Wishing Well(64)

I spent the remainder of the morning furious with Vincent, so fucking outraged that I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t keep from pacing around the paths of the garden considering my next move.

It broke my heart to think of how he treated Maurice, to remember the pain I saw in that man’s eyes every time he felt rejected or lost control. What kind of life could a person lead when constantly drowning in embarrassment, in doubt, in sorrow? Not that my life was any better at the moment, but at least I’d experienced happy times I could think back on.

I’d had a family that loved me even if my father died and I hadn’t kept in contact with my mother and sister. And although Blake had eventually broken my heart and left me with nothing, I would never lose the years we’d shared together.

I’d experienced moments lying in the warmth of sunshine. I’d been allowed to laugh, to be silly, to dance and sing. I’d felt love expand my heart with both joy and sorrow, and I’d clung to friendships at times that had meant more to me than the world.

Even in the darkest moments, I could remind myself that there had once been light, and even when nightmares chased and it felt like I would break, I could escape into memories of happier times.

What did Maurice have to remember except a brother who kept him confined to a cage? When had he ever walked beneath the warmth of the sunlight? When had he ever looked a person directly in the eye and known that he was loved?

Suspecting Maurice had never experienced the best parts of life, I made a decision in my heart before it was ever an obvious thought in my mind. And when noon rolled around, the sundials hidden along the paths of the garden shaded just right, I found my way back to the hotel and retrieved Maurice’s lunch.

To say I was excited to return to the basement was a lie. In truth, I was once again terrified. Not because I thought Maurice would hurt me - although that act was always a possibility - but because I worried that I would hurt him. I’d never dealt with a person so sensitive, so distraught. I’d never had to walk on eggshells for fear that one wrong look, or a word spoken that could be taken the wrong way would break apart every bit of self-control a person fought to have.

Being a catalyst for Maurice’s rage, for his sorrow, and his lack of restraint, wasn’t what I wanted to become. But as I’d already discovered that morning, he had made me exactly that.

The elevator doors swung open to an entryway lit by candles alone, and it occurred to me that when his mind was mired in darkness, so too was his surrounding space.

Tapping drew my attention to the left hall, the sound pulling me to a room that was in perfect opposition to the rest of the basement where Maurice was trapped. And like yesterday at this time, I found him seated at his desk. Although not messy, the room was practically empty of many of the decorations and furnishings that had been here this morning. Sorry for having pushed him to a point of destroying a room it was obvious he preferred, I cleared my throat and forced a smile.

“Lunch is here. Where would you like it?”

His beautiful face tipped up to look at me, embarrassment staining his cheeks. “The table, as usual,” he answered, restraint obvious in his clipped words.

Crossing the room, my eyes caught sight of a few shards of glass he’d missed when cleaning the room. I simply stepped around them and said nothing. Setting the covered dish down on the table, I shifted my weight between my feet, not knowing what to do next. But rather than running away like my instincts were screaming for me to do, I turned and walked to stand in front of his desk.

Tap, tap tap...

His fingers over the keys moved quickly, and I wondered briefly what he did on his computer all day. Refusing to ask the question, I stood and waited for him to look at me again. When he did, I had to grip the side of my pants to keep from reaching out to wipe the lines of sorrow away.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” I asked, deciding that keeping our conversation contained to safe subjects was the best way to communicate with Maurice.

He nodded slowly, one small movement while his eyes watched me with suspicion.

“What did they send you? I never look beneath the cover, so-“

My voice trailed off, and suddenly I felt stupid for the ridiculously boring question.

“The usual,” he answered softly. Shaking his head, he added, “Bacon, pancakes, eggs.”

My stomach growled just hearing about food. With the anger I’d felt toward Vincent, I’d neglected to eat anything.

Maurice’s brows lifted above his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine,” I answered a bit too quickly. He cocked a brow and I laughed. The sound from my lips caused his mouth to crook with an unsure smile.

Realizing I liked being around him when he was calm, I scoured my thoughts for more safe subjects to discuss. “I was walking in the garden this morning after bringing breakfast to you. I like to lie on the swings and watch the birds fly overhead. It’s peaceful.”

The words were a lie. In truth I’d been storming around burning off the anger Vincent had driven deep inside me. But I wouldn’t admit that to Maurice.

“I don’t see many birds at night. I guess they’re all sleeping,” he responded, his words crushing my heart. This man deserved to explore outside while the sun was high and shining.

Turning to glance at his waiting food, I asked, “Did you want me to leave so you can eat?”