“Patrick, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you so late.”
“I just wanted to see you, see how you were settling in, Ella. It’s an odd place you wanted to stay.” He made no attempt to hide his distaste.
“If this is too much, Patrick, I can find someplace else,” she said, folding her hands together, her eyes on the pale cream of the carpet. Taking a stab at his wallet was the best way to get what she wanted. He’d told her she wouldn’t be moving in until after the wedding, and although part of her was thankful for that, the other part was frustrated. What if the answers she needed were on the estate?
There were ways around that part, though, and she’d do better if she was someplace more . . . public. Not to mention that she didn’t want to be anyplace remotely private, not if she could avoid it.
It had been easy enough, giving him a convincing reason why she wanted to stay here close to the park. Although why she was so certain she had to be here, she didn’t know. “I just . . . well, I have happy memories of this place. The park, you see,” she hedged, glancing out the window at the brightly lit castle. It wasn’t a lie. Back in that other life, her parents had brought her to this place, back when she’d still had some bit of innocence to her, back when some part of her had believed in magic.
Back before her life was overrun by monsters.
Like the one standing before her. “Would you like me to stay elsewhere, darling?” she asked, giving him a demure smile.
He waved a hand. “Don’t be silly, Ella. I just fail to see the appeal.” He glanced around, eyeing the remains of her meal, her laptop. “Are you settling in well?”
“Of course.” For the past eighteen months, she’d commuted back and forth between London and Orlando—or rather, that was Ella’s story. She’d had a lovely apartment here in the States, a lovely flat back home in London. And then three weeks ago, her “employer” let her go . . . oh, the tragedy.
Patrick had been quite happy to step in and take over her life. He’d been ready to do that for quite a while anyway.
The employer was a contact of hers and the job had been real enough, another way to solidify her life as “Ella.”
She’d done this sort of deep cover work, but never for so long. Never with the risks so high. For the most part, she was on her own. She’d been treading water, though, and unable to get close enough to him to find more information. So she “lost” her job as a courier, damn all the downsizing companies do these days, although the boss had been quite nice about it and explained that they’d decided to let her go first since she’d be leaving the company shortly—she was getting married, right?
Naturally, Patrick was there to take her life over.
She wondered how he’d ever react if she told him that he was the real job.
“Ella . . . you’re distracted.”
Forcing herself to smile, she said, “I’m sorry, Patrick. I was thinking of how wonderful you’ve been, finding me this place to stay, taking care of me.”
He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “You still look tired. You should get more rest, Ella.”
Ella . . . yes. The part she played. Along with the lovely rooms, the lovely clothes. The elegant demeanor and the doormat exterior she presented him with. With him, she was Ella and she settled seamlessly into that part, smiling at him. “Of course.” Of course I look tired. You have me followed everywhere I go, and although I can bloody damn well lose them, if I do that too often, you’ll wonder how I’m able to do it.
Tired. Tired didn’t even touch how she felt. Living a lie all this time, hoping against hope . . . losing herself. It had been two years since she had first waded into this job, twelve months since it had completely sucked her in, and every day she felt like she’d died a little more inside. Bloody hell, yes, she was tired.
Stop it. Not now, she told herself. Keeping her smile plastered firmly on her face, she moved to sit on the sofa, waiting for him to join her, but he didn’t.
He chose to remain standing, looming over her, silent. Watchful. Controlling, egotistical bastard.