The next morning, Kent is working in his office when a knock comes at the door.
“Come in,” he calls, hardly paying attention.
The door creeks open but no one says anything. Annoyed, Kent looks up, ready to tell whatever captain or guard was coming to report to get on with it and stop wasting his time.
To his surprise, though, Fay stands in the doorway. Kent leans back in his chair with a smirk, curious. What on earth could she want now?
“Yes?” he asks.
“Um, can I come in?” she says, anxiously playing with her hair.
“I already told you to come in, Fay,” he says evenly. Annoyed, she drops her hair and takes two steps into the room, pushing the door closed behind her. Then, she leans against the wall, a little afraid.
Like a kitten in a tiger’s cage. Kent can’t help but smile at the sight of her.
Today she’s wearing brown riding boots over tight jeans, a green cashmere sweater on top. The green brings out the cream of her complexion, the fire of her hair. As he knew it would.
He’d selected the sweater for precisely that reason, had it sent up to her room with the housekeeper.
She starts to play with her hair again, and Kent decides that he likes it down better than up. He makes a mental note to tell the housekeeper to leave it down more often.
“Yesss…?” Kent prompts, impatient.
“I just wanted to talk. About last night.” She hesitates again. “Is it safe to talk in here? About…”
He sighs and gives her a little glare. “Yes, Fay. Go ahead.”
“I just wanted to offer, again, to help. In whatever way I can. I’m happy to offer my services.”
“Your…services,” he says, letting his eyes rove over her body as much as they want to, deliberately trying to be lewd. If he embarrasses her, she’ll give up, he thinks. As she’s done before.
She blushes deliciously – he feels a stirring within himself, watching her squirm – and then stands up straight.
“You know what I mean, Kent,” she says. “I could council you, offer some therapies.”
“I don’t need those,” he says, looking back to the papers on the desk as if they’re more interesting and important.
“We could just try,” she says, frustrated. He smiles and looks back at her, liking the fire he sees in her when she gets pissed off. God, but he loves to stir that fire.
“Why are you pushing so hard for this,” he asks, leaning back in his chair, studying her. He’s genuinely curious. Is she trying to get one over on him, use her new knowledge to her advantage?
She shrugs. “I just want to help – that’s why I got into counseling to begin with. I like to…help people. ”
“Well that’s nice, Fay, but I don’t need help,” he says, perfectly calm.
“And maybe –“ she continues, her voice rushing now. “If I were able to help you – to give you something – maybe…maybe you’d respect me more. Stop belittling me,” she says, frustrated, looking back down at the floor.
He can’t help the deepening of his smile. Take away his favorite new hobby? He didn’t think so.
“Thank you for your offer, Fay,” he says, “but again. No.”
With that, he turns back to his papers, deliberately ignoring her until he hears her sigh and open the door to leave. As he hears her move through the door, he glances up to catch one last glimpse before she shuts it.
Those tight jeans were a good choice, he notes. He’ll repeat that fashion choice again.
As Fay leaves, Kent turns his attention to the screen on his computer which holds all of the surveillance footage in his house. A few clicks allow him to focus the cameras on her, following her path as she goes back up the stairs towards her room. She surprises him, though, by passing her room –
Continuing down the hallway –
Stopping at Daniel’s room. Kent gives a little hum of interest, leaning back in his chair as he watches her tap gently on Daniel’s door.
His son answers and smiles at her, inviting her in. The girl disappears inside.
Kent stares at Daniel’s closed bedroom door, working to deny the jealousy that’s roiling in his gut.
Not giving himself a chance to think about it too much, he leans over to the intercom on his desk, pressing number 8 for his own bedroom. “Fiona?” he says.
A few moments later, she answers. “Hey baby,” she purrs.
“Can you come down to my office, please?”
Fay flops down on Daniel’s bed, sighing.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting on the edge next to her. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she murmurs, looking around. The room is tastefully decorated in shades of brown and green that match Daniel’s eyes, but there’s very little personal decoration – not much that seems like Daniel himself has chosen it.
“What do you guys do all day, here?” She asks, suddenly wondering about Daniel’s life as an only child in a mafia family.
He shrugs. “I mostly stay in here,” he says, nodding to his computer and the several bookcases full of texts against the far wall. “I keep busy.”
“Don’t you get bored?” She wonders, sitting up.
“Of course,” he says, laughing a little. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Do you ever get to leave?” She asks, studying her handsome fiancé.
“Of course,” he replies, laughing. “Don’t forget, you met me outside of this house, so, that’s evidence of that.” He hesitates, realizing the direction of her questions. “But we can’t leave now. Not for a while. Not until things are more…settled.”
Fay sighs, disappointed, and falls back against his pillows.
“It’s not always going to be like this,” he murmurs, sorry that she feels so discontented. “Once everything dies down, once we’re married, we’ll have like…complete freedom. We can go back to the bookshops…maybe to Paris…” he gives her a shy smile, knowing she’d love it there.
She gives him a little half-smile in response, but he knows she’s not content with what he’s offering.
“Come on, Fay,” he says, scooting closer to her and taking her hand. “Some people would kill for what we have. We actually like each other’s company and we have all the money in the world at our disposal. Soon you’ll be one of the richest, most powerful women in this city, Fay,” he says temptingly.
Fay glares at him a little. “Sure, I can have whatever I want, except, you know, the freedom to leave this house. A marriage to someone who loves me.”
Daniel tilts his head, truly wanting to make it better. “I love you, Fay. In my own way.”
She sighs, knowing he means well.
“I just don’t care about all of this, Daniel,” she says. “I don’t care about this wealth and power that everyone thinks is so important. Plus, you’re forgetting the fact that all of this wealth and power come with the heavy pricetag of violence.”
Daniel screws his mouth to the side, admitting, silently, that she’s right.
“Don’t you want to choose your own lover?” She asks, leaning forward eagerly. “Instead of being assigned one?”
He hesitates, squeezing her hand. “I kind of did pick you, Fay. And you picked me. Even before I knew we were ‘assigned.’”
She sighs, taking her hand gently from his. “Yeah, but that was before I had all the information,” she murmurs. Back when she thought he was Prince Charming, not the heir to a mafia cartel.
“I’m going to be a good husband to you,” Daniel murmurs, really meaning it. He always knew he’d get married to a woman, and even if he knew it wouldn’t be a sexual relationship – or even one in which he was faithful – he had always hoped it would be to someone like Fay. His best friend.
Fay flicks her eyes to him, full of doubt. “But what kind of wife would you want me to be?” she asks softly. “Would I even be able to pursue my career, which means so much to me?”
Daniel hesitates. He knows, frankly, that the answer is no – his wife would be expected to stay home, manage his social affairs, raise their kids. But he also knows that saying that aloud right now isn’t going to make this any easier.
Intuiting his response, Fay sighs again. “This isn’t what either of us really want, Daniel,” she says, speaking the truth for both of them. “But somehow, you’ve just…given in to it. I feel sorry for you.”
Her words are like a knife to his heart. Fay Thompson, this poor, delicate, timid girl, feels sorry for him?
God he must be so pathetic. He hangs his head.
“I’m sorry, Fay,” he says softly. “I’ll do my best to make you happy.”
Fay moves until she’s sitting next to him, putting her head on his shoulder. “And so will I. When I go, Daniel, I’m not going to leave you behind.”
He looks at her, then, realizing that she still plans to escape. He doesn’t burst her bubble.
But deep down, he knows it’s impossible.