Page 286 of Chandelier Sin
The cottage was also empty, but unlike the desolate mansion, her sanctuary remained intact, as though the staff respected her too much to destroy her hideaway.
“Where are you?” I whispered, checking my phone for the millionth time for a message from her.
I scanned the living room and my gaze fell on the fluffy, white rabbit she’d asked me to watch over while waiting to be reunited with Eloise. She’d given it to her daughter when she went to stay with the Coles.
Picking it up, I turned the stuffed toy around, trying to fathom why she’d leave it behind when it was Eloise’s favorite.
Of course…
Eve was telling me where to find them.
It was close to midnight.
I’d been able to enter Atticus’ home thanks to this door key, the one I’d made a necklace out of by hanging it on a long chain around my neck.
Then I’d settled Eloise into bed.
Mia had offered to continue looking after Eloise, but I was ready to take care of my daughter again—be the mother she deserved, a loving, patient woman who would do anything for her.
And I had.
Curling my fingers around this token of kindness, I clasped the key tightly, grateful for this refuge. Sitting on his king-sized bed, I observed Eloise sleeping soundly, listening to her small breaths. I resisted running my fingers through her soft hair and accidentally waking her.
I’d checked his bedroom’s balcony door a hundred times to reassure myself it was secure.
“You’resafe,” I whispered.
We both are.
I’d never step foot in Pendulum again.
But Chrysalis…maybe that was a possibility.
Eloise loved it here.
Last time we’d stayed, before Cameron and Mia had kept her, she’d played in the sand and enjoyed herself so much.
Honestly, those two days with Atticus and Eloise had been the happiest of my life. Atticus and I had cooked together in his kitchen. He’d impressed me with his culinary skills, creating Italian masterpieces passed down from his grandmother, one of them a chicken fettuccini dish to die for.
We’d bathed together, too, both of us sharing a bath for over an hour, snuggling in the piping hot water, not wanting to separate.
We’d lived modestly and yet it had felt like the richest existence I’d ever experienced, offering a profoundness of healing after all that had gone before.
We’d taken long walks on the beach, with Atticus carrying Eloise on his shoulders when she became tired. It was a glimpse into the family life I dared not hope for.
Atticus may not have recognized it in himself, but he’d shown traits that had an incredible influence on my daughter. His patience and understanding, and his passion for righteousness, all reflected a good man.
I wondered how he’d feel when he found us here.
I’d already pushed our friendship to the brink, but I needed to know if what I sensed about us was real.
I loved him—of course I did. Who wouldn’t adore this remarkable man? But he had perhaps helped me because it was something he felt he couldn’t refuse to do.
Glancing up at the framed Banksy, I realized I loved Atticus’ complex side, too. His passion for life. His life-saving profession.
It was a sharp contrast to the killing fields I’d survived.
I once heard that friends and family can never understand why women don’t leave a bad marriage sooner. Even if there arechances to escape, taking that leap out of an abusive relationship is never as easy as it seems. It takes strength to rally the courage stolen from you over time.
