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CHAPTER 22

AURORA

I awoke inside a padded cell.

I scrambled off the hospital bed and ran for the door. I pulled on the handle, but it was locked. I hadn’t really expected otherwise. The entire door was padded except for a small metal square. I curled my fingers into a fist and pounded on it. “Let me out! Hey! Is anyone out there?”

After several minutes, I gave up and paced around the windowless, empty room.

“This isn’t funny, Roman. I know you’re watching somehow. Let me out of here.”

I stopped to listen. Nothing.

I threw my arms up in frustration. “You want to hear me say it? Fine. Fine! It’s true. I pawned the necklace, and I was going to run. Again. I’m sorry. Can you hear me? I’m sorry!”

I ran over and pounded on the door again. Nothing.

“Dammit, Roman! Get in here,” I shouted as I stared up at the ceiling. If I wasn’t acting insane before, I sure was now.

I pulled at the silk corset. The dress was uncomfortable, and I wanted it off. I looked down to see the faint scratches on the tops of my breasts where the beading had rubbed against my flesh. I leaned against a wall and slowly slid to the floor.

Pushing my hopelessly tangled hair out of my face, I continued to talk to the air. “I would have come back.” I looked up at the ceiling again and raised my voice. “Do you hear me? I would have come back. I just needed… time… space… I don’t know. Goddammit, Roman!”

I toyed with a loose bead on the dress as I stared at my lap. “You’re not an easy man to love, you know that, but against all reason and my better judgment, I do love you.”

I pulled my heels off and tossed them across the room. “You’re a fucking psychopath. You know that? It should be you in here, not me,” I grumbled to the empty room. I then let out a long, frustrated sigh. “But you’re my psychopath. You don’t think I understand why you do this shit. You think I’m too young to get it, but I do. I’ve already lived a hundred lifetimes. That’s how it is with people like us. People with no anchor in a storm. People who are set adrift by the very people who are supposed to love and shelter them from the rain. We don’t trust the sunshine. Are you even listening, Roman?”

I buried my face in my hands.

Just then, there was a loud click, and the door opened.

My heart fell when it wasn’t Roman.

A tall, stern woman with her gray hair pulled back in a severe bun entered with two female attendants behind her. “My name is Mrs. Higgs. I’m here to complete your intake at St. George’s Hospital.”

I looked past her into the dark corridor. “Where is Roman?”

“As I understand it, Mr. Winterbourne is recovering from his gunshot wound. A wound you gave him at your wedding.” She spoke in a clipped, disapproving tone.

I shook my head as I backed up. “That’s not true. I didn’t try to kill him at our wedding. I never said yes!” I leaned up on my toes and tried to shout over her shoulder into the supposedly empty corridor. “I never said yes!”

Mrs. Higgs unbuttoned her cuffs and slowly rolled up her sleeves. “Please, Miss Barlowe, let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

I snatched one of my high heels from the floor and held it in front of me like a weapon. “Back off! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The two attendants, also dressed in head-to-toe white, stepped around her toward me. Never stood a chance. They swiped my wrist, knocking the shoe out of my hand, and grabbed me. I screamed and protested as they dragged me out of the padded room by my upper arms.

They dragged me down a long, darkened corridor. My eyes had to adjust as we entered a bright room covered in green and white tile. Pushed against the wall was a long table covered in all sorts of leather and metal restraints. I struggled harder. At first, I thought they were going to restrain me to the wooden chair in the center of the room. It was only with slight relief that I realized they were dragging me past it to another room.

The moment we crossed the threshold, the women started pulling at the stays of my silk corset. In the center of the room were two massive cast-iron soaking tubs. Rather preposterously, one had a chair attached to the side.

Mrs. Higgs pointed to it. “Your choice, Miss Barlowe. We can strap you into the bathing chair and dunk you in ice cold water, a treatment designed to reduce your hysteria, or you can calm down and bathe like a civilized member of society in the other tub.”

I stilled. “I’ll be good.”

She nodded.

I didn’t want to bathe in front of these women, but I definitely didn’t want to be strapped to a fucking chair and dunked like some kind of water torture. As the women roughly pulled and tugged on the blood-encrusted wedding dress, I looked around. The entire facility had a last century look. There were even old gas lamps lining the walls.

As the attendants worked, Mrs. Higgs filled the tub with hot water. I was so relieved to be rid of the horrid thing, I didn’t even care that I was naked in front of a bunch of strangers. It was no different from showering at the gym, I told myself over and over as I stepped into the tub. I sank down into its soothing, warm depths.

Mrs. Higgs looked at the watch she had suspended from a tiny pocket near her left shoulder. “You have ten minutes.”

I grabbed the washcloth and rubbed it with the astringent-smelling soap. “You know this is crazy, right? I didn’t shoot Roman. He’s punishing me because I said I wouldn’t marry him.”

Mrs. Higgs turned abruptly and left the room. She then returned with a newspaper in her hands. She held it up so I could see the front page. “So I suppose the London Times got it all wrong?”

On the front page was a stark headline in all caps.

DUKE SHOT AT ABBEY WEDDING IN FRONT OF QUEEN

What the fuck?

Despite my wet hands, I snatched the paper from her. The photo was of a man and woman standing at the Westminster Abbey altar with their backs to the camera. My gaze flicked over to the crumpled dress on the bathroom floor. It was definitely the same dress. The man and woman looked like Roman and me.

I shook my head. “No. No. No. This is bullshit.”

“Language, Miss Barlowe,” exclaimed an affronted Mrs. Higgs.

This had to be one of those bullshit novelty newspapers. I grimaced. Roman was nothing if not thorough. I flipped through the pages as the thin paper disintegrated under my wet fingers.

It was real.

What the hell was happening?

It wasn’t possible. Was it?

Did I shoot Roman at our wedding?

Jesus Christ, now I doubted my own mind.

Just before she snatched the paper out of my hands, I caught sight of one word in the photo caption: Richard.

It was Richard, not Roman.

Oh, my God, how could I have been so stupid?

It all came crashing back. The memories that the trauma of waking up confused and in that blood-splattered dress had suppressed.

The diamond necklace.

Roman finding out about my plan to leave.

Attending his brother’s wedding.

Roman placing the gun in my hand right before I heard the gunshot and fainted.

I’m going to fucking kill him for real!

He set this whole thing up to punish me for trying to run.

The question was how far was he willing to take this?

“Time’s up,” interjected Mrs. Higgs.

I reluctantly stood in the now cooling tub water and accepted the scratchy, overly bleached white towel. After drying off, the two attendants roughly helped me into a hospital gown. Thankfully, I was also given a robe and a pair of slippers. The moment I was clothed, I shouted, “What is that?” and pointed at the ceiling. When all three turned, I bolted for the door.

I only made it past the green-tiled room before they caught up with me.

They grabbed me from behind and dragged me back. I kicked out so hard my slippers flew across the room.

Mrs. Higgs unlocked a metal cabinet and pulled out a metal tray with a glass vial and syringe on it. “Hold her steady.”

“Should we get Dr. Swede?” asked one attendant.

Mrs. Higgs frowned. “Nonsense. I can handle this.”

She filled the syringe and approached me.

“Wait! I’ll stop. I promise.”

Mrs. Higgs paused inches away from my arm and glared at me.

I held my breath.

She placed the syringe down and admonished, “One more outburst?—”

I nodded vigorously. “I understand.” I gestured behind her. “Can someone please get my slippers?”

As they turned to look in the direction of where I pointed, I swiped the syringe off the tray and hid it in my robe pocket.

When they turned back, I was smiling serenely.

They helped me into my slippers and escorted me back to my padded cell. When we got there, one attendant insisted on taking off my robe. As she folded it in half, the syringe dropped out of the pocket and fell onto the linoleum floor. I coughed to cover the sound as I kicked it under the bed. I could hear a small ’plink’ sound as it bounced off the wall. I waited with bated breath, but thankfully, it didn’t roll back into view.

Mrs. Higgs entered the room. “You’ve had a trying day, Miss Barlowe. I suggest you rest.”

Knowing I needed time alone to plan, I didn’t argue when they ushered me back into bed.

I was taken by surprise when all three suddenly latched on to my wrists and ankles. “What are you doing?”

“It’s for your own safety.”

They wrapped leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles and secured my limbs to the bedposts.

Ignoring my pleas and threats, they left.

For the next several minutes, I cursed. I screamed. I threatened. Each time, I checked the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge.

Finally, I heard the latch on the door.

Thank God, they had relented, but it wasn’t Mrs. Higgs or one of the attendants who entered.

Roman strolled into the room. “Hello, kitten.”