Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,294

My arms are worse, though. They’re limp. I can’t even manage to slap him away.

“Where’s Sebastian?”

“He asked me to take you to your room. Stop struggling.”

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t. You can’t even stand. How long did he have you out here?”

“All afternoon.”

He makes a disapproving sound and carries me into the house and up to my room.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

I’m embarrassed, but I nod.

He walks me inside, and I try to squirm away. “I can do this part.”

He ignores me and walks me to the toilet, sets me on it, then turns and walks out, closing the door behind him. I pee and with some effort, manage to clean myself. I stagger to the sink and am washing my hands when he opens the door and holds out an oversized T-shirt.

“What’s that for?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to sit around naked but if you’d rather—”

“No.” Then, “I don’t have clothes,” I say stupidly.

He helps me to the chaise. My knees keep giving out, and I need his help.

“Can you lift your arms?” he asks.

I try but shake my head. He takes one arm at a time and dresses me like he would a child. It feels strange to have him do this. Almost intimate. And as soon as he slips the shirt over my head, I realize it’s his. I can smell him on it.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m not. I’m just taking care of what’s ours.”

He sits down beside me and pulls the table closer. He picks up the glass of water and brings it to my lips.

I drink greedily, parched. When the glass is empty, he sets it down, picks up the spoon, and scoops up some soup. He brings it to my mouth, and I hesitate.

“What do you think? I’m going to poison you?”

I don’t, but he doesn’t wait for me to answer.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that? I understand my brother. Just eat.”

I open my mouth and drink the broth soup. It’s good. So good.

“Can I have some wine?” I ask after finishing half the soup.

He puts the spoon down and pours me a glass of wine from the bottle. It’s a rich, warming red, and it’s exactly what I need.

“Thank you.”

He nods. We don’t talk while he spoon-feeds me the rest of the soup and the glass of wine.

“You know, you all act like I should just get over it already and be a good little whipping girl but put yourself in my place. How would you be if you were taken against your will and made a prisoner? If you were treated like I am here? I’m alone. Completely alone.”

“Do you think you’re the only person doing something against their will?” he asks, surprising me.

“I’m the only Willow I see here.”

“Well, step back and look a little harder. You Willow’s only see things from one perspective: yours. That’s always been the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean not all of us want to be here.”

We both sit quietly for a minute until he stands.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’ll be fine.”

“Good night, then.” He walks to the door.

“Gregory.”

He stops. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“See, it’s not so hard.” With that, he walks out the door and I’m left alone in my room, the windows open to the clear night sky, alone with my bottle of wine.

Again trying to ignore the faint scent of him on the T-shirt, I use both hands to pour myself another glass, splashing some because even though the feeling is coming back, my arms are still weak.

I bring the glass to my mouth and drink a long swallow. I feel better for it and take it with me into the bathroom where I run a bath, pouring almost a full bottle of bubbles in.

After finally stripping off the T-shirt, I slide beneath the sudsy surface. I close my eyes as feeling slowly returns to my arms. I keep thinking about what Gregory said.

Who here is doing something against their will? Sebastian?

No. No fucking way.

I lay back, look up at the ceiling, follow the pattern of the molding. The scent of lavender makes me drowsy. I drink another sip of wine before setting the glass down on the edge of the tub and sliding both arms beneath the surface.

Sebastian is enjoying this. Enjoying my torment.

Gregory is wrong. He’s not doing this against his will.

He may have felt sorry for me after Lucinda caned me, or, more likely, he felt usurped