Page 65 of I (One) (War of Roses 3)

Chapter 22

Whatever he aims to show me requires intruding on the small sitting room where Anna is cuddling with Eli. He’s nestled on her lap while she hums a song and runs her fingers through his hair. Spotting us, she stiffens.

“I can go,” I blurt, but she shakes her head.

“No.” She stands and gingerly sets the boy on the floor. “Mischa.” Her voice breaks, but she swallows and tries again. “I’d like to go for a walk, please.”

“Of course.” Mischa extends his hand to her and guides her to the doorway.

Looking back at Eli, Anna forces a pained smile. “You stay here, my darling. I’ll be just a moment, all right?”

Eli shrugs, wringing his fingers.

As they leave, I sit on the chair beside him. “My name is Ellen,” I say. Of all the ways to begin this conversation, it’s the only one to come to mind.

I wonder if Robert ever told him as much.

To my surprise, he nods solemnly and digs something from beneath the collar of his crisp blue shirt. His locket. Mischa must have returned it to him. With his tiny fingers, he pries it open and holds it up for my inspection.

I barely recognize the woman staring blankly from a small color photo. Angel, he called her? More like a ghost. Her blue eyes are lifeless, her face unblemished. I can’t even recall a time such a picture could have been taken—it’s as if my entire life before now has been a blur. Snippets of clarity in the midst of a nightmare.

But him…

I never forgot him, no matter how hard I tried.

Gingerly, I brush my finger along his cheek. It’s plump, sporting twin dimples and a ruddy redness. The boyish attributes soften the reality of his slender neck and elegant nose—Winthorp features.

Even now, a part of me half expects him to fade beneath my fingertips—this is all some cruel fantasy.

But he doesn’t.

Beaming, he points to a pile of objects strewn over the floor instead. Someone found him makeshift toys: a spoon, a small ball, and a porcelain figurine far too delicate to have been intended for use by a child.

“Watch,” he commands. Flopping onto his stomach, he smashes the spoon against the ball.

And I observe him for what feels like an eternity, my eyes watering.

Robert kept me caged for years, and despite Mischa’s insistence to the contrary, I don’t think I hate him for it. I can’t.

Because as cruel as he was, Ilethim use, and control, and manipulate me. I made myself numb to every bit of abuse and fed myself the lie that survival was worth it.

But this? My throat aches as I picture what life could have been like just for a second if I had Eli. I would have looked upon his innocent face and maybe I would have seen through the bars of my narrow cage for the first time. I would have known that no future was worth suffering an existence where he would see his father as a monster and his mother as a victim.

Holding Eli back then, I would have woken up from the dazed, nightmarish life Robert had accustomed me to.

And he knew it. Just like Mischa manipulates his own pawns across this ruthless gameboard, Robert maneuvered me and his own son as well. All in the name of leverage, and power, and winning.

But this is one game I can’t excuse him for playing.

And this crime deserves more than death as a punishment.

* * *

Anna and Mischa return far too soon, with Mouse in tow. Eli jumps to his feet when he spots the younger girl, and the two promptly dash into the hallway, playing a makeshift game of chase.

“Outside,” Mischa bellows and the children heed his command with him grumbling in their wake.

“Shall we make sure no one loses an eye?” Anna asks. For once, her small smile seems genuine.

---