“She’s not interested in you.” Sabrina paused. She was here for a dalliance with another woman, for one thing, but Sabrina wasn’t the kind of person to out someone like that. She’d been presented with the opportunity multiple times at the hospital, and she understood the implications even outside HIPAA. “You’re going to get hurt.”
Tristan cleared his throat. Silence took its beat. He unfolded himself from the floor and stood up, then perched on the edge of his bed. “I don’t like drama.” He glanced around the room, and Sabrina realized he was looking for a camera. “Linda couldn’t hurt a fly.”
Sabrina screwed up her forehead in thought. The evidence was in brief words, a frightening flash in Linda’s eyes when she angered, that temper that trickled out on occasion, and some secret promise that kept slipping out. Sabrina’s brain felt foggy.
“Is this some jealousy thing?” Tristan asked, his voice soft and sweet. “I know it’s hard for women. You all get pulled in so easily to competitions like this. You take things personally. Linda is a good woman. She’s gone through a lot.”
“Her divorce?”
“Her divorce. She doesn’t have any family. She’s had it rougher than us, you know.”
Sabrina considered this, then tilted her head as she looked up to Tristan’s naked, hulking form. Even with his penis hanging like a worm between his legs, he was commanding, his voice solid, rough at the edges, that southern lilt like a spell. “I lost my mom,” she said. She needed him to transfer his sympathy to her. If he felt too sorry for Linda, he might choose her out of pity, and Sabrina couldn’t have that. “My dad is sick.”
“You’re stronger than her.” Tristan reached out his hand, and as Sabrina took it, she knew he was right. Linda was the one to pity. Women were slaves to their competitive natures. He’d said the words. They were real. She shouldn’t have tried to backstab. It wasn’t what a good woman did. She remembered the fight, and Tristan’s stern words as he chose Linda last. She needed to make him see that she was sorry. That she was a good woman. As she let Tristan pull her into his chest, and as she listened to the thump of his heart, she made herself cry, and through the walls, another woman’s sobs formed a harmony.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Linda
Linda had crawled into bed when a knock sounded on her door. She groaned and rolled out of the covers, but as her feet hit the floor, her stomach turned. It might be Deja on the other side, demanding more reshoots or trying to pull her into a confessional, to catch her tired and likely to crack. She hesitated at the door. But it could be Charity. She yanked the door open.
Charity stood on the other side, her hair in a spiky bun on top of her head. “Wait until you see what I found,” she said, extending a hand.
The twists turned to butterflies as Linda took it, lacing their fingers together. She needed a break. She needed to unwind, to engage in whatever adventure Charity had in store for them.
Charity led them through several halls on the second floor, then up a miniature staircase so small they could only ascend one person at a time. The floors creaked, but Linda decided not to worry. Deja had her hands too full to care about Linda and Charity sneaking off into forbidden areas of the mansion.
At the end of the hall, they came upon a closed door that had been wallpapered over. Inside, the hallway that stretched out before her was darker, not even a window light at the far end to be seen. As Linda crept down it, her eyes adjusted. The gas lamps had been removed, leaving behind shadows of themselves in the faded wallpaper. She breathed in. The air smelled wet, like mildew, with a hint of something animal. She took the hall step by step, imagining herself on camera, though no camera followed them, a rarity that had become more common with the skeleton crew.
Charity glanced back and grinned, then pointed to one of the doors lining the hall. Linda stopped outside of it.
“Ready?” Charity said.
“I have no idea. You haven’t told me a thing.”
“That would ruin the surprise.”
“You’re about to show me anyway, aren’t you?”
Charity laughed, then opened the door. The far wall was made of glass, and through it, moonlight leaked across the floor. When Charity flipped on the switch, the room filled with light. Potted plants lined each wall and hung from the ceilings. Linda gasped.
“It’s the room I saw when we were rappelling,” she breathed.
“I had some time on my hands,” Charity said. “Being fired and all.”
Linda stepped close to one of the plants and touched the broad green leaf of a Monstera. It was nice to touch something green and familiar. “I can’t believe you found this place.” She breathed in the fresh air.
“I found it for you.” Charity moved beside her and reached once more for her hand. This time, her touch felt different, softer, more vulnerable. Heat spread from her hand through her body. “You had a rough day. With the shrine room and everything…”
Linda’s breath hitched. “Yeah…”
Charity reached her other hand to Linda’s cheek and pulled Linda to face her. “It must have hurt to see yourself edited like that.”
Linda swallowed and forced herself to ask the question lodged in her throat. “Do you think that’s me?” she said. “The way I seemed in those edits?”
Charity’s smile was kind. “Of course not.”
“Then what was that?” Linda felt herself choking.
“Manipulation.” Charity brushed her fingers across Linda’s cheek, her touch so much gentler than Tristan’s, and so much more welcome. “That’s all any of this is.”
“It doesn’t feel like manipulation here. Now.”
“No. This might be real.” Charity hooked her finger under Linda’s chin and pulled her face up, then leaned in so their lips were nearly touching. “This might be the only real thing.”
As their faces moved closer, eyes meeting across the divide, wide and wanting, Linda’s knees shook, but her hand in Charity’s stayed still. Linda had never kissed a woman. She breathed in Charity’s smell, like lavender and mint. Their lips pressed together.
Outside, a loud crash, followed by shouting.
“Damn it.” Charity pulled back.
Brandon’s voice slammed through the window. Together, Charity and Linda pressed themselves to the glass and peered into the yard. Brandon and Tatum stood across from one another, a camera downed between them.
“What the fuck, dude?” Tatum screamed.
“An accident,” Brandon slurred, stumbling forward in the mud and swinging.
Charity and Linda shared a questioning glance. Should they do something? Linda didn’t want to. In fact, she desired nothing more than to turn away from the window and forget the world outside of the nursery. But she wanted to be that good person, so she would go to the lawn with Charity and try to help the clueless cameraman. Maybe his lens would catch something they couldn’t edit away.
