Initium (Nocte Trilogy #2.5)(8)

Days pass, then weeks, then months.

They blend into each other, every second into the next, and so on and so forth.

Richard is cold and unyielding. He spends hours away from Whitley, and when he comes home from wherever it is that he’s been, he showers and comes straight to bed. We share a bed, of course, but we don’t touch. He sleeps on one side, I sleep on the other, and we’re strangers.

That’s fine with me.

The halls are cold and echoing, and the servants glance at me. I see the knowingness in their eyes as my belly swells. They’ve known Richard since he was small. They know what he is, they know his preferences, and they know for certain that he doesn’t prefer me. They know that my child isn’t his.

I can’t help it when my cheeks flare scarlet when they stare.

I try to hold myself up like the Savage that I am supposed to be, but it’s more difficult than I ever thought. To act with such entitlement, with such arrogance. It’s not me, and it never will be. Lord help me, I don’t want it to be my son, either.

Mr. Savage hasn’t come home, and I don’t know where he is. I want to ask, but one doesn’t ask questions here. If Eleanor wishes you to know something, she will tell you. If not, then you’ll never know.

Everything is strange and foreign to me, and I hate it.

I hate it.

My child kicks against my hand, and in spite of myself, I smile. He is the one bright spot in my day, and he’s very active in my belly. He gives me constant reminders of his presence and I take great comfort in that.

No matter what happens here, my baby is alive and well.

They can’t take that from me.

I walk along in the rose gardens, and I inhale their sweet scent. They smell pure and innocent and heavenly, and the scent transports me from here, from this toxic, evil place, to a better place. A place where Phillip might be.

I allow my mind to drift and create and dream, and that is where I find Phillip.

He lounges against my bedroom window, and he waits for me.

His eyes twinkle and dance, black black blacker than night, and I reach for him. He pulls me close, and my belly comes between us and he laughs.

“Our child grows,” he whispers into my hair, and kisses my face. “That is good, Livvie.”

I laugh because it’s true. My body is nurturing our baby, giving it life, carrying it safely concealed. It’s a miracle, and that makes me a bringer of miracles.

Phillip nods as though he can read my thoughts.

“It is a miracle,” he says. “You are my miracle, my heart.”

“Stay with me,” I urge him. “Don’t go. I miss you.”

And I do. I miss everything about him. His scent, his smile, his fingers, his arms. Those things are all mine, and I want them always.

His smile is sad now. “I wish I could stay, my rabbit. But I cannot. We have this moment.”

He kisses my neck, then my breasts, then takes my body with his own. It’s fiery and hot and possessive, and then he’s gone.

And instead of daydreaming in the rose garden, I wake up in bed. I have no idea how I got here, with the sheets clenched around my fists.

“Why are you up?” Richard snaps from the other side of the bed. “Stop moaning.”

I was moaning?

My dream was so real. I thought I’d been daydreaming.

But when I pull my hand to my mouth, I catch a whiff of Phillip, and I’m gob-smacked. My imagination is strong. That much is certain. Nonetheless, I go to sleep with my fingers tucked under my nose, so that I can breathe in the smell of my Love.





* * *



Night after night, I dream of Phillip.

As my belly grows, my dreams get stronger, and longer. They last all through the night, and because of that, I never want to get out of bed. I want to stay in my sheets, because that is where Phillip is.

“Get up, you lazy wench,” Richard finally tells me one morning. “Everyone is talking.”

“I’m pregnant,” I tell him. “I have an excuse. I don’t feel well.”

“I don’t care how you feel,” he says coldly. “You should’ve thought of that before you opened your legs.”

I look away and grit my teeth because I have no defense. He leaves and for a brief second, I wonder where he goes every day, does he spy on Laura? Does his visit brothels to contain his lust? I don’t want him to think that I care, so I don’t ask. He wouldn’t tell me anyway.

I lie back down, my cheek pressed into my pillow. My mother is due to visit with me today, and sure enough, before I get settled, she breezes into my rooms, a basket of things in her hand.

“How are you today, my love?” she asks, and I watch her assess me, her eyes taking in my state. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like a prisoner,” I tell her honestly. “I hate it here.”

“Are you still dreaming of him?”

I’d told her of my dreams last week, and she’d been so very interested. I nod.

“Yes. Every night.”

“And this brings you comfort?”

My mother waits.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Does he speak to you in these dreams?”

“He says many things,” I tell her honestly. “So many things.”