CH 11: Please

I cried until there was nothing left.

Not the loud kind. The kind that comes in waves, dries on your face, then starts again when the house goes quiet. I stayed in bed with the curtains half-drawn and let the day pass without me.

Servants knocked. I ignored them.

When my phone screen lit up, I scrolled through names like they belonged to strangers. Susan. John. Mara. Aunt Ileana.

Then *Maa*.

My thumb hovered. I could almost hear her voice already, calm and sharp, telling me to stop making everything about myself. I locked the phone and pressed it to my chest until the urge passed. Fresh tears came anyway.

The painting was still on the floor.

I sat in front of it for a long time. Ugly strokes. Crooked lines. The thing I had made when New York felt like punishment. Looking at it now, something else cut through the ache. Not hope exactly. Direction.

A room of my own. Light. Space to draw. Charity auctions later, if I could make anything worth selling. Something that did not belong to Sam, or my parents, or this marriage.

Evening came. Hunger arrived rough that I was so nauseous and weak. I had ignored every call to eat.

I opened the door and spoke to the first servant I saw.

"Clean the room but leave the painting."

To another: "Prepare something light. I'll eat downstairs."

Then I walked.

The east side of the property opened into a path lined with tall hedges. Behind them sat a separate building, close enough to reach on foot, far enough that the main house felt like another world. Large windows. A wide room I could already picture filled with canvases.

A man in staff uniform was locking a side gate.

"Clear that building tomorrow," I said. "Everything. I want it empty by afternoon."

He nodded quickly. "Yes, Madam."

I went back toward the dining room.

Benedict was already there.

One plate. A glass of water. Sleeves rolled. He looked up when I entered and did not smile. He just looked at me, like he had been waiting and was trying not to show it.

Smug hot jerk.

I sat across from him. Avoided his eyes. Ate in silence because my stomach had started to hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while. "For this morning. For Sam."

I lifted my gaze.

The softness in his face undid me. Not pity. Something worse. Care, unhidden. My eyes stung again before I could stop them.

"How did you know where I was?" I asked. I needed to clarify if I was just bad in running away or they were all stalking me.

He hesitated. Then he moved closer, chair scraping, too close for a dining table that size.

I shifted back.

"Sam already left," he said.

"This late?" my brows nearly connected.

He nodded.

I glanced around. No staff in sight. When I looked back, his eyes were on my mouth. For one reckless second I wanted him to close the distance, to kiss me across the table the way he had in that bar. He didn't.

"Your family and mine planned the wedding for months," he said. "I was angry. And sad. I wanted to talk you out of it. That's when I realized you didn't even know."

"The painting," I said.

He exhaled.

"You always loved the fluier. And painting. After you left, I tried to find you. I kept looking until I did from a social media post from Susan. One time when she sold you guys old stuff, I got the painting from her when she tried to auction it out." His voice dropped. "I cared about you. When I found out they were giving you to Sam, I felt betrayed."

I cut him off.

"You stalked me and YOU felt betrayed? Or I was being sold off and YOU felt betrayed?"

His jaw tightened.

"I wanted to say goodbye and leave you alone. I stayed near your building for almost a week. Then I went to that club because I was tired of standing outside your life. I was disappointed. And then you walked in."

My laugh came out ugly.

"So you knew who I was, and you still kissed me, knowing I was about to marry your brother?" I sincerely didn't know how to feel.

"You didn't recognize me," he said quietly. "That part is on you too."

"I saw you twice in my whole life. Same as your bastard brother." I leaned forward. "Would you blame me for coming back for my sister's wedding? Why didn't you warn me in the club instead of kissing me like a fucking pervert?"

Silence.

Guilt sat plain on his face. I stood to leave. His hand closed around my wrist.

I looked at the hand, then at him.

He let go slowly.

"Please eat," he said. "You haven't had anything since morning."

I stayed standing.

"Do you stalk and monitor me in my husband's house too?" I Intoned.

"I just watch you." he blankly replied.

I lost it. That black expression on his face one second and another he was giving me these doey-kiss-me eyes like ....fuckkkkkk!

"Why are you even here?" I snapped.

He rose. One step. Then another.

"For you, Katherine."

He came close enough that I knew a kiss was coming. I did not move. He didn't take my mouth. He only cupped my face, both hands warm, eyes locked on mine. Pleading.

"Please." I whispered.

I frowned. "What?"

A servant appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Samuel has returned."

I flinched so hard I felt heat rush to my face. I stepped back, voice too bright.

"I'm going to bed."

I left before either of them could answer, pulse hammering all the way to my room, his "please" still sitting unanswered in the air.

Please what?