16. Emily

Ataut silence hangs in the air, the engraved grandfather clock in the corner ticking louder with each passing second. Silas stands beside me, in his trousers, a haunted look in his eyes. I almost expect him to make a run for it, the way his gaze keeps glancing toward the grand, double doors. The afterglow of sex has curdled into something tense, uncomfortable, the space between us feeling more cavernous with each breath.

Its a kindness of sorts, him not outright bailing. Still, hes holding his breath, waiting for me to cut him loose. I should be kinder, but the resentment bubbles close to the surface. You can ditch, Silas, I say, voice sharp against the plush silence of the room. I get it. We wanted different things, happened to cross paths for a night. If this talk, this unloading you seemed so keen on, is too much …

He flinches, like the words are a slap. The vulnerability flashes across his face, gone in an instant, but it hits me hard. Damn. I watch his shoulders tense, the set of his jaw harden.

Think thats all this was? His voice is low, dangerous.

My stomach flips, but I raise my chin. Isnt it?

I see the exact moment resolve settles inside him. Some fight-or-flight decision I didnt even know was on the table. Guess it doesnt matter what I think, he says, the bitterness in his tone sharp enough to make me wince. He begins moving towards the door with a stride that speaks of a man ready to walk away and never look back.

My hunger, sharp a moment ago, turns into a knot of tangled emotions I cant name. Wait, I blurt out, the word catching even me by surprise.

He pauses, hand on the gold-plated doorknob, back towards me. The silence between us stretches until it becomes unbearable.

At that exact moment, I realize I need some food in my system before I can make any sensible words come out of my mouth. I dont want him to go, but if he stays, it has to be on his own terms.

Moonlight plays shadow puppets on the gleaming countertops, making me look twice as ridiculous as I must with my stomach rumbling loud enough to out-sing the crickets.

What are you thinking? Silass question reaches me from the doorway. Hes watching me carefully.

Just contemplating the absurdity of being forced to think when Im starving.

Way to go, Emily, paint yourself the helpless damsel. My inner critic sighs in despair.

He chuckles, a low rumble that does funny things to my pulse. In a second, the haunted look in his eyes is gone.

Lets go to the kitchen, he says.

We trail down the stairs wordlessly until we enter the mansions expansive kitchen. I look around me in despair. Can we just order takeout?

Silas snorts derisively. Madam, this isnt New York. Youre not getting takeout here at—a quick look at his watch later, and he releases a sharp bark of laughter—three a.m.

Then what do we do? I groan.

Caeleb is the chef, he admits. But I can make you a mean sandwich.

Ill take what I can get.

Then allow me to impress you. Silas waltzes towards the fridge, throwing it open.

I cant help but grin as he pulls out ingredients like a magician with strangely delicious tricks. Maybe its the hunger, but Silas cutting tomatoes with the focus of a surgeon is weirdly mesmerizing. The knife flashes, and I find myself watching his hands instead of the veggies.

Dont burn a hole in me, Princess, he teases, his grin widening. My cheeks flush in what Im sure is a ridiculous scarlet.

Shut up, I mutter, the retort lacking any real heat. Let a girl admire a well-made sandwich.

The sizzle of bacon fills the room, followed by the pop of fresh slices of bread, toasted to perfection, their surfaces steaming gently.

Silas builds the sandwich while I try, and fail, to look nonchalant. He has the kind of focused frown that makes him look ridiculously handsome, which is incredibly inconvenient right now.

Here you go, Your Highness, he announces, sliding the BLT across the counter. It smells like heaven and looks like a masterpiece fit for a king. Or a very hungry princess.

I grab it with the enthusiasm of a wild animal. The first bite is pure bliss, the bacon crunchy, the tomato a burst of summer. Oh wow, I moan, only half-joking. Seriously, make this again and Im never letting you go.

Silass eyebrows shoot up. Careful, someone might take you up on that.

A blush creeps up my neck again. Great going, Em. Make him run faster, although he doesnt seem eager to run, but whatever.

I shove more BLT in my mouth with gusto, pretending this isnt the most awkward yet delicious sandwich Ive ever had.

Silas pours us both grape juice. I had no idea how parched I was. I drink thirstily, sighing only when the glass is empty.

The food settles my complaining stomach, and a comfortable warmth spreads through me. Silas clears his throat, his usual teasing grin replaced by an unreadable expression.

So, he starts, a shadow crossing his eyes, you wanted to talk.

I know I have to take the first step here. The easy banter dries up. Dad, the house, the twisted mess of it all … its not exactly laugh-a-minute conversation material. But Silas, surprisingly, doesnt push. Just waits.

My dad … I begin, unsure where to even start. He was obsessed with, well, all of this. I gesture vaguely around the kitchen, and he nods. Always hankering for adventure, always gone. Makes it hard not to resent the giant house and … everything.

Yeah, Silas says, something tight in his voice. I hear you. Fancy digs aint the same as family.

I study him, the way his jaw clenches, the brief flicker of something dark in his eyes.

What is it? Whats behind this facade, this angsty, hot mess of a man?

Curiosity pokes at me. Bad family situation? I ask, cautiously.

Lets just say home was never a safe bet, he says, his tone shutting down further discussion. Foster systems great at teaching you not to trust anyone.

His words hit an unexpectedly painful chord. Loneliness is never easy, especially not for a child.

I cant imagine what you went through. I didnt deal with the same shit, but I had my own troubles.

Silas reaches for my hand from across the table. Talk to me about them.

I shrug. Theyre immaterial compared to yours.

He quirks a small smile at me. But Im not comparing. Sadness is sadness.

Suddenly, the words tumble out. When Dad was here, hed have good moments. But he was the absentee parent most of the time, leaving Mom to play bad cop. Mom … I stop, then choke a little. She was the one always left with the mess. The broken promises, the … aftermath. Makes it hard, yknow, to have a normal relationship.

Dont I know it, he mutters, staring into his grape juice like it holds the secrets of the universe. Growing up too fast, having to be the adult when youre still a kid … messes you up good.

Its a heavy silence, loaded with things neither of us will unpack fully. Yet, somehow, it doesnt feel suffocating. Just … shared.

I want to know more about his history.

How many … I falter, then start again. How many families?

His knuckles turn white as he grips the tables edge. Too many. Some were just overworked, barely keeping up. Others … he trails off, then forces the words out, Others saw a scrawny kid as an extra pair of hands they didnt have to pay. Or worse.

My stomach churns. Silas … I reach out, wanting to offer comfort, but the words feel hollow. What can I possibly say?

There was this one guy, he continues, his voice a strained monotone, as if hes reciting a story hes told too many times. Big, burly, always smelled of stale beer. Hed smile real wide, promising good food and warm beds. His hands clench into fists.

The air between us crackles with unspoken horrors. I swallow hard, my throat tight. Im so sorry … Platitudes feel useless in the face of his pain. Silas, I whisper, squeezing his palm tightly. You … to think you picked up from there and came so far.

He shrugs, a heavy movement. Well, I figured I needed to take care of myself along the way. Im not good at backing down. That familiar smirk flickers back, but its brittle, unconvincing.

He pushes his chair back, breaking eye contact. Think I need some air.

I stand up with him. Silas, you shouldnt drive back tonight, I say as leave the kitchen. Its too late, especially after that meal.

Silas turns, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Worried Ill fall asleep at the wheel, little fox?

The endearment is unexpected and sweet. I smile. Worried youll become a permanent fixture on my couch. I shoot him a teasing look. Come on, lets watch a movie.

My cinematic taste might disappoint you, Silas says, a hint of his usual grin returning.

I once survived an entire marathon of those nature documentaries with talking penguins, I retort, stepping inside. I think I can handle anything.

He knows his way around the mansion, I notice. Theres a room here thats devoted to movie nights. Im surprised Dad left it intact after we left. Silas and I go there together.

The room is spartan, the contrast with the rest of the mansion stark. Its tidy, almost impersonal, like a hotel room left untouched. I try not to focus on the ache in my chest.

Alright, lets see what horrors we can find. Silas clicks around on the streaming service, eyebrows raised in mock horror at the selection. We settle on some ridiculously over-the-top thriller, the plot so nonsensical it becomes hilarious.

Midway through the movie, he shifts beside me, his arm brushing mine, and a shiver runs down my spine. Cold? he asks, his voice low.

Maybe a little, I admit, even though the warmth radiating from him is making me feel anything but chilly.

Silas stands, moving with fluid grace. Wait here, he murmurs. He returns with a soft throw blanket, draping it over my shoulders with surprising gentleness. Better?

Much, I whisper, my gaze snagging on his hands, strong and sure. Suddenly, the ridiculous B movie seems far less interesting.

So, he says, sinking back beside me. Want to listen to more stories about the oddity that my life has been? Theres a challenge in his tone.

Only if you want to talk about it, I answer softly. You dont have to.

Hes silent for a long moment, then lets out a ragged breath. There was this one woman … he begins, his voice rough.

My hand finds his, offering silent support. His fingers lace with mine, the grip surprisingly tight. He talks, and with each story, with every painted bruise and unspoken fear, my respect for this guarded man deepens.

Hours bleed into the soft darkness, the movie long forgotten. Silas sleeps finally, his head coming to rest on my shoulder. The simple gesture fills me with warmth, but also a sharp stab of foreboding. Ive spent a lifetime watching people leave, a lifetime guarding my heart. Yet now, watching Silass chest rise and fall, a fierce protectiveness washes over me.

Fear wars with a strange sense of hope. Floras words echo in my mind—sometimes, you have to wait out the storm. Just maybe, I wouldnt have to weather this storm alone, if only I was brave enough to try.

Am I?

Sunlight paints the room in soft gold as my phones shrill ringing shatters the peaceful silence. My stomach drops as I recognize the agencys number. I glance at Silas, still sound asleep, his face relaxed for the first time since Ive met him.

Hello? I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

Emily, darling, its Brenda. My agents cheerful tone clashes with the heavy feeling in my chest. Weve got fantastic news! Youre booked solid. Shows in New York, Paris, Milan. Youll be back on the runway before you know it! You need to get your ass back to New York immediately.