Page 83 of Lamb

My glare dropped to where I’d had a part of her carved into my skin. Bold, black letters staring back at me in reverse. Little Lamb. So that every time she looked at me she was reminded that I gave her my name first and forever.

I wiped my face and tossed the damp washcloth into the laundry basket before turning around and headingdown the stairs of my childhood home. A world I was never allowed to be a part of and now owned.

It wasn’t just ironic. It was vindicating. That didn’t mean I liked being here. This house—these walls—haunted me just as readily as the woman in the well. My future mother-in-law, now that I thought about it…

I should have burned it all to the ground, forced Marisela to come live with me at Briarwood. But I wasn’t looking to trap her. I didn’twantto trap her. I was conserving her energy. Containing her. Until she accepted she couldn’t fight fate either.

By the time I had breakfast set out on the table, I could hear Marisela’s bare feet padding down the hall. Tentative, like she was afraid of what she might find when she turned the corner. Or maybe she was still looking for a quick escape.

She was out of luck if she was. Bugs had all the exterior locks set on a timer. I couldn’t even leave if I wanted to. Good thing there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Morning, princess. Sleep well?” I hummed as I poured her a large cup of black coffee. Dark and bitter, just like my girl.

I preferred cream in mine…just like my girl.

“What’s all this?” Marisela waved a hand around the table. She’d been too disgruntled to sit down and enjoy ameal with me last night. But I considered today a fresh start. For both of us.

“That’s breakfast, lamb.” I grinned. “I’m assuming you have heard of it?”

“It’s very…domestic,” she spit out the word as if it was painful to say.

“You should know I take my roles seriously by now.” I shrugged. “Doctor, teacher, husband… I don’t do anything in halves.”

“No, you don’t, do you… seeing as you are still one hundred percent delusional,” she muttered under her breath before dragging the dining chair forward and claiming a seat as far across the table as she could possibly get from me.

I set her usual sliced grapefruit in front of her, along with the sugar dish. Then turned on a heel and grabbed my own plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. Shifting everything over until I was seated next to her.

Her eyes flicked from the pile of bacon, to the piece of fruit. I would never deprive my girl. What I would do was show her that sometimes I knew what she wanted better than she did. And I would give it to her. All she had to do was sit back and let me.

She played with her spoon, watching me out of the corner of her eye as I plucked the crispiest piece of bacon from the top, twisting it between my fingers before lifting it to my face to give it a long sniff. It wasn’t thick or greasy. I’d taken the time to thinly slice it and set it out to drip dry. I opened my mouth, prepared to pop the entire thing inside,only to stop and offer it to her instead. My hand outstretched and the bacon hovering just out of reach of her mouth.

Marisela leaned forward and wrapped her lips around my fingers. Taking my breakfast with her before leaning back in her seat with a satisfied smirk on her face. Like she’d accomplished something when all she’d done was eat out of my hand.

“I meant it when I said I take marriage seriously, lamb. Whatever’s mine is yours. Always.” I grinned, but she wasn’t anymore.

97

MARISELA

“It looks like it’s getting infected.” I poked at the pustule bubbling up on my thigh until it popped open and started leaking onto the sofa cushion, then glared over at Adrian, who was fussing with the old record player in the corner of the sitting room. Trying to dust it off and get it to work.

While I had to admit the silence was stifling, I wasn’t sure a bunch of antiquated music coming out of a machine that was older than I was would be any better.

But he appeared more than content to try.

I shook my head and let out an annoyed huff. Clearly, his version ofplaying housewas different from mine. I pictured sharing a few lackluster meals over forced dinner conversations, fucking whenever we felt the urge, and then going on about our business as usual—albeit under more confined circumstances.

Hemeantfull-on lockdown. No television or internet. Outside contacts or devices. Fucker even went as far as to have someone block the Wi-Fi signal—pretty sure I knew whothat someonewas—so I couldn’t connect to my email if I tried.

I had tried. Because missing this much work might actually kill me before this infection had a chance to set in. My devices were like an extension of a limb, and yet no one seemed to notice I hadn’t answered them in days. Which told me all I needed to know about even my most loyal employees.

They didn’t give a fuck about who was behind the desk. Everyone was replaceable.

I felt a twinge of guilt, as my mind wandered to Emily, and quickly shoved it back down again. If my father taught me anything, it was that relationships were a liability. It was smarter to sever them before they could be used against you. The way he’d used me to keep my mother in line, then used her to do the same to me. I didn’t engage with people I wasn’t willing to lose. The occupants of this room included.

“I told you not to get it wet,” Adrian replied, his tone dry and obviously unamused.

“Probably should go to the hospital and see a proper doctor. Wouldn’t want to have to amputate a leg in such an unsterile environment, now would you, Dr. Lambert?”

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