Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

The familiar click of heels on the hardwood pulls me from my book. Lounging on the chaise in the library, I turn my focus back to my current read and wait for Anna to find me. The rain is really coming down outside, and it’s been doing this all week, throwing me into the worst seasonal depression I’ve ever felt. I haven’t seen the sun in days—or is it weeks now?

“There you are,” she says in a forced chipper tone as she enters the library and hovers near the door as if she’s waiting for me to greet her.

“Hey,” I mumble, looking back at the page I was just on. “What’s up?”

“Where’s Killian?” she asks.

My head slants toward her. “How the hell should I know?”

I haven’t seen him in days. I know he’s here in the house. I feel and hear his movements around me every day. But we don’t acknowledge each other or talk. We begrudgingly cohabitate.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve even made eye contact with him since that night two months ago when he pinned me to the bed like a territorial ape. It was that night that I knew I really had to keep my distance from Killian. Not because he’s dangerous or cruel but because we could easily teeter into treacherous territory.

When our arguments grow particularly intense, it’s hard to tell what is hate and what is passion. This thing between us is like a spreading fire, and every time we light the match, I never know where it will end. The desire to punch him and the desire to kiss him feel the same.

“How is my brother?” Anna asks as she lowers herself into an armchair.

I drop my book on the table and sit up, staring at her impatiently. “You realize he’s not really my husband, right? I have no clue how he is, Anna. We don’t talk. We’re not even friends.”

She waves me off, and I get the feeling she’s trying to ignore the truth sitting right in front of her. “I know that. I just mean… has he left the house at all?”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I scowl at her. “No. And while we’re on the subject…” My tone is exasperated as I clench my hands between my knees. “Why didn’t you tell me about that? He hasn’t left the house in ten years ?”

Anna puts her face in her hands. “I wasn’t sure. None of us were. We had our suspicions, but how could we know?”

“What the hell happened? How could you not know?”

She bursts out of her seat, pacing the room. “Our parents were killed in a car accident when Killian was just eighteen. The rest of us went to live with our aunt and uncle, but Killian stayed here. He became a different person after they died. He used to be so…happy and ambitious. Then, it was like…he fell apart. He went to uni and partied all the time. Drank too much and stopped coming around.”

Leaning forward, I hang on to every word, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of regret in my stomach as I think about Killian in such pain. Alone.

“So why are you doing this now? Why are you trying to take his house away?” I ask.

Her eyes squeeze shut, and I see the pain etched in her features. “It’s my aunt who really wants him out.”

Anna sits down again, and I can see the discomfort in her eyes. “Two years ago, my brother Declan discovered just how out of hand Killian’s parties had become. I won’t go into detail, but he turned our family’s house into…” Her voice trails as her cheeks begin to blush.

“Into what?” I press.

“It doesn’t matter,” she responds, waving the answer away. “The point is that my aunt doesn’t want to see our family home treated like some sort of…sex club.”

I press my lips together. I swear, every time this woman opens her mouth, I get more and more irate with what she says. What kind of family treats each other this way? How can they claim to love him so much but want to hurt him at the same time?

“It’s his house,” I argue, a touch too loudly. I slam my hand against the arm of the sofa. “Legally, it’s his, right? So he can do whatever he wants with it. It’s just a house. And so what if he doesn’t leave it? It might be the only thing in his life that brings him comfort, but here you are, the people who are supposed to love him, and you’re trying to take that way. Killian might actually be hurting, and you only want to hurt him more! What is wrong with you people?”

“What’s going on in here?” a deep voice bellows from the doorway. Sylvie and I spin around to find Killian standing there, watching us with an expression of anger.

“Killian,” she says softly as she stands up.

He ignores her and turns his eyes toward me. “Why are you yelling at my sister?”

“I—” The words get stuck on my tongue. Why was I just yelling at her?

“It’s okay, Killian. She was just sticking up for you.”

“I was not,” I argue.

He snickers as he crosses his arms over his chest. My blood is still hot with anger that I don’t understand.

“The holidays are coming up,” Anna declares. “Auntie Lorna would really like to see you both at the Hogmanay party.”

“No,” Killian replies before she’s even done speaking.

“What is that?” I ask.

“New Year’s Eve,” he replies in a disgruntled tone.

“Will you just think about it, please?” Anna implores.

His eyes find mine, and I see the warring thoughts written all over his face. This is part of the deal. It’s not about just staying married for a year. It’s about proving to his family that he’s settled down. That he has every right to keep the house.

Of course…to him, that’s the plan.

To everyone else, it doesn’t really matter if he’s settled down or doing better. It’s about getting the rights out of his hands and into theirs.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” Anna replies, looking relieved.

Before Killian leaves the room, he lets his gaze rest on my face for a moment. I nearly forgot how intense his eyes could be.

“Now, stop talking about me,” he says before disappearing out the door.

The room is bathed in silence as I sit on the chaise lounge with my book still on my lap. There’s a lingering anger deep in my bones from my conversation with Anna.

We wait until we both hear the front door close, letting us know Killian has left the house before either one of us speaks.

“Don’t you feel bad?” I whisper. “For what you’re doing to him? Tricking him out of his own home with this fake marriage?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she replies.

And I know that’s probably a jab at my family and how little they care about me, but I’ll never understand how lying to Killian about why we’re doing this is their way of showing they care.

“Please, Sylvie,” she mumbles softly. “Will you just try to help him? Talk him into going to that party, and I’ll sweeten the deal.”

My head perks up. “How much?”

“Ten thousand,” she replies plainly.

“He’s not going to listen to me,” I argue. “He hates me.”

When her eyes lift to my face, I’m surprised to find a hint of humor in her face.

“He doesn’t hate you,” she says. “At least not as much as you think he does.”

I scoff out a laugh. “What makes you think that?”

“I see the way he looks at you. You two are more alike than you think. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t bother arguing with you. He’s not afraid to hurt your feelings because he knows you can take it. He sees your strength, Sylvie. And I truly believe he will miss you when you’re gone.”

She picks up her purse from the table and walks toward the door. “If anyone can talk him into it, it’s you,” she says. And with that, she leaves.

Her words hang in the air after she’s gone. I’m lost in contemplation, running through everything over and over and over as if I’m trying to pinpoint something on a map. How do I feel about this? This house. This marriage. Him.

My feelings are scattered and confusing. I’ve been in this house too long. I’ve been so deep in this for so long that I can’t seem to find my way out anymore. The reward at the end doesn’t glisten as brightly as it did three months ago.

***

Boredom settles in my bones like a sickness. Not for the first time in the past month, I consider picking a fight with Killian because at least it’s something to do. But again, fighting with him has gotten dangerously heated. And that’s a line I don’t need to cross.

Fucking my husband would be a terrible idea.

I’ve tried working on my novel. But opening my laptop usually leads to opening a browser which leads to watching the lives of people I once knew and used to like flash by me like I’m stuck in some time travel simulation.

They’re at Burning Man or at a resort in Bali. I’m wasting away in a nineteenth-century Scottish manor like I’ve been dropped in the middle of a Charlotte Bront? novel.

Nine months to go. I can do this.

I’m lying on the couch in the library, the fire crackling as I stare mindlessly at the hundreds of titles on the shelves around me. The words all fade together like meaningless stars in the sky.

The book I was reading grew too boring and political for me. It was supposed to be about a torrid love affair, and I wanted something salacious and dirty, but the author chose to delve into the inner workings of the Russian political climate after the war, and I gave up.

Nothing interests me now.

That is, until my eyes catch on a title that doesn’t seem to fit with the others.

The Act of Submission.

I sit up and squint my eyes at the book title again. The spine is deep red, and the text is eloquent and flowery. It’s between a book about beekeeping and a classic novel. Climbing from the couch, I cross the room and pull the book from the shelf. The image on the front is a pair of wrists bound together with a strip of red satin.

My eyebrows shoot upward. Quickly I check my surroundings to be sure he hasn’t snuck into the room. Then I open the book.

Inside are illustrations and mostly text. The illustrations are sexual in nature without being explicit.

A man kneeling with his head bowed.

A woman staring up at another woman.

A naked woman hogtied and suspended in the air.

Does this book belong to Killian? Is he really into this? I mean, I found that leather strap on the bed frame, but that could have been anything. It could have belonged to someone else. Maybe Anna has a secret kinky side.

Suddenly my mind conjures images of Killian forcing me into submission, and everything inside me bristles. Are these the kinds of women he likes? Was Claire like this?

This is why we would never work. I could never let him have that kind of control over me. I don’t want to let him think he’s won something.

Then I remember his weight on me that night. My adrenaline kicking up. My heart pounding. Arousal blossoming low in my belly.

Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to the window. The first thing I notice is that the rain has stopped. A glint of light cascades across the panes, and something in me delights at the prospect of sunshine.

Walking to the window, I stare out at the wet trees of the fields behind the house. Then I spot Killian walking through the grass toward the house.

His hair is down, drenched from the rain and slicked back. His white shirt is tight against his body, wet and transparent. As he marches back toward the house, I find myself watching him with curiosity.

I’ve never met anyone like Killian in my life. He is tasteless and stubborn and so bold it’s exasperating. But he knows exactly what he wants, and he takes it without apology. He truly cares about himself and no one else.

And if I didn’t hate him so much, I might actually like him.