Chapter 56 Episode 56

The only painting is a huge, black canvas with a splattering of red across the surface. It doesn’t exactly scream “happy inner sanctum.” “Why wasn’t your mother around much when you were children?” I ask. I’m not really expecting an answer. But apparently, my employer is in a talking mood. “She and my father divorced when Yulian and I were very young. She left shortly after. Her calls became less and less frequent as we got older.” “Do you still keep in contact with her?” “Not for some time now. I have Yulian deal with her when she calls.” “Deal with her?” I repeat. “You make it sound like a chore.” “It is a chore,” he says without mincing his words. “I don’t know who the woman is at all. She’s a stranger who calls us up when she wants something. Ten grand for a new nose, fifty grand for a new car, two hundred grand for a new house.” I frown. “That can’t be easy.” He looks puzzled by that. “It’s the easiest thing in the world. Throw money at the woman and she disappears into her life. Then I don’t have to see or speak to her for another few years.” “She’s your mother,” I point out. “Surely, it hurts that she only stays in touch because she wants something?” “Why should it? I never really knew her. I never even began to care.” “I don’t know how you do it,” I admit. “My parents lived with me my entire life, but I’m still resentful of how absent they were when I was growing up.” “Then their absence was justified.” “Not really. Even when they were around, they didn’t really make any attempt to spend quality time with me. Mom was always with friends she met at some charity or the other. Dad was the silent type. He preferred solitude to anyone else’s company. Even if I walked into the room and asked him a question, he’d grunt at me rather than having a conversation.” “He was there for you when you were getting bullied,” he reminds me. I raise my eyebrows. “You remember that, do you?” I shrug. “Just… I’m never sure how much attention you’re paying me.” I regret saying anything now. I don’t know how to say this without it sounding weird. “I mean that my life is so boring compared to yours. And it would make sense if you didn’t care or bother to remember things I’ve told you.” “Have you always had such a low opinion of yourself?” My phone starts ringing and I grab it gratefully. Of course, the relief dies on my face when I notice that it’s Chris calling. I put it on silent and turn the screen around, but I’m pretty sure that Anton has seen it already. “Um… it’s getting late, Anton. If I’m not cooking today, I should really get going.” “You’re in no position to go anywhere,” he says firmly. I look around the room, trying to find an excuse he would accept. “Well, because this is your home, for starters.” He raises his eyebrows and stares me down at me with those steely gray eyes. I can feel the blush coming on instantly. “Jessa, you realize we f****d last night, right? Right after you brought me dinner. Or was that something else you thought I ‘wouldn’t bother to remember’?” I bite my bottom lip and try desperately to avoid his eyes. “I… that was… that shouldn’t have happened.” “And yet it did. So, seeing as how that’s the case, I think you’re okay to sleep in my bed.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Just get a good night’s sleep. If you’re better in the morning, then you can get back to work.” It sounds extremely logical when he says it like that. Impossible to argue. But I feel a little bit like an animal that’s fallen into a trap. The only difference is that it’s a really nice trap. The kind of trap that you want to nuzzle up and stay in. I think about my promise to Chris, and I realize that apart from this morning, I’ve done nothing to try and uncover the truth about Marina’s death. And I feel even worse when I realize I don’t feel guilty about it at all. “I don’t have any clothes here,” I point out. “All my things are back at my apartment.” “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll get you what you’ll need for tonight. And then tomorrow, we’ll sort something out.” I have no idea what that means, but I decide to just let it go for now. If I’m being honest, it has been a hassle making the commute from my apartment to the mansion, just like he warned it would be and I stubbornly refused to acknowledge. It makes for early days and late nights. It’s just more reasonable for me to stay put, especially because I do feel tired and weak. “I’ll leave you to rest,” Anton says as he exits the room. The moment he’s gone, I grab my phone. But I hesitate over the call button under Chris’s name. I don’t want to have to deal with the explanation. So instead, I send him a vague text. Hey Chris, super tired tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m good, though. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. I second-guess the wording for a full minute before I decide to send it anyway. Then I respond to Freya’s string of beer, wine glass, and martini emojis with a similar message asking for a rain check. But two seconds after the message sends, she calls me. Sighing, I pick up even though I’m in no mood for a conversation. “Hey.” “Where are you?” she asks. “Cutting right to the chase, I see. Yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking. I’m still at work.” “Oh, late dinner shift?” she asks. I feel bad lying, but it’s easier this way. “Something like that.” “Well, I don’t mind. I’ll wait for you. Could really use a night out with my girlfriend.” I hesitate, wondering if I should just bite the bullet and tell her. I decide to stop being a coward and just do it. “Actually, I won’t be coming home tonight.” “Well… I was feeling a little off today. Anton asked me to spend the night here.” “Where are you?” she snaps. “No, I mean, which room?” she asks. “Did he put you in his room or did you get one of the guest rooms?” I raise my eyebrows, uncomfortable with her suggestive tone. “Um… the guest room,” I say, but I don’t sound the least bit convincing. “No way. You’re in his room?” The woman is far too astute to let anything past her. “Oh, cut the s**t, Jessa. Maybe I haven’t known you long, but I know you pretty well. You’re totally in his bedroom, aren’t you?” “Okay,” I say with a sigh. “I am.” “Damn.” But she says it like a curse. “Jessa, are you sure about this?” “Nothing is going to happen, Freya. He’s just concerned about me. I really have been sick today.” “Yeah. And in fact, he’s been amazing this whole time. He spent most of the day just taking care of me.” “Really?” She sounds extremely surprised, which makes me feel far too smug. “Yes. It’s weird but nice. He’s genuinely being so… kind. And patient.” She sighs. “Only because I’m worried about you.” “We’ve established that he’s being nice,” I remind her. “He’s not going to hurt me. You and Chris are starting to sound like broken records now.” “We’re only concerned about your safety,” she says. Instantly, I feel like a b***h. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just… like I said, I’ve been sick all day. I think I just need to get some rest.” “Of course,” Freya says. “I’ll let you get some sleep. But Jessa?” “Promise me you’ll call me in the morning? Just so I know you’re okay?” We hang up, and I keep looking around the room. My thoughts spin, trying to find an ending to this story that doesn’t involve pain or heartache. “Here you go,” Anton says, walking back into the room. He’s carrying a fluffy white robe, fresh towels, a new toothbrush, and some toothpaste. He places it all next to me on the bed. “Everything you need.” “I still need clothes,” I point out. “You can borrow some of mine tonight.” He walks to the door on the opposite side of the room and slides it open. Behind him is a walk-in closet complete with under-shelf lighting. He pulls out a pair of sweats with a drawstring around the middle and a well-worn t-shirt. “You can sleep in these.” He hands them to me and then raises a brow. “Unless you’d rather sleep naked?” He’s teasing me. Annoyingly, I like it. That’s the thing about today—I like how attentive and caring he’s been. I like that he seems concerned, even protective of me. I like that we’ve spent hours together and it’s felt easy, it’s felt natural. But it also makes me wonder why he’s doing all this. Why is he here at all when he can just leave me to the care of his household—or, more likely, kick me out to fend for myself? I know the answer I’m hoping for, but I don’t want to indulge the thought too long. I don’t want it to turn into hope. “Rest up,” he says before I can think of a reply, getting into bed next to me.