Chapter 7 7

Within an hour, Bella's belongings were moved. Not to the servants' quarters, but to a guest suite in the main house. It was luxurious, filled with cream-colored furniture and silk drapes, but the location was the problem.

It shared a wall with Adonis's master bedroom. There was a hidden door in the paneling connecting the two rooms.

Bella sat on the edge of the king-sized bed. She felt small. The maids who had brought her things had looked at her with a mixture of envy and disgust. They thought she had seduced him. They thought she was sleeping her way to safety.

If only they knew.

The hidden door clicked. It swung open.

Adonis stood there. He was dressed in fresh clothes, a dark grey sweater and slacks. He held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand.

"Come," he said.

Bella followed him into his room. It was vast and dimly lit. He sat in a leather armchair by the window and pointed to the floor beside him.

"Sit."

Bella sat on the thick carpet, hugging her knees. "What do you want?"

Adonis rubbed his temple. A flicker of pain crossed his face. "The noise is coming back. It's distant, but it's there." He took a sip of whiskey. "Talk."

"Talk?" Bella asked. "About what?"

"Anything. Just make sound."

Bella stared at him. "You threw an ashtray at me for making sound earlier."

"Your voice," Adonis said, his eyes closed. "It's... different. The frequency. It doesn't hurt. It covers the ringing."

He gestured impatiently with his glass. "Go."

Bella swallowed. Her mind went blank. What do you say to a man who holds your life in his hands? She looked at the pattern on the rug. She started reciting the only thing she knew by heart.

"Lavandula angustifolia," she whispered. "Common lavender. Used for sedation, anxiety, insomnia. Mentha piperita. Peppermint. Good for headaches and nausea. Valeriana officinalis..."

She listed the botanical names, her voice soft and rhythmic. She watched Adonis. As she spoke, the tension in his shoulders dropped. The line between his brows smoothed out.

He reached out, his hand finding her wrist. He didn't pull. He just held it. An anchor.

Bella kept talking. She moved from Latin names to describing the process of drying herbs. She talked about the way the sun hit the drying racks in her grandfather's shop. She talked until her throat was dry and her voice rasped.

She stopped.

Adonis's fingers tightened on her wrist. "Don't stop."

"I'm thirsty," she whispered.

He handed her his glass of whiskey. She took a sip. It burned going down, but it wet her throat.

She continued. Hours passed. The moon rose high outside the window. Adonis's breathing deepened. He was asleep in the chair, his hand still clamped around her wrist.

Bella tried to pull away. His grip held fast. Even in sleep, he was strong. He needed her there. Not her body, not her mind, but her presence. She was a human white-noise machine.

She rested her head on his knee, exhaustion overtaking her. She was the only thing standing between this man and madness. It was a terrifying power to hold.