circular open garden filled with roses and night-blooming jasmine.

There are more seating areas, and not just benches, but more cushioned and comfortable spots, some in shade, where one might actually be able to sit for long periods of time with a book and not become uncomfortable.

More statuary is placed around the garden, only these statues aren’t Greek mythology.

They’re Victorian-era ladies and gentlemen.

LED lights are recessed into the ground, shining up on each of them, illuminating the plaques that indicate characters from Jane Austen’s novels.

The crowning jewel of the garden is a well-lit large stone fountain in the middle featuring ladies with parasols reading books and fish seeming to jump out of the fountain with the water coming out of their mouths. A quote is engraved into the base of the fountain:

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” - Jane Austen.

I wonder when this was built. If Aidan was behind all of it, there had to be hundreds of craftsmen working around the clock. It must still be quite new. Or did his father have this built and Aidan just commissioned Medusa?

But why? Why does Medusa guard this Jane Austen garden? Why are two such seemingly different things standing in honor of her memory?

I make my way back into the house and duck into the kitchen for some of the snacks Claude made for me. There are a couple of mini bottles of Champagne chilling in the fridge, so I pour a flute and make a plate with cheese, meat, grapes, and crackers, as well as a couple of savory mini quiches.

By the time I’ve finished, it’s become very obvious that nobody is going to follow me around, ask what I’m doing, or try to monitor my comings and goings.

No one is going to ask why I’m up and about at night or suggest I should be off to bed by now.

The only person in this house who might have done such a thing is Cora, and this late at night she’s probably long ago fallen asleep.

She has to get up before six each morning to start managing the household, after all.

I finally feel safe to go inspect the door to Aidan’s study.

There’s nobody in this hallway or part of the house.

Being just off the dining room on the south end of the house, there would be no reason for anyone to venture down here late at night.

There’s a whole other main entrance to the kitchen, and the closest guards are outside guarding the side door that leads from the kitchen into the herb garden.

Just down from the herb garden is a small cottage that I thought was something like a mother-in-law house, but turns out, it’s for a live-in chef and where Claude is sleeping this week, and where he may be living more permanently if I determine I require him here to cook everything fresh.

I should talk to him and see what he really wants. Does he have a family he’s being taken away from?

One of the hall sconces provides just enough light over the door as I attempt to pick the lock.

On the fourth try, I finally hear it click over and turn the handle to open the door.

The lock is just a regular door lock, but it’s not a typical interior house lock that could be opened with a simple nail file.

I saw a regular jagged edge key in Aidan’s hand when he locked it earlier today.

I close and lock the door behind me. There’s a large window on one end of the room so I don’t risk either closing the drapes or turning on the light. There’s enough light from exterior lighting and the moonlight for me to find my way around.

I pull out the copy of Meditations, at least happy to know now that I can take a closer look at it, that it is actually a real book.

The mechanism to open the secret passage isn’t this specific book, it’s the location of the book, which sits snuggly on top of a small pressure lever.

When the pressure is removed by the removal of the book from the bookcase, the bookcase door on the other wall slides open.

There’s a light switch on the wall just inside the secret door, and this one I do turn on.

There’s no way I’m descending into whatever this is in the dark.

A staircase spirals down to a large underground room.

There’s a second desk and chair in here, and several tall dark wood cabinets lining the walls.

I scan the room for indications of cameras, but I can’t find any.

It doesn’t mean there aren’t any here, but I doubt Aidan feels the need to have heavy security in a secret passage room, particularly when his house is so heavily guarded.

I go through the drawers, again, not knowing what I’m looking for. I don’t think I’m actually looking for anything, not really. I just… want to know what Aidan keeps behind a secret door. I’m curious that way.

Once again, I’m disappointed not to find any secret villain plans or criminal schematics.

What I do find is a very ornate looking, very large stiff envelope addressed to Aidan.

The postmark is December 13th of last year.

The return address is only an address, no name: 30 Avenue Montaigne, 75008 Paris, France .

I don’t know what I expected to find inside, but what I do find is more shocking to me than any crime plans. It’s drawings of my wedding dress!

The drawings are done with colored pencil on a high quality mildly translucent vellum paper.

“House of Dior” is engraved in gold at the top, and it’s signed by the designer as though the drawing itself is a piece of art meant to hang in a museum.

A handwritten letter on much smaller sized paper—a fine creamy stationery—flutters out onto the desk. I read.

Dear Mr. Stryker,

Congratulations again on your upcoming nuptials! Enclosed is the final wedding gown design. As requested we avoided white in the gown to reflect Miss Prescott’s nontraditional preferences.

I think your bride will find the beige and pale pink to her satisfaction.

Given the exclusive nature of our designs, I appreciate your understanding in our not wanting to send these images over the internet.

We received the clothing you sent and have determined Miss Prescott’s exact measurements and created mannequins in her proper size.

When the gown is complete, we are happy to work with Stella on this.

Since this is to be a surprise, we’ll fly our tailors in for the fittings and adjustments as needed.

We thank you for understanding that we simply can’t allow someone not of our house to tamper with one of our couture gowns.

Given the expense of the gown and your extreme generosity in our dealings up until now, we’re happy to fly the tailors in on our own dime.

Stella should expect the gown via overnight delivery by no later than March 26 th . Please let us know if this works within your own timeline.

Warm Regards,

Sebastian Moreau

Head Couturier, House of Dior

I reread the letter several times as I allow all of this to sink in.

Aidan didn’t relent to letting me have the most expensive gown in Stella’s shop.

He specifically commissioned it for me, and it was the most expensive because it was commissioned—and with Dior no less.

And how did he know I wouldn’t want a white dress?

He knew I’d ask for the most expensive dress to try to punish him.

He set me up. I struggle with the wave of conflicting emotions running through me.

I can’t decide how to feel about this. Should I feel angry and manipulated?

Is it somehow romantic or sweet? He didn’t hold it over my head after all.

He didn’t want “credit” for doing this. It’s not like it was some secret plot to get into my panties.

Unless he somehow meant for me to find this secret room. He did leave me alone in his study.

But then he locked the door. Did he anticipate I’d take a crash course in lock picking also?

I look at the drawings for several more minutes.

What will he do with them? I mean… I kind of do want them framed and hanging on my wall.

They would look great in my walk-in closet, but then Aidan would know I’d been down here.

I sigh and carefully put the drawings and letter back inside the envelope and return it to the drawer.

There’s nothing else interesting in the desk.

I decide while I’m down here I may as well look and see what’s in all of these giant cabinets.

I let out a low whistle when I open the first one to find rows of guns.

Okay, for sure Aidan did not plan for me to find this room.

There’s no way he’d give me access to weapons.

I open all the cabinets. Two cabinets are stocked with ammunition.

I could escape.

I could use one of these weapons to force them to let me go while Aidan isn’t here. I let the fantasy play through my mind—the imaginary scenario where I’m a straight-up badass from an action movie. But there is a betraying part of me that doesn’t want to leave.

I have the means right here in front of me, but do I have the will? I should. I’m trying so hard to hold onto the way I was so unattracted to Aidan when we were kids and how weird I thought he was and how his constant lurking gave me nightmares.

I’m trying to hold on to being forced to marry him against my will, not even knowing he was the guy from the alley.

But then there’s… the guy from the alley, and how attracted I was to him…

how gentle he was with me in the car, and practically every single interaction since then.

There is one quality that Aidan has displayed consistently since we were children…

patience. He’s dangerous but he doesn’t feel out of control to me.

He hasn’t tried to force himself on me, despite the fact that I know he feels somehow entitled to have me.

If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have forced this marriage on me.

And now this dress thing. And that Medusa statue.

And the fact that he kept his mother’s Jane Austen books—all that juxtaposed against the money and the power and the tattoos and the good looks.

How am I supposed to resist all that? I’m only human, here!

Maybe… maybe I could give him a chance? I hate myself for thinking that. He doesn’t deserve a chance… he thinks it’s okay to stalk and surveil and lock me up in his house.

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.