Page 2 of Vain (Tempest #2)

Chapter Two

MATILDA

I stare out the window at the lake’s calm water and wish I was out there, breath held deep, arms held strong as I cut through the water with a determination I’ve struggled to find in recent months.

My eyes drift from the lake, past Greyson’s vegetable plot and herb garden to the firepit below. As usual, someone has lit it and laid out a pile of manuscripts and a cozy blanket for me to snuggle up underneath. However, leaving the safety of my room is not something I do on a whim anymore.

Tugging down the long sleeves of my wine-colored Henley, I walk to stand in front of my mirror.

I teamed the top with light gray yoga pants, which I put on for comfort over style.

The same goes for the thick, slouchy cream socks.

My dark hair is pulled up on top of my head in a messy ponytail, with lots of tendrils from me lounging on the bed, reading through the latest script rewrite.

I’d have carried on if it weren’t for my stomach’s rumbling, breaking my concentration.

I curse that I need something more than snack foods.

A trip downstairs is inevitable. I turn back to the mirror and stare at my top, imagining I have X-ray vision and can see right through it.

My mouth pools with saliva, and my eyes flood with tears.

I squeeze my hands into fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms before I spiral into a panic attack.

Walking to the closet, I grab an oversized hoodie from the shelf and tug it on.

Feeling calmer now, I head to the bathroom and take my hair down, running the brush through it so it falls just past my shoulders.

Once upon a time, I’d had hair down to just above my ass.

It was heavy, and I often ended the day with a headache.

I swore I’d have cut it off if it weren’t for the image my agency insisted I promote.

And then, someone cut it, and all I wanted was to grab it back.

I promised myself I’d grow it and never complain again.

But now, after two years of nothing more than a trim, I think I’ve found a length I’m happy with.

“Okay, enough procrastinating, woman.” I take a deep breath and head toward the door.

I tug the door and sigh with relief when it doesn’t open.

I tug it twice more before turning the lock.

Once it opens, I walk out and slip into the role I was born to play—the role of Matilda Carson—a woman who is cool under pressure, poised, and regal in everything she does.

Yeah, I might be dressed like a hobo, but if you wear confidence, people rarely take notice of the clothes—even if that confidence is faked.

I lock the door and check it. When it doesn’t open, I check it twice more before I relax enough to turn and head downstairs to the kitchen.

The house is quiet and warmly lit with lamps throughout, making the vast space seem a little more cozy. When I get to the kitchen, I sigh in relief when I find it empty. I go straight to the fridge and grin when I pull out a large tub of pesto chicken pasta with a sticky note on top.

If you don’t know how to reheat this by now, I’ve failed at life

Marley

PS

There is some Limoncello and raspberry semifreddo in the freezer . Take it out to thaw thirty minutes before you want to eat it.

“I love you, Marley,” I whisper before chuckling when I see the final part of the note.

PPS. I love you , too.

Marley and Greyson have been here since I was a baby.

They had starring roles for the most important parts of my childhood, along with Valerie, my former nanny who moved to Washington when I turned eighteen.

Man, I cried my freaking eyes out that day.

I felt as if I was losing my mother because she’d been more of one to me than my own.

Thankfully, she keeps in touch. When I see how happy she is in the photos she sends me, surrounded by her grandchildren, I know she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

I grab the dessert from the freezer and leave it to defrost while I reheat the pasta, thankful that Marley and Greyson didn’t move on too. I know the last few years have put a huge strain on them, but they’ve been my rocks like always, never asking for more than I was willing to give.

“You gonna share?”

I whirl around with a shriek, grabbing a knife from the knife block and brandishing it in front of me as I take in the man staring at me from across the kitchen.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me come in.”

“Who are you?” I hate that there’s a catch in my voice. I hate it even more that he notices. He takes a step closer, so I grip the knife harder, ignoring how much I’m shaking.

“My name is Aiden Church. I’m the guard you hired from Price Security. I’m here to protect you.”

His face is filled with nothing but concern as I finally manage to open my hand and let go of the knife. It clatters to the counter, making me jump.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” I whisper, stepping back. Seeing this, he freezes where he is.

His eyes move over me, and something about it makes me blink back tears.

Goddamn it. I’m so tired of feeling like an alien in my own skin.

I replay that night two years ago when everything changed.

Each time, I make a different choice. I’d leave at a different time.

Say no to pushing through after the incident with my hair instead of saying yes.

I should have run instead of trying to brave it out.

So many should have, could have, would haves have left me cowering inside myself, ashamed of the mistakes I made.

I hate the man who did this to me for making me feel weak, but I hate myself more for letting him.

“Miss Carson?”

“Tilly, just Tilly is fine,” I manage to get out without my voice cracking.

“Tilly, pretty name. I’m Aiden. I really am fucking sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s fine. It was my fault for not realizing you were coming today.”

I jump when the microwave beeps and back up when Aiden walks around the counter toward it, sidestepping me before we make contact. He grabs the oven gloves from the hook and lifts the pasta onto the marble countertop.

“Bowls?”

I open my mouth before snapping it shut again. I point to the cupboard where they’re kept, watching in fascination as he grabs two and decants the pasta into them.

“I guess there was enough for two, after all.” I manage to find my voice after he moves around the island, taking a seat.

He grins at me, all pearly white teeth, making something flutter in my stomach.

I know a lot of handsome men. Hollywood is like a tree filled with low-hanging, pretty boy fruit just ready for picking.

But this boy, this man, is something else entirely.

He is too rugged to be considered handsome and too intense to be considered pretty, yet there is something so utterly captivating about his face that I’m finding it hard to look away.

He’s younger than I was expecting, my age perhaps, or maybe a year or two older, with a warm tan complexion and ebony hair that’s short at the sides but long on top.

His eyes are so dark they almost look black and they’re framed with long lashes that I’m instantly jealous of.

“You gonna eat before it gets cold?”

I jump and duck my head, hoping he didn’t notice me checking him out. “I…um…I was going to take it up to my room.”

I wasn’t. I hate eating anything other than snacks upstairs. It makes the whole place smell for days. Besides, if I don’t come out for food, I don’t come out much at all.

“And leave me to eat alone on my first night?” he teases.

“I…” have no words. I don’t want to be a bitch and abandon him to eat alone. Thanks to my issues, he’s in a new place and without his friends and family. Hell, he could have a girlfriend or wife at home, wishing he was there instead of here with some flighty actress who can’t even?—

“Tilly? You okay?”

I shake my head, my eyes dropping to his bare ring finger. “Sorry, I zoned out for a minute.”

I walk around the island, leaving plenty of space between us before I take a seat, leaving the stool between us free.

“My mom can cook, but whoever is making your food can weave magic,” he tells me, shoveling another forkful into his mouth before he turns to look at me. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Amused, I find myself grinning despite myself. “Your secret is safe with me. And you’re right. Marley is a wizard in the kitchen.” I let my hair fall forward as I take a bite of my food.

I don’t engage in any more conversation. I focus on eating. Though I’m itching to jump off my chair and run away, a tangible force is holding me here.

Once I finish my last mouthful, I look over at my guest and flush when I see him watching me.

“I was half hoping you weren’t going to finish that.”

I chuckle before standing. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I was starving. That’s what drove me downstairs to begin with.”

Walking around the island, I grab both empty bowls and put them in the dishwasher.

“With food like that, I’m not sure how you stay out of the kitchen.”

“Can’t have an ass like this eating too much food like that.” I swallow, surprised that I said that out loud.

His eyes rake over me with a different kind of hunger now, making me shiver. “Can’t argue with that.”

I bite my lip and toss a tablet in the dishwasher, keeping my back to him as I turn it on. Turning back around to ask him if he wants some dessert, I find his eyes on the space where my ass would have been.

He looks up at me and grins unrepentantly.

“Do you want dessert?” I cringe as soon as it’s out, realizing how suggestive that sounds. “I mean the semifreddo. It needs to defrost for a little longer.”

“If it tastes half as good as the pasta did, I’ll wait all night for it.”

“It’s even better,” I whisper as he gets off the chair and walks around the island toward me. He stops when he’s a hair’s breadth away, close enough for his breath to skate over my skin but without touching me.

“You want to sit outside while we wait? I noticed the fire pit on.”

I open my mouth to say no, but he looks so earnest I reluctantly agree. “Okay, for a little while.”

I step around him and head outside, not waiting for him to catch up, hoping a little bit of space between us will give me a chance to catch my breath.

I curl up in my usual chair and pull my knees up to my chest as Aiden takes the chair beside mine. I tense all over again. Doesn’t social etiquette dictate that he take the sofa across from me? I look at him briefly, but I’m not sure if he is pushing the boundaries or if this is just who he is.

“It’s so warm out here. I’m not sure the fire pit is needed,” he says, leaning back and stretching out his legs.

I stare at the hard muscles of his thighs and swallow. “It keeps the bugs at bay. Plus, something about the sight of fire calms me.”

“Why, Miss Carson, are you a closet arsonist?”

I grin. “Not in this life. But I’ve always been drawn to the flames. I find them oddly soothing, so maybe I was in the last one.”

“Maybe you built up some immunity to heat too. That would explain why you’re wearing an oversized hoodie and not melting.”

And just like that, his words act like a bucket of water being poured over my head. I jump from my seat like a scalded cat. “I just remembered I need to talk to my producer.”

“What about dessert?”

“I’m not really hungry. I’ve gotta go.” I hurry away before he can say anything else.

Once I’m out of sight, I run up the stairs and fight the lock on my door with tears in my eyes. When I finally manage to shove it open, I throw myself inside and slam it closed. I lock it and check it twice more with shaky fingers before I slide to the ground and bury my head in my hands.

“I’m not going to cry,” I mutter, pressing the heel of my hands into my eyes. “I’m not going to cry,” I whisper, and after a few deep breathing exercises, I’m right—I don’t cry.

I also don’t catch a wink of sleep all night.