Sheltered(3)

I wish there was a way to stop her. To explain all of this to her and to have her understand. My mind is telling me to just take her and worry about the consequences later. But in my heart, I know she’ll hate me if I do. If she found out the truth she’d never trust me and would never be able to forgive me for it. Or maybe she wouldn’t understand, because even I wonder if I’d really only be taking her for myself and not just to keep her safe.

She’s lost in thought as I casually order a coffee and sneak a glance in her direction. She’s facing the gallery across the street and probably contemplating her first day. Is she nervous? Does she have something for lunch?

I curse myself and clench my fists. I can’t allow myself to have these thoughts. I want her, but I can’t have her. All I can do is make sure she’s safe. I know she doesn’t want this job. My girl is always doing what she thinks she should be doing and not what she really wants. I’d let her be whatever she wanted.

When I exit the coffee shop, I pause for just a moment with my hand on the door. It’s only for a second, but I think of what it would be like to sit and have coffee with her. The moment is gone before she can look at me and register it, and I walk out into the sunshine.

It’s a beautiful day, but the only thing I can feel is the hollow space in my chest as I put distance between us, not sure how much longer I’ll be able to last.





Chapter 2





Blair





“Hi, I’m Blair Rosewood. I’m here to meet with Lilith Marsh,” I say softly. The gallery is so bright and full of white marble that even the slightest sound echoes.

The receptionist who can’t be much younger than me nods without smiling as she slides her finger across an iPad.

“Lilith will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat.” Her British accent is so lovely it makes me feel super inadequate.

I walk across the marble as even my soft steps echo in the space. I might need to glue cotton to the bottom of my shoes so I can be quieter. Suddenly I feel like a bull in a china shop, and all I want to do is be still.

There are three modern-looking chairs near a white wall and I turn around to sit on one. Suddenly the receptionist is standing up and shouting at me so loudly that the sound is deafening. Her voice startles me, and I nearly fall over as she runs to where I’m standing and pulls me away from the chairs.

“Those are not for sitting,” she scolds, pointing at the wall.

I turn around to see a small card that has the information about this art exhibit and the name Campbell in block letters on it. My face immediately brightens with embarrassment and I try to apologize.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. This is my first day and I’m really nervous.” I’m thinking if I’m honest with the receptionist maybe we can somehow connect. I’m sure she was nervous her first day, too.

“I know it’s your first day. You’re the one who got the job over me,” she says, looking at me with disdain. “And anyone who knows anything can recognize a Campbell exhibit.”

She huffs as she walks away back to her desk. And now I feel like a jackass. Not only am I completely inept at this, but I took her job. I’m sure we’ll be great friends. I sigh and roll my eyes before I glance down at the art. I still think they look like chairs to me, but what do I know.

When I look over towards the door I came in, I see a row of actual chairs, complete with a table with books on it. God, I’m in idiot.

I take a seat and pull out my phone. There’s nothing new from Fritz, so I send him a text telling him I’m going to need a hug after my first day is over. I stuff my phone back in my bag and reach for a magazine in front of me. They’re all on art, obviously, and I take the opportunity to read about a new experimental art with electric current. The images of electricity searing the canvas are actually really beautiful. Before I know it, I’m finished with the article and I hear the loud click-clack of heels headed my way.

I hastily put the magazine on the table and straighten it before I stand up and meet the woman coming towards me. She’s tall and slender, maybe in her late forties or early fifties. Her jet-black hair has no gray, but it doesn’t look like she dyes it. It’s away from her face and braided in a knot at the nape of her neck, revealing a strong jaw and blood-red lips. Her dark-rimmed glasses hide her eyes, but I’m not brave enough to meet them with my own yet. She’s wearing all black, and that covers almost every inch of her skin. Her sweater is high necked, and the sleeves are long enough to cover the backs of her hands. Her trousers are wide legged like mine, but so long they cover her feet. I hear the click of her heels, but I can’t even tell what her shoes look like.

“You must be Blair.” Her Spanish accent is thick, but not at all warm.

“Yes, and you must me Ms. Marsh,” I say, extending my hand.

“Lilith,” she corrects, but not in a friendly way. Almost like she doesn’t like her last name. “Marsh is my ex-husband’s last name and keeping it pisses off his new wife. Follow me.”

She turns and walks without waiting to see if I’m behind her. I grab my bag and quick-step to keep up with her long legs. I’m trying to process all that she said but don’t have time to, as her long strides are hard to follow. She’s so statuesque and reminds me of Catherine Zeta Jones. I open my mouth to ask her how long she’s run the gallery, but she begins talking over my attempt.