Locked Away For Two Days

CHAPTER SIX

RAIN’S POV

I spent the next two days hiding in my room like a coward.

I only came out at night when Thelma knocked softly. We’d sit on my bed whispering about silly stuff — what she was watching, how Rhode’s cooking was spoiling us, nothing deep. Then I’d crawl back under the covers before Lucien got home. I ate dinner early with the staff so I wouldn’t have to sit across from him. Every time I heard his car pull in, my stomach flipped and I locked my door.

He asked about me twelve times. I know because Thelma counted. He knocked four times too. Each time I pretended to be asleep, heart hammering so loud I was scared he’d hear it through the wood.

By Friday evening I thought I was safe. He was supposed to be out late.

I limped downstairs, cast off because it made me feel like a child, and headed to the kitchen. Thelma and Helen, the househelp, were at the island playing chess, laughing quietly.

Thelma looked up and grinned. “There she is. Thought you’d turned into a ghost.”

I smiled a little and reached for the water jug. “Just needed space.”

She moved a piece on the board. “Uncle Lucien’s been worried sick. He thinks you’re going through something mental. Even suggested bringing a therapist here.”

My hand froze mid-pour. “What?”

“Yeah. He’s been acting cold to everyone because he’s convinced you’re depressed or something. He keeps asking if we said anything to upset you.”

I didn’t know how to feel. Guilty? Flattered? Scared? All of it at once.

“Is he… at work?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Thelma shook her head. “No, he’s—”

“Rain.”

The deep voice came from behind me.

I turned so fast water sloshed over the rim of my cup. Lucien stood at the study doorway, grey t-shirt stretched across his chest, black sweatpants low on his hips. His hair was wet and messy like he’d just showered, a towel slung over one shoulder, and that silver cross necklace resting against his skin. He looked… unfairly good.

He tilted his head. “Come here.”

Then he disappeared back inside and closed the door.

I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat made it almost impossible to drink the water, but I forced it down anyway. My ankle throbbed as I limped toward the study. Before I opened the door, I took a deep breath, squeezed my rosary tight, and kissed it.

*Lord, help me.*

The room was dim, only a soft lamp glowing. Lucien stood behind his mahogany desk, flipping through a book, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up when I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

“How are you?” he asked quietly.

“I’m okay.”

He set the book down. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

He studied me for a second, then said, “Why did you lock yourself away for two days, Rain?”

“I just needed some space.” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “I’m sorry if I was inconsiderate.”

“You weren’t inconsiderate.” He stepped around the desk. “I was worried. That’s all.”

He stopped in front of me. “Come closer.”

I did. My good leg brushed his desk as I stood beside him.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to his big leather swivel chair.

I lowered myself into it, suddenly feeling tiny. He leaned back against the desk right in front of me, arms braced on either side, basically caging me in without touching. The scent of his body wash and something warm and masculine hit me hard.

“Where’s your cast?” he asked softly.

“In my room.”

His jaw flexed. “Stop doing things that make me mad, Rain. Keep the cast on so you heal properly. Please.”

The “please” sounded almost painful coming from him. I nodded quickly.

He reached over and turned the laptop toward me. The university portal glowed on the screen. My breath caught.

“Matron Celestine told me you’ve always wanted to study Fine Art,” he said. “You confirmed it?”

“Yes.”

A slow smile curved his lips, and those dimples appeared. God, those dimples. “How do you feel about York School of Fine Arts?”

My eyes widened. I shot up from the chair, hand flying to my mouth. “Really?”

He nodded, still smiling.

I didn’t think. I just threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you. Thank you, Lucien.”

He smelled so good — clean, warm, a little like rain. His hair was still damp under my fingers, soft. His body felt solid and strong against mine. For a second I forgot everything: the age gap, the guardianship, the fact that I wasn’t supposed to want him like this. I held on longer than I should have.

Then reality slammed back in.

I pulled away fast, cheeks burning. “Sorry. I—I got carried away.”

Lucien didn’t move. His eyes were darker now, locked on my face. The air between us felt electric. I could still feel the heat of his chest against mine, the way his hands had hovered at my waist like he almost — but didn’t — pull me closer.

He cleared his throat, voice lower than before. “You don’t have to apologize for being happy, Rain.”

I bit my lip and looked down, heart racing so hard I was sure he could hear it. The way he said my name… soft, careful, like it mattered. Like I mattered.

He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my cheek.

“You make me worry,” he murmured. “When you disappear like that… I don’t like it.”

I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His thumb grazed my jaw once before he dropped his hand. “Just… let me take care of you. That’s all I want.”

The silence stretched. I wanted to step back into his space. I wanted his hands on me again. I wanted things I had no right to want from the man who was supposed to be my guardian.

Instead I whispered, “Thank you again. For York. For everything. Thank you so much, this means a lot.”

He gave me that small, dangerous smile. “Anything for you.”

I turned to leave before I did something stupid — like kiss him. My hand was already on the doorknob when his voice stopped me.

“Rain.”

I looked back.

“Next time you need space,” he said quietly, eyes holding mine, “tell me. Don’t hide. I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

I nodded, pulse thundering in my ears, and slipped out of the study.

My legs felt shaky the whole way back upstairs. I pressed my back against my bedroom door once I was inside, breathing hard.

This wasn’t gratitude anymore.

This was hunger.

And it was only getting worse.