Her Wicked Heart (21 page)

“Look,” I say desperately. “I know you don’t think very highly of my family. Or anyone with money. But—”

“Is that what you think I’m upset about? The money?”

I tighten my arms across my chest. “I seem to remember some heated conversations in which you made your opinion on rich people very clear. Well, I don’t have money anymore. And I probably won’t for a long time.” My mind is reeling. In spite of my fear, I thought he’d get it. I thought he might see where I was coming from.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear anything I just said to you? It’s not the money. It’s the attitude that the whole world revolves around you. The idea that you can get away with whatever you want, at anyone’s expense, because of your name or the bills in your pocket. Did you ever once stop to think about the people who you were lying to?”

And there it is—the pain. In his eyes. In every rigid line of his body. This isn’t some fairy tale where the lowly cowherd reveals himself as a prince and carries his true love off to his castle to live happily ever after. This is the real world.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I say. “Or anyone. I know I lied about my name, but I promise, everything else I said to you was true. Every joke. Every opinion. All of it.”

“All of it? You didn’t tell me
half
of it.”

“You kept things from me, too,” I whisper. “You hid the truth about your family.”

“Yeah, I didn’t give you my life story. But I never lied about my name.”

“It’s just a name.”

“It’s more than
just a name
, and you know it,” he says. “But even if it were, you’re okay with the fact that I’ve been calling you by some made-up name when we were fucking?”

Fucking.
I flinch at the word.

“No, it’s not okay. I hated it. But I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s simple. You should have just opened your mouth and told me.”

It’s
not
simple. I don’t care what he says. I can’t believe I thought he might understand this. I guess I’m an idiot on top of being a selfish, lying bitch.

I can feel the panic coming on. Feel it snaking up my arms and legs. I’m breathing too fast. I need to get out of here. I turn around and go for my clothes, snatching them up piece by piece.

Behind me, Ward lets out a breath. “Come on, Addi—Louisa.” The name sounds strange coming from him.

“
Come on
, let’s what?” I hear myself say. It doesn’t sound like me. “Go over the ways in which I’m a terrible person? Don’t worry. I get it.” I pull my tank top over my head. “Forgive me for trying to open up to you.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Annoyed with myself for thinking you might understand? Screw it. I guess we’re more different than I thought. But don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.” Even as I say it, I curse myself for turning this around on him. I deserve it. I brought this upon myself.

“Don’t make this my fault. I’m not the one who lied.” He seems to have realized that I’m not going to sit back down, so he’s started reaching for his own clothes.

I throw up my hands. “I get it. I’m a terrible, selfish person. I lied about my name to protect myself and I didn’t think about how that might make you feel. I’m used to doing whatever the heck I want to, and that makes me no different than Carolson and anyone else who’s screwed you over.” There are tears running down my cheeks, but I can’t stop them. My heart is in my throat, trying to squeeze out my breath, but somehow I can’t shut up. “I’m a bitch. A horrible, self-centered bitch. I lie. I use people. And I’m used to getting away with it.”

I’m fully dressed now, and I turn and storm to the door. Ward calls to me, but I’m already on the stairs. Running.

It’s easy to run. It hurts, at the end of the day, but it’s easy. And it’s kind of a pattern for me.

I hate this place. I hate the people here. I hate the spa and the crafts cottages and those stupid cherubs that are everywhere. They seem to mock me as I run past, laughing at me and pointing with their chubby fists. How did I ever delude myself into thinking that coming back here would be good for me? That it would help me find peace? It was self-torture, plain and simple. A way to pay my penance for the things I’ve done.

But it’s over. I’m finished with it all. There’s no hope for me.

I don’t go back to my room. Instead, I let my feet carry me downstairs. My body seems to know what I want to do before my brain does. I find myself in front of a supply closet, and inside I find a can of the white paint they’ve been using to touch up the moldings.

My next stop is the formal dining room. I walk right up to the head table, plop down the can of paint, and look up at the portraits. My eyes lock on the one of Carolson. He’s wearing his usual plastic smile in this picture. His perfect mask, devoid of all real emotion. But maybe the photographer was extra gifted, or maybe it’s just because this image has been blown up to such a massive size, but I think I see something in his eyes, too—something proud and aloof. This is the man who destroyed everything. The man who took away my home. The man who screwed over Ward and his mother.

I turn and yank the lid off the paint can. I forgot to grab a brush, but that doesn’t matter at this point. In one motion, I turn and throw the entire contents of the can up at the portrait. It hits with a splatter, speckling me and the ground and the wall on either side. The paint runs in globs down across Carolson’s face, and it looks appropriately like a big wad of bird crap.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say in a mocking voice. “How does it feel? How does it feel to have the world shit on you?” I back away slowly, but even I’m not disturbed enough to think that a portrait might answer me.

I take the long way back up to my room. Now that I’ve defaced the portrait, I feel strangely calm. I’ve finally made the decision to pack my things and leave this place. I feel lighter already.

Part of me expects—hopes—to find Ward waiting for me at my room, but there’s no one there. It’s better this way, I know. Ward was just another distraction, wasn’t he? Another excuse to forget about the horrible things I’ve done. Now I’ve told him the truth, and his reaction was my answer.

Still, something in me aches as I throw my things in my suitcase. This was different. It wasn’t like it was with Ian, when I took comfort and gave nothing in return.

I’m crying again as I zip up my suitcase. But they’re quiet tears. I tell myself they’re washing away all of these confusing emotions. Getting them out of my system. I need to get away from here. Away from my memories and from Carolson and from Ward. I need to go somewhere where I won’t feel completely insane. Somewhere that won’t erode my sanity from the inside out.

I reach up and touch my cheek, feel the wet tracks left by the tears. If only it were so easy to let everything fall away. Let the tears carry my emotions away. Let the skies open and flood all the toxicity out of this house. I glance up at the ceiling. If only the rain could seep down through the roof and—

And maybe I can’t have rain, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get this place a little wet.

There’s a sprinkler in here. There’s one in every room—several in the larger ones. The sprinkler system was one of the many updates they had to make to the house to bring it up to code.

I don’t stop to think. My hair straightener is still on the dresser. I switch it on and look around for something flammable while it heats up. After a few minutes I find the welcome packet Mr. Haymore gave me on my first day stashed under the bed. I yank it out and rip off a piece of paper.

It’s a lot harder to set paper on fire with a straightener than I imagined it would be, but eventually it starts to smoke. The smell is awful, but I don’t care. I leap up onto my bed and hold the stinky, smoldering piece of paper right beneath the sprinkler.

Please, let this work…

It takes a few minutes, but finally I’m rewarded by the
fzzzz
of it coming to life. Water rains down over me. And if the system’s working properly, it should be starting to rain down in other places, too.

And right on cue, the fire alarm goes off. It’s so loud I wince and nearly fall off the bed, but I manage to get down without breaking my neck. I grab my bag and head out into the hall.

It’s chaos. People are shrieking, running out of their rooms in whatever they wore to bed. Some still look dazed and half-asleep, while others are wide-eyed and clutching prized possessions under their arms, trying to keep them dry. I walk calmly through them all.

But if I thought the employee hall was bad, it’s nothing compared to the madness occurring on the hall where they put all the press people. They’re just as confused as the staff members, probably more so, but most of them are still trying to get their equipment up and running so they can document this whole catastrophe.

“Where’s the fire?” someone shouts down the hall in complete seriousness. “Anyone know what’s going on?” These idiots are willing to charge headfirst toward a blaze for the chance at a good story.

Well, at least some of them are. It’s not hard to spot Asher among the crowd—he’s got a coat wrapped around what I’m assuming is his brand new fancy computer, but I suspect the sprinklers already did their damage. He looks
pissed.

I smile a little to myself as I pass. Karma’s a bitch.

And then I make my way down the stairs, ready for freedom.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Apparently, though, after I insisted on staying here against the advice of, well,
everyone
, the universe has decided that it’s not going to let me escape this place easily.

Staff members and journalists have already started making their way out of the house by the time I slip through one of the side doors. Some are looking up at the house with curiosity, still trying to figure out where the fire is, if there’s one at all. I spot Mr. Haymore (who’s almost unrecognizable half-dressed as he is) running back and forth, his face looking dangerously purple. And there are the Carolsons, standing together—and the look of dismay on Edward Carolson’s face is amazingly satisfying. I can only imagine the damage those sprinklers are causing right now. Carpet
s, furniture, decor—all getting drenched. Some of it will be completely ruined. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have to consider pushing back the grand opening for a few weeks or so.

I stroll right past them. Everyone’s too focused on the house to notice a single young woman walking down the drive toward the front gate.

But I’m not prepared for the very different kind of disaster I find at the entrance to the estate. The gate across the driveway is shut, as it normally is at this hour of the day, but there’s a car just on the other side. A man has stepped out of the driver’s seat, and he’s having a very heated discussion with a couple of the security guards.

It’s not until I get closer that I recognize the man. I freeze.

My brother’s here. Calder’s standing outside the gate, yelling at the poor security guards who appear to be trying to keep him off the premises. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize why he’s here. Why he’s insisting that the guards let him in. As if he senses my thoughts, he suddenly turns his head and looks right at me.

“Louisa!” he calls.

I don’t know what to do. It was one thing to decide to leave Huntington Manor, but to face my brother… Now? After what I just did? If Calder finds out… I don’t even want to know what he’ll do. He’ll freak. And I’ll end up doing the exact thing I was trying to avoid: dragging him down into my mess. I don’t want him to have to deal with this. He’s happy now.

As if in answer to that thought, the passenger’s side door of his car opens, and his fiancée climbs out. I think she calls something to me, too, but I’m still thirty yards away from the gate and I don’t hear it. The blood is rushing in my ears. My hands have started to shake. I was so close to escaping, but I can’t go out there. Not now.

There are footsteps behind me, and suddenly Mr. Haymore’s at my side. He’s out of breath.

“What the hell is going on here?” he says, waving toward the gate. He raises his voice. “Open those at once! The fire trucks are on their way!”

The guard looks from Calder to Mr. Haymore and beckons the latter one forward. My boss—
former
boss—makes an exasperated sound and marches toward the gate, but I stay where I am. My brother calls toward me again, but I can’t move.

I don’t hear the conversation they have at the gate. But I see the guard gesturing, my brother waving his arm. And then Mr. Haymore turns and looks back at me.

This is it
, I realize. It’s over. Mr. Haymore knows. My pulse is going crazy. I want to run away, back toward the house, but I can’t. I’m trapped between two disasters of my own making.

In the distance, I can hear the sirens of the fire trucks. Considering the size of this place, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve dispatched some cops as well.

My suitcase falls out of my hand, but I don’t bother to pick it up. I turn and I bolt across the lawn.

There’s a wall around the entire property, but there are places where it’s low enough to climb over—assuming you’re willing to get a few scrapes and bruises. I got more than my fair share as a kid. Unless they’ve refortified the walls, I should be able to get out now. That doesn’t solve the problem of me not having a car to get back to Barberville, but I’ll figure that part out later.

I’m halfway to the wall when I hear running behind me. I don’t risk a glance back to see how many guards I have on my tail. I just push myself to run faster.

But as I thread my way through the trees along the edge of the property, it’s clear I’m outmatched. My lungs are burning, and my body’s so exhausted from lack of sleep and nourishment that my limbs are trembling. I’m afraid my muscles are just going to give out. But it’s not until a hand reaches out and grabs me by the arm that I finally stumble and fall.

And then I fight. I kick, I scratch—but the guard is too strong for me. And then red-brown hair flashes before my eyes, and I freeze. The man on top of me isn’t a guard. It’s Ward. There’s a cut on his cheek from one of my nails, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

His eyes are hard. And darker than usual. I can only stare at them for a couple of seconds before breaking his gaze.

“I’m leaving,” I say, struggling beneath him. “Let me up.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes, by myself.” I give a jerk of my arm. “In case you didn’t notice back there, I caused a bit of a disturbance. Now let me go.”

But he doesn’t move. I shift my hips, trying to buck him off.

“Dammit, Ward, let me up!” I squirm again. “Or are you on their side now?”

“I’m not on their side,” he insists. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on here.”

“I set off the sprinkler system. My brother’s out front, and now Mr. Haymore knows who I am. I need to get out of here.”

He doesn’t budge. I watch the emotions shift on his face. Confusion, anger, surprise—they’re all there. And then his expression goes blank.

“Your car’s out front, isn’t it?” he says after a moment.

“Yeah, but so is my brother. And Mr. Haymore. And some cops, in a few minutes.”

Something flickers in his eyes and his hands tighten on my wrists. He stares at me for a long moment, his lips drawn into a hard line. He’s considering.

“Come on,” I say, wriggling beneath him again. “Please, just let me up. I need to go. Please.”

I don’t care how desperate I sound. I
am
desperate.

“I know I lied to you,” I continue. “I know you have no reason to want to help me. This is my fault. All of it. But… please. Please, just let me go.”

His eyes soften slightly, and his mouth parts. For a single breathless second I think he might even lean down and kiss me, but instead, he climbs off of me.

“All right
,” he says, helping me up.

Once I’m on my feet, I try to pull away from him, but he refuses to release my fingers. For a long moment, he just stares at me. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t utter a word, just continues to gaze into my eyes. Searching.

Finally he nods, as if he’s come to some decision.

“This way,” he says, then drags me through the trees.

I stumble after him, my hand still caught in his grasp. “Where are we going?”

“You need a way out of here, right?”

“Yeah, but there’s a place over here where the wall—”

“There’s more than one place where the wall is low. But there’s only one spot where there’s a car on the other side. We’ll need one to get back to Barberville.”

We?
Wait—

“How is there a car?”

“It’s mine.”

“Out here? Why isn’t it in the employee parking lot?”

“Well, that’s a bit of a story,” he says, still dragging me along. He must know I’m not about to let him leave it at that because he goes on. “Remember when I said my roommate kept kicking me out to have girls over?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Doesn’t exist. Never had a roommate.”

“What?”

“I’ve been secretly sleeping on the estate for a while now,” he says. “Carolson offered me a room, but I didn’t feel like taking any more of his charity than I absolutely had to. And then—well, it’s a long story. Just suffice it to say that I needed a place to stay, and I took advantage of an opportunity. Of course, I wasn’t really supposed to be here. And I didn’t want word to get back to Carolson or Haymore that my car was mysteriously hanging out in the employee lot all night—the other guys had it out for me as it was. So I found somewhere else to park it.”

“But it’s all trees out here.”

“There’s an old service road around the outside of the property,” he says. He looks over at me. “Shouldn’t you have known that if you grew up here?”

It’s the first reference he’s made to our earlier conversation about my true identity. I don’t know how to respond, except to say, “I didn’t really care about that sort of thing as a kid.”

Neither of us says another word as we make our way through the woods. His hand is still entwined in mine, and I try not to notice how wonderful it feels to have his skin against mine again. He might be willing to help me escape, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I lied to him. We had a few blissful nights together, but that was it. And we can never go back to the way things were.

Finally, we get to the place where the wall has crumbled a little. He helps me over the old stones, and if his hands linger on my waist a little longer than they have to—well, I’m probably just imagining it.

Sure enough, there’s a car waiting for us on the other side of the wall. It’s an older model with grayish-blue paint. Not exactly the set of wheels I expected Ward to have. But there are a lot of things I won’t know about Ward now.

I try to ignore the sadness in my chest as I hold out my hand for his keys. I can hardly bring myself to look at him, knowing it will end like this between us.

“No way,” he says. “I’m driving.”

I glance up at him. “You’re—”

“Driving. Go on, get in. We probably don’t have much time.”

“No,” I say. “I’m not dragging you into this. If you help me, they’ll think you were partially responsible.”

“It’s too late now,” he says. “I’m already in this.”

“It’s not too late. You can go back right now and no one will ever know.”

He doesn’t answer, but it’s clear he’s dead serious about this. He slides into the driver’s seat, pops the keys in the ignition, and starts the car.

“You in?” he calls out to me. “I’m leaving whether you’re with me or not.”

I climb into the car, but only because I know there’s no way he’s going to listen to me while I’m still standing awkwardly outside. “Look, I—”

He cuts me off with a kiss. It’s a deep one, wild and passionate and full of so many emotions it makes something shudder in my chest.

I pull back. “You can’t just—”

He kisses me again, harder this time. I try to protest, to insist that he’s being a complete idiot, but he won’t let me get a word in. He kisses and kisses me, stealing the words from my lips one by one. By the time he finally pulls away, I’ve forgotten all of my arguments.

His thumb drifts along the line of my jaw.

“I’m not going to let you go off on your own,” he says, and it’s clear from his tone that nothing I might say could change his mind. “This place was bad for both of us.”

He leans away from me, determination written all over his expression, and cranks the car into gear. I stare at him as he backs up the car. He’s really going to do this. Really going to leave with me. Even after all the crap I’ve pulled.

I wasn’t sure he’d forgive me for lying to him. And maybe he hasn’t yet. But if he’s here, it means he’s willing to try. He’s willing to give me the benefit of the doubt and trust that I can be a better person. That I’m more than the lie.

I’m not sure whether I deserve it or not. I’m not sure whether or not I deserve
him
, especially when he glances over at me and gives me one of those brilliant grins of his. Butterflies dance in my stomach. Maybe I don’t deserve him now, but I will. I’ll sort myself out. For him.

I don’t know what to say, but I don’t need to. His hand reaches down and finds mine as he steps on the gas.

I’m ready
, his fingers say to
m
ine.
Let’s run.

And we do.

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