When Claudia opened a glass door that led out to a balcony, I followed with relief. I sucked in silent gulps of air as she gazed over the grounds. I thought it was odd that she wasn’t saying anything, since she was the one who’d kidnapped me, but I was certain the solace of silence was not something she would afford me for very long.
“So... Mitch finally told me the truth,” she said, disturbing the peace. “I know you and Nick aren’t really married.”
My stomach dropped into my shoes as my mouth simultaneously ran dry. I certainly didn’t expect her to say that, and I was sure Mitchell would never tell her. Then again, why does she even care? After all, it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that her marriage into the Hunter family was nothing but a complete and utter sham, so it made no sense that she would have anything to say about mine being a similar fabrication.
“Oh...” I bowed my head to my chest and stared at the ground, searching for some sort of viable response. “Yeah, I suppose we should have told you ourselves at lunch. It’s kind of complicated, so—”
“No, I think it’s good,” she interrupted suddenly, nodding to herself and staring at something just over my shoulder, as if she either couldn’t or wouldn’t force herself to meet my gaze. Her voice was no less commanding when she spoke again. “Yes, it’s good. It’ll be good for him.”
Wait. Good for him? Gosh, she’s really taking this whole stepmother thing pretty damn seriously.
“You calm him,” she said quietly. “You make him...gentler, turn him into a better person. He needs to learn those skills before he takes control of the company, and he certainly needs to master them before he finds a real wife.”
Yeah, he needs to... Wait. What!?
My face paled, and my mouth fell open in shock. I was sure I couldn’t have heard her right, sure there had to be some other explanation. I searched her eyes frantically for any sort of wiggle room, any other interpretation, but in the end, I came up blank.
In an instant, her plastic smile faded, and the breathy, girlish quality of her voice sharpened into something lower, something hard and almost sinister. “Don’t look so surprised, Abby. Did you think you are the only one playing the game?”
“I’m sorry?” I shook my head slowly, legitimately trying to keep up. “What are you—”
“In a way, you should actually be thankful to me,” she continued, speaking plainly for the very first time.
“Thanking you? For what?” I demanded.
“Who do you think is responsible for you guys getting together? Who do you think hired that photographer in the first place?”
My eyes widened even more, but this time, I was temporarily speechless. When I found my voice again, I could only speak one word: “You?”
For an answer, she just grinned at me and nodded.
“You hired the photographer?” I said, my voice trembling more with every syllable.
When she said nothing to deny it, my head jerked sharply to the side.
“No! That’s impossible. I mean, how would you even—”
“Oh, come on,” she snapped sharply. “You were a publicist, Abby. Did you really think a lone cameraman could have sneaked through all the security Nick hired for the event? You know better than that. It never would have happened without help, not a chance in hell.” Before I could say anything more, her eyes softened suddenly as she considered her own words. “On that note, I have to hand it to him. The guy is much more careful now that you’re in the game, even protective. I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Who the fuck is this woman? I wondered, completely lost in her little world. Is it possible that she, not Mitchell, has been causing all this heartache, all this pain?
“But why?” I shook my head desperately, considering calling for help, screaming out for Nick to rescue me. “Why would you do that? Who are you?”
Again, she refused to answer. Instead, she looked me up and down, her sharp eyes taking in every detail before narrowing with dislike. “I surely didn’t expect Nick to enjoy himself. I assumed he might feel...trapped, in time, but I should have known he would fall for you,” she muttered, almost to herself. “You happen to be exactly his type.”
“Nick doesn’t have a type,” I answered in a whisper, inching my way back to the door. I had no idea why the psychopath felt the need to unleash her confession on me, but I wasn’t a priest, and I had no obligation to stick around there long enough to find out.
She threw back her head and led out a cold
laugh that was the stuff of every nightmarish evil stepmother in every child’s fairytale. Casually, she stepped into my path and argued, “Of course he has a type, dear, and a very specific one at that. Nick likes beautiful women—not just sexy and hot but beautiful, delicate, a woman he can hold on to, charm, and protect.”
“But I—”
She spoke in a soft monotone, sounding oddly practiced, as if she’d thought about it many times before, even though they supposedly just met. “Yes, he likes girls like that,” she continued, still looking me up and down, “but he can only love a girl he considers his equal, and since he’s never stayed with anyone else, he obviously feels that equal is...you.”
I took another step back, desperate to create a little distance. The soles of my bedazzled flats pressed against the stone balcony, and I let out a silent prayer. Please, Nick, come and find me. Mitchell? Harold? Gosh, please, please send someone here to rescue me from this crazy woman! I didn’t care who it was; I just hoped someone in a need of a little fresh air would wander onto the balcony at that moment.
When that prayer was not answered, I dared to ask, “Why are you telling me all this?” My voice trembled again, despite my attempts to make it strong. “Why did you bring me out here?”