Page 3 of Vain
My eyes drift from the lake, past Greyson’s vegetable plot and herb garden to the firepit below. As usual, someone has lit it and laid out a pile of manuscripts and a cozy blanket for me to snuggle up underneath. However, leaving the safety of my room is not something I do on a whim anymore.
Tugging down the long sleeves of my wine-colored Henley, I walk to stand in front of my mirror. I teamed the top with light gray yoga pants, which I put on for comfort over style. The same goes for the thick, slouchy cream socks. My dark hair is pulled up on top of my head in a messy ponytail, with lots of tendrils from me lounging on the bed, reading through the latest script rewrite. I’d have carried on if it weren’t for my stomach’s rumbling, breaking my concentration.
I curse that I need something more than snack foods. A trip downstairs is inevitable. I turn back to the mirror and stare at my top, imagining I have X-ray vision and can see right through it. My mouth pools with saliva, and my eyes flood with tears. I squeeze my hands into fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms before I spiral into a panic attack. Walking to the closet, I grab an oversized hoodie from the shelf and tug it on.
Feeling calmer now, I head to the bathroom and take my hair down, running the brush through it so it falls just past my shoulders. Once upon a time, I’d had hair down to just above my ass. It was heavy, and I often ended the day with a headache. I swore I’d have cut it off if it weren’t for the image my agency insisted I promote. And then, someone cut it, and all I wanted was to grab it back. I promised myself I’d grow it and never complain again. But now, after two years of nothing more than a trim, I think I’ve found a length I’m happy with.
“Okay, enough procrastinating, woman.” I take a deep breath and head toward the door.
I tug the door and sigh with relief when it doesn’t open. I tug it twice more before turning the lock. Once it opens, I walk out and slip into the role I was born to play—the role of Matilda Carson—a woman who is cool under pressure, poised, and regal in everything she does. Yeah, I might be dressed like a hobo, but if you wear confidence, people rarely take notice of the clothes—even if that confidence is faked.
I lock the door and check it. When it doesn’t open, I check it twice more before I relax enough to turn and head downstairs to the kitchen.
The house is quiet and warmly lit with lamps throughout, making the vast space seem a little more cozy. When I get to the kitchen, I sigh in relief when I find it empty. I go straight to the fridge and grin when I pull out a large tub of pesto chicken pasta with a sticky note on top.
If you don’t know how to reheat this by now, I’ve failed at life
Marley
PS
There is some Limoncello and raspberry semifreddo in the freezer.Take it out to thaw thirty minutes before you want to eat it.
“I love you, Marley,” I whisper before chuckling when I see the final part of the note.
PPS. I love you,too.
Marley and Greyson have been here since I was a baby. They had starring roles for the most important parts of my childhood, along with Valerie, my former nanny who moved to Washington when I turned eighteen. Man, I cried my freaking eyes out that day. I felt as if I was losing my mother because she’d been more of one to me than my own. Thankfully, she keeps in touch. When I see how happy she is in the photos she sends me, surrounded by her grandchildren, I know she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.
I grab the dessert from the freezer and leave it to defrost while I reheat the pasta, thankful that Marley and Greyson didn’t move on too. I know the last few years have put a huge strain on them, but they’ve been my rocks like always, never asking for more than I was willing to give.
“You gonna share?”
I whirl around with a shriek, grabbing a knife from the knife block and brandishing it in front of me as I take in the man staring at me from across the kitchen.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me come in.”
“Who are you?” I hate that there’s a catch in my voice. I hate it even more that he notices. He takes a step closer, so I grip the knife harder, ignoring how much I’m shaking.
“My name is Aiden Church. I’m the guard you hired from Price Security. I’m here to protect you.”
His face is filled with nothing but concern as I finally manage to open my hand and let go of the knife. It clatters to the counter, making me jump.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” I whisper, stepping back. Seeing this, he freezes where he is.
His eyes move over me, and something about it makes me blink back tears. Goddamn it. I’m so tired of feeling like an alien in my own skin. I replay that night two years ago when everything changed. Each time, I make a different choice. I’d leave at a different time. Say no to pushing through after the incident with my hair instead of saying yes. I should have run instead of trying to brave it out. So many should have, could have, would haves have left me cowering inside myself, ashamed of the mistakes I made.
I hate the man who did this to me for making me feel weak, but I hate myself more for letting him.
“Miss Carson?”
“Tilly, just Tilly is fine,” I manage to get out without my voice cracking.
“Tilly, pretty name. I’m Aiden. I really am fucking sorry for scaring you.”
“It’s fine. It was my fault for not realizing you were coming today.”
I jump when the microwave beeps and back up when Aiden walks around the counter toward it, sidestepping me before we make contact. He grabs the oven gloves from the hook and lifts the pasta onto the marble countertop.
