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Genevieve’s POV
Four years. That’s how long it’s been since I last saw Edmund Louis in the flesh.
Four years since he shoved me into a pool and scrubbed me like a feral creature. Four years since I fought him like a cornered animal. Four years since he hit me, one sharp, controlled smack to the side of my head when I refused to bathe…
I deserved it, I can admit that now. Back then… I was every nightmare wrapped in teenage skin. But I am not her anymore. Now I can’t even imagine not showering twice a day, so how did I manage to go days without a bath?
The car slows at the gates of the estate, the iron bars parting like jaws welcoming prey as my heart hammered in my chest. The mansion rises in the distance, cold, glassy, too modern to feel like home, yet too familiar to be anything else.
Swallowing, I smooth my palms over my thighs. They’re trembling. Stupid. I shouldn’t be nervous. I’m not sixteen anymore. I shower daily. I have my passes, and I speak to people without flinching.
I even have fans online.
The driver opens my door, and warm summer air sweeps in, brushing against my hair. It’s long- far longer than he ever saw it. Thick, wavy, brushing nearly to my waist because cutting it off was something the terrified child version of me did… not the woman I’ve become.
I step out, my legs stretching long and graceful from the backseat. Years of ballet gave me legs for days, and college stress kept me slender. The diamond necklace he sent for my past birthday glints faintly at my throat.
He’s given me four so far- guilt for the slap maybe. Four reminders that he’s rich enough to make guilt sparkle. It’s not as if he ever celebrated my birthday with me. Or Christmas, New Year, Easter- nothing. Not even his own birthday- not that I even knew when it was to begin with.
Thanking Patrick, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and walk toward the front doors, suitcase rolling behind me, turning back nervously to glance at the black car I had arrived in, driving away. My fingers, long, slender, ring-ready fingers, everyone on Advance always comments about, grip the handle tightly. They all tell me how beautiful I am every morning when I do my ‘get ready with me’ routine, where I do my makeup and hair, then show them my outfit for the day.
The doors open before I reach them, and a new face greets me with a tiny furrow. “Ah, you must be Lilly. Come, let me take you to Mr. Louis.” He takes my carry-on and leads the way. I do not correct him on the names and follow behind after he introduces himself as Mr. Dales.
Nausea plagues me as we walk down the wide hallway.
Outside the oak door, Mr Dales gestures with his hand after knocking twice, then says in the same polite tone. “I’ll have Mrs. Bridge bring you refreshments, yes?”
“Come in.” Edmund’s deep voice vibrates my stomach from inside, and I feel faint. I owe this man everything I am. Everything I have achieved.
Nodding and offering a small smile, I try to will my racing heart to slow. Of course, I’m scared to see Edmund, thankful, nervous, overwhelmed… all of it tangled together. But Mr. Dales doesn’t know any of that. He just watches me, polite and expectant.
“Miss?”
Oh. He wants to know what refreshments I’d like. “Sparkling water?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
He blinks at me, almost startled, as if that’s the last request he expected. His gaze shifts away for half a second, and I suddenly realize this house probably doesn’t stock anything as frivolous as sparkling water. Heat pricks my cheeks. “Cold water is fine,” I murmur instead.
Smiling, he nods and leaves me standing outside the huge door. Gathering myself after a few seconds of blowing in and out, I enter slowly, swallowing again, knowing I needed the water Mr. Dale is bringing me- now.
Sitting behind his large desk, clear of everything but a few folders, a lit cigar in hand, is Edmund Louis.
My guardian.
Tall, broad shoulders filling a black shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms. His face is all sharp angles, handsome in a way that could cut. A face that would have women melting… am I doing so now? I mean, I knew the way he looked… but I never knew the way he looked…
His eyes land on me. Not past me, on me.
He takes me in from head to toe, a slight furrow between his thick, well-shaped eyebrows. One eyebrow ends thinner at the end than the other. His full lips part slightly as he blows out a cloud of smoke, taking me in. In all my life, I never felt the way I did now when he reads me with his eyes. My entire appearance. He lingers on my mouth, down slowly to my waist, lingers there a bit, then moves to lower to my heels. I am dressed in an armless suit-vest, with matching beige wide-leg pants and white two-inch heels on my feet, lined with a gold trim. My wrists are adorned with gold bracelets, and while one hand has rings on each finger, the other only has a single thumb ring. A diamond necklace is around my neck.
The appraisal is so direct, so masculine, that I stopped dead just inside the doorway.
His jaw clenches once. No greeting, no grunt, no dismissiveness like before. Just a slow, sweeping look that steals the air right from my lungs.
I speak first, because someone has to break this strange, heavy silence. “Hello, Uncle Edmund.” I have never called him uncle before this.
His eyes sharpen, something dark flashing through them at the word uncle. For a split second, his expression changes, just a fraction, but I see it. Edmund Louis had not recognized his own ward.
Did he expect me to be a dirty, angry teenager who wouldn’t bathe, after all these years?
The furrow deepens to a frown, and he outs the cigar in an astray, standing and staring now at my neck- the diamonds he paid for. As if he’s trying to reconcile two- the child he once manhandled into a pool, and the woman now looking him in the eye.
I swallow. Geez, I really need that water, Mr. Dales.
His voice, when it finally comes, is deep and rough. Not the voice I remember, that terrified me. “Gene? Come in,” he says, his chest puffing as he takes in a deep breath.
I’d only just taken a seat when a soft knock was heard, and again, “Come in,” comes from Edmund, whose eyes remain on me.
A housekeeper I recognise comes in with a tray, placing it and then a glass of cold water on the desk while speaking. “Your fiancée, Miss Lilly, should be arriving soon?”
This earns a frown from me because it’s as if she is warning me that he has a girlfriend. What a laugh. Standing, I each my hand out to her, “Hi, remember me? I’m Gene, Genevieve?”
The elder woman stares at me, gives me the once-over, and then a shocked expression covers her facial features. “Little Miss Gene?” Her wide, shocked eyes have me laughing. It’s similar to the man behind the desk. Were they all expecting a dirty, rumpled woman to show up? Because they knew I was arriving…
God, I’d been even more horrible than I remembered myself to be.
