 
 
 
Everyone in the room turned to look at her, and Catherine took a long sip of juice. She wanted to talk to Madison to try to figure out what had happened. It seemed safer to ask Madison about the failed escape attempt than to broach the subject with Sean, but everyone was looking at her as if she’d grown a second head.
“Fine,” Sean said. “Bring her in.”
Catherine’s stomach sank—she wanted to talk to Madison in private. She couldn’t have a proper conversation in front of Sean, and she couldn’t ask Madison the things she most wanted to know. Even worse, Madison could try to use the situation to throw her under the bus.
The door slammed open, and she took a deep breath and turned to look. Two identical bodyguards held Madison’s arms, and they half marched, half dragged her into the room. Madison’s dyed auburn hair hung in limp, sweaty curls around her face, and she wore nothing but a s

 
 
 
 
The silence stretched on for seconds and then minutes. The cherry, sunlit room felt gloomy and oppressive. Catherine’s palms grew sweaty, and her mouth felt dry, but she didn’t dare say anything else.
Finally, Madison broke the silence, “What are you talking about? How did I encourage you to elope? As if I could make two people fall in love and want to run away together.”
Catherine squared her shoulders and said, “Did they hurt you out there, Madison? Did they hit your head? How can you have forgotten something that only happened a few weeks ago.”
She closed her eyes as if trying to remember the details, but they were as clear as day. She’d replayed her conversations with Madison over and over in her miserable years with Marco, and they’d haunted her every day in prison.
“I remember you said you would help make sure I was happy because that’s what sisters do for each other,” she 

The golden sunlight slanted into the room through the gap in the curtains. Catherine groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. A warm arm tightened around her waist and pulled her against a muscular chest. She froze and opened her eyes.
The person holding her took a deep breath and relaxed his grip. Catherine rolled onto her side and came face to face with the sleeping Sean Blair. Her head spun—what was he doing in her bed? Did he spend the night with her after he brought the tea?
He moaned quietly and blinked his eyes open. His skin seemed to glow in the morning sunlight, and she reached up to stroke his jaw without thinking anything. He responded quickly, claiming her mouth with a kiss.
Catherine kissed him back, yielding to his strength. He pushed her onto her back, pressing into her. She wrapped her hands around him, feeling the tension in the muscles on his back. His muscles shifted beneath her hands, and he guided her hand under the covers and into the tops of his boxers.
He was hard, and his skin was scalding hot. She pulled her hand away and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"Wait," she gasped. I'm still on my period."
Sean groaned and bit her neck hard. She squirmed with a mix of pain and desire.
"Don't move," he whispered. "Or I can't guarantee what will happen."
Catherine froze and closed her eyes. A part of her didn't care about the blood either, but the embarrassment would kill her. What if he was disgusted by her and never wanted to look at her again? What if it smelled bad?
"Fuck," he groaned. "How can you do this to me and then say no?
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back to his organ, pressing her palm against its length. It jumped at her touch, and he curled her hand around it.
"This is what you do to me," he whispered.
Catherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn't want to anger him by refusing, but she didn't want to encourage him either. The warm weight above her lifted, and she heard him sigh.
She cracked her eyes open. He was sitting at the edge of the bed with his back toward her, and she couldn't help but notice the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms. She wanted to reach out and stroke them, to kiss along the banded muscles, but she forced herself to stay still.
"Did you spend the night here?" she finally asked.
"You didn't notice?" he replied.
"I was exhausted," she said. "My period usually exhausts me. If the pain doesn't keep me up, I sleep very deeply."
"Well, it was still our wedding night," Sean said. "Even if we couldn't make love, we're supposed to sleep together."
Catherine felt her cheeks grow hot as she blushed. She tugged the sheets around her, trying to hide as much of herself as possible.
"I have to go," he said. "It's late now."
Catherine heard his belt clink as he pulled his trousers on, and then the soft padding of his footsteps as he crossed the carpeted room. The door creaked open and clicked shut, and she exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. She climbed out of bed and rushed toward the closet, choosing a pair of light wash jeans and a thin navy blue sweater. She slipped on a pair of slippers and tested the door to the hallway—it was unlocked. She crept down the hall and tiptoed down the stairs.  
A chorus of servants called, "Good morning, Mrs. Blair. Ready for breakfast?"
A row of servants stood outside the dining room, waiting for Catherine. Some smiled warmly at her, and others glared—Catherine wondered how much they knew about the wedding.
Squaring her shoulders, Catherine marched into the dining room. Sean already sat at the table, sipping a cup of coffee while he scrolled through his phone.
"Good morning, Mrs. Blair," said a servant. "What would you like to have for breakfast?"
"I'll have whatever my husband is having," she said.
She sat down beside Sean and smiled at him. Without asking for permission, Catherine reached out and grabbed his mug from the table. She took a long sip and almost gagged on the bitter liquid.
"My god," she spluttered. "You don't put any sugar or milk in it."
Sean smiled with amusement and took his mug back, "Don't drink it if you don't like it."
A servant rushed over, carrying a tray with several glasses of juice and milk. Catherine selected a narrow crystal glass filled with fresh orange juice and took a large sip. Another servant leaped forward, carrying a steaming mug of black coffee.
"Here you go, Mr. Blair," the servant said, offering him the coffee.
"What do I want with that?" Sean asked coldly.
"I thought since she—and germs—" the servant stammered and fell silent under Sean's icy glare.
Catherine looked between the servant and Sean, trying to understand what had just happened. She'd just taken a small sip of her husband's coffee—why was everyone making such a big deal about it?
"You know, you shouldn't drink too much black coffee," she said to Sean. "It's bad for your stomach."
Sean lowered his cup and raised his eyebrows. She felt her face grow hot, and she looked down at the sizzling omelet a servant slid in front of her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I have no right to tell you what to do. Sometimes I speak without thinking."
She glanced up through the steam of her omelet and saw Sean regarding her with the same steady gaze.
"Okay," he said. "I'll try to limit myself."
"Right," she said. "Sure."
She busied herself, cutting the spinach and cheese omelet into pieces. Though she didn't have much of an appetite, she forced herself to chew and swallow each piece until over half the omelet was gone.
Turning to one of the servants, Catherine said, "May I speak with the chef?"
The servant glanced at Sean, and Sean shrugged without saying anything. Then he bustled through the swinging door and down to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned, followed by a red-faced cook in a pristine white apron.
"Thank you for the tea last night," Catherine said. "I was in so much pain, and it made me feel better almost instantly."
The chef looked confused, "But Mrs. Blair, I didn't make—"
"Yes," Sean said, interrupting the chef with a cold glare. "Thank you for making the tea."
The chef's face went redder as she looked between Sean and Catherine. Finally, she nodded and mumbled, "It's my pleasure," before slinking back to the kitchen.  
"So you feel better now?" Sean asked Catherine.
She nodded, "Much better."
"Good," he said. "You certainly look better."
Levi cleared his throat from the corner, "Mr. Blair, Madison Stewart wants to see you."
Sean's face darkened, "I don't want to see her."
Catherine twisted her napkin on her lap and looked between Sean and Levi. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, "Actually, can I talk to her?"
 
 

 
 
 
Everyone in the room turned to look at her, and Catherine took a long sip of juice. She wanted to talk to Madison to try to figure out what had happened. It seemed safer to ask Madison about the failed escape attempt than to broach the subject with Sean, but everyone was looking at her as if she’d grown a second head.
“Fine,” Sean said. “Bring her in.”
Catherine’s stomach sank—she wanted to talk to Madison in private. She couldn’t have a proper conversation in front of Sean, and she couldn’t ask Madison the things she most wanted to know. Even worse, Madison could try to use the situation to throw her under the bus.
The door slammed open, and she took a deep breath and turned to look. Two identical bodyguards held Madison’s arms, and they half marched, half dragged her into the room. Madison’s dyed auburn hair hung in limp, sweaty curls around her face, and she wore nothing but a stained and torn white slip. The guards shoved Madison onto the floor and stood behind her waiting fo

Chapter 6: Bring Her In