Ice To Meet You

Chapter 65

It's been three days since I've been in Liam's castle and they have been three unbelievably long and boring days. I am "allowed" to only rest and recuperate—two words I am starting to abhor. I have barely seen Liam in these three days. He comes home late and I tried staying up all night yesterday but as per his housekeeper—he never came home at all. I feel like a bird stuck in a golden gilded cage; trapped. A lady came yesterday to give me a pedicure and manicure which was fun just like the day before Mitch came through to give me a haircut. Now I have light brown, almost honey highlights in my jet-black hair—which might I say, look gorgeous on me. Although I appreciate the generosity Liam has bestowed upon me, he hasn't even seen it. I was so excited to show him my hair. It feels like he is ignoring me and I hate it. I called him yesterday and he was busy catching up on work.

I can't bend or do anything that involves my back, so working out is out of question obviously. Which is a waste because the roof has the most gorgeous jacuzzi I have ever seen in my entire life. Liam's penthouse is gorgeous yet sterile. It has a cozy fireplace with white cloudlike couches but I don't think anybody has ever used that room. There are four massive rooms with white walls, white sheets, and almost empty cupboards. Of course, I peeked—I am nothing if not a snoop. His room has an array of suits, shirts, and ties. Nothing else. No sleep clothes, family pictures or even an ashtray, which I have to say is a bit alarming.

It's like he doesn't even live here.

Everything about his house is empty, bland and remind me of death. A huge part of me regrets expressing my feelings for him. It just pushed him so far away from me.

My room if I can call it that is filled with brand new clothes, shoes, and handbags. Each of them new with tags—I can almost bet each item is probably costlier than my entire paycheck. They are all in my size, which is weird. I feel like a mistress stacked away in a corner—like a dirty little secret he is ashamed to show the world. He has texted me every day asking me how I am doing to which I reply fine. I have reread our conversation at least 673843 times today as if I'll find a clue or something that will tell me what I did wrong.

There is a knock on my door.

"Come on in," I don't know why Amy even bothers to knock. I've told her multiple times that she can just come right in. Amy is the housekeeper, a woman in her mid-fifties. She gave me no dirt on Liam but I won't stop digging until I find something. I keep trying to make conversation but she doges my questions like Hannah doges nice guys.

"Good morning—I got you some breakfast," she announces. She keeps the wooden tray in front of me that has an array of fresh fruits, mango juice and some kind of sandwiches cut in triangles.

"Good morning Amelia, how was your night?"

"It was great. Do you need anything else?" I need some dirt Amy—just start talking already.

"Why don't you help me get up and we can sit on the roof and eat together?"

"That—I don't—it won't be appropriate..." She is stammering.

"I would really like some company as I eat, please Amy..." Come on woman—give me an inch here.

"If you insist Mia, what time would you like the masseuse to come by today?" Oh god, does he think this pampering would keep me happy here? I am getting kind of tired of it and given how sore I feel, I don't like the idea of anyone touching me. It's almost repulsive. Stop sending people to me Liam—just come to yourself instead.

"Let's discuss this over breakfast."

She helps me get up and we sit near the water. There is not even a plant in site—the hospital was more inviting than this. The sun's rays kiss my skin and I can feel my spirits light up. Although looking up at the sky makes me squint—there is something about New York in August. It's so welcoming, toasty and soft. I look down from the side of the roof and the world from the 78th floor looks eerily tiny—I feel so detached and isolated. I can relate to Rapunzel on a soul level right now.