Chapter 7 7
Quinta’s old eyes, sharper than anyone gave her credit for, softened. She saw right through me. She gave my hands a comforting squeeze and a slow, understanding nod.
“I only have the man behind those white oak doors upstairs,” I finished quietly, nodding toward my father’s chamber, the place that felt more like a tomb than a room.
She patted my hands again. “I know, child. I know.”
I toughened up then, straightening my shoulders, forcefully restraining the hot, stupid tears that wanted to spill over. I would not cry over Logan. I would not cry in front of Quinta. I would not add that to tonight’s humiliation.
“Ugh, my feet ache from trying to stand right before my mother,” I said, my voice deliberately bright and normal. “I need to go to bed now.” I started stretching my arms above my head, faking a yawn. “Goodnight, old woman.”
“Goodnight, girl.”
I gave her a final, tired smile and walked past her, heading for the servants’ staircase, desperate for the sanctuary of my room. I’d almost reached the paneled door when her voice stopped me.
“Arielle.”
I turned and faced her. “Yep?”
She was looking at me with that expression I dreaded—the one of deep, knowing concern that seemed to see past all my walls and right into the messy core of me.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem… hurt.”
“Hurt?” I forced a laugh. It came out too high. “Nope. I’m as tough as a tortoise’s back. All thanks to our Icy Luna. Builds character, right?”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not talking about your mother. You seem… deeply hurt.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “Like… your heart is aching, but you can’t…”
“Stop it.” The words came out sharper than I intended. I couldn’t let her finish that sentence. If she said it out loud, it would make it real. “I never have heartaches. I’m fine as—”
With that, I turned and walked off, leaving the word hanging in the air. Fine as what? Fine as shattered glass? Fine as a betrayed fool?
She never ceased to notice what others dismissed. My heart. It really was aching, a raw, throbbing pain because of that stinky prick, Logan, even though I was trying with everything I had to ignore it, to bury it under anger and a stranger’s kiss.
I closed the door to my room with a soft, final click, the sound sealing me away from the judgmental silence of the house. For a second, I just leaned against the wood, eyes shut, breathing in the familiar scent of my own space—old books, vanilla candle wax, and the faint, lingering trace of the lavender sachets Quinta tucked into my drawers. Then I flicked the light switch.
The room, my sanctuary, felt suddenly alien. The cozy clutter of it mocked me. I moved on autopilot, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, then the zipper of my jeans. I didn't fold anything. I shredded them off me, tossing the fabric to the floor in angry heaps until I was standing there, naked and shivering in the middle of the rug. The air felt too sharp on my skin, like it was judging me too.
I pushed open the bathroom door, and the warm, damp air hit my face. A scent of eucalyptus and lemon verbena hung in the steam. The bathtub was full, the water still glistening, a few petals from the garden floating on the surface. A fluffy towel and my robe were folded neatly on the stool beside it. Quinta. Of course. It was her usual habit, her quiet way of caring for me like she was still the nanny who’d watched over a clumsy, wolfless toddler. The simple kindness of it almost undid me right there.
I stepped into the water, not testing it first, and let myself sink down. The heat was a shock, then a relief, wrapping around my cold limbs, trying to seep into the icy knot that had taken up residence in my chest. I slid deeper until the water lapped at my chin. I wanted to go all the way under, to bury my face and scream into the silence, to let the water muffle everything.
But I didn’t. I just sat there, my back against the smooth porcelain, and then I felt it – the tight, painful clench of my jaw. I was gnashing my teeth so hard my temples ached. And then, because I couldn’t hold it back any longer, the tears came.
They didn't fall gracefully. They rolled down my cheeks in hot, messy tracks, mixing with the steam and the bathwater, silent sobs shaking my shoulders. It hurts. The thought was simple and devastating.
The betrayal, the heartache, it was a physical pain, a hollowed-out feeling right under my ribs. It hurt more because I had never, ever seen it coming.
I had been a complete fool, deeply in love with someone my entire family, especially my mother, would have considered the worst possible choice. They would have disapproved violently if they’d known. And they’d have been right.