Falling With Grace

The door creaked open, and I pulled the comforter over my face.

“Where are you going, Grace?” His deep voice penetrated the protective cloth brushing against my nose and eyelashes.

His shoes announced his approach in the quiet room like ominous drumbeats foretelling an impending war.

My chest slicked with sweat, my cheeks flushing as my breath beat back against my face.

The bed dipped down, and the covers pulled away through my fingertips.

“I asked a question.” Elias’ face tightened as he fixed his gaze on me. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his lips pressed together. “And I expect an answer.”

My fingers were a short distance away from his black suit pants and a crisp white button-down shirt. A lone strand of hair strayed onto his forehead, adding an air of disarray to his otherwise polished demeanor.

“I… I heard a noise outside.”

He raised his chin and glanced down at my shirt, his fist holding the covers I needed back over my face.

“Going somewhere?”

I shook my head. “No. I promise. I just—”

He bowed his head, exhaling a sigh tainted with the faint scent of alcohol. “Did I not tell you escape would be futile?”

The room closed in as claws dug into my lungs, squeezing every bit of oxygen out of them. “Yes, but…” I sat, the tight comforter pinning my legs. “I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t? Explain your attire and shoes.”

I glanced at the impression of my shoes pressing up through the comforter.

He thought…

Screams,agonizing screams fill the center veranda.

Andrés raises the whip over his head and brings it down on the boy whose name I do not know.

His back splits in a clean line. The blood oozes from the wound. His anguished cries choke off as his eyes roll back, and he collapses face first.

My eyes widened as he tipped his head down. Sweat clung to my chest as I shook my head. “Sorry, I just…” I grabbed the covers and yanked, but his grip kept them in place. “I’ll take them off. I didn’t mean… I wasn’t planning to—”

“Grace.” He leaned in, his pointer and thumb tipping my chin up. “That’s not what I asked.”

My vision flickered about the room, my pulse stuck in my throat.

“I was only trying them on.”

A man who wants for nothing wouldn’t understand the basic comfort of proper footwear.

“At three in the morning?” he crinkled his left eye. “Why?”

He brushed his knuckles against my cheek, his fingers wrapping around the base of my neck, my damp hair sticking to my skin.

I shrugged, and he raised a brow.

“My father always taught me to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

I chewed my inner cheek and glanced up at him. “A fight.”