I hold Snow in my arms the whole way back to my home. The driver didn’t ask questions as I climbed into the back of my Mercedes with an unconscious woman in my arms. He’s paid well not to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.
When I took over the business, I culled every last person that ever worked under my uncle. They were all liabilities I couldn’t afford to have, especially when I wanted to align myself with the Saint James family. They wouldn’t stand for any of the things those sick motherfuckers used to do under the previous boss, so they all had to go. Everything I’ve done from the moment my family died is put plans in place I’ve been plotting for years, but this part of the plan right here, my beautiful Snowflake coming home, that’s the part I’ve obsessed over the most. Every single part of this plan centers around her standing by my side.
I brush her blonde hair from her cheeks and stare down at her. She looks so tiny in my lap, and I wonder how small she’ll seem in my bed when she eventually moves to it. She’ll have her own room for the first little while. It goes against my baser needs for her to be away from me, but my Snow has a fire inside I need to dim enough that she won’t try to stab me in my sleep.
The car slows, and I finally draw my eyes away from my woman. I don’t know how I’m going to get any work done now she’s home, but I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it. Maybe it’s time I get a number two so I can spend more time with my Snowflake.
The driver comes around and opens the door, his eyes never dropping to the woman in my arms. He likes living, I suppose. Maybe it’s time I remember his name if he’s going to be a permanent employee.
I give him a short nod and close the distance between the curb and the unsuspecting brownstone. I bought the house years ago when I first got my trust fund. And then every time one of the other houses on this side of the street went up for sale, I bought those too. I knew I would eventually need a base of operations, and who would ever suspect a row of family homes to be converted into an impenetrable bulletproof fortress?
The work I did on the homes was done over years so as not to raise suspicion, but behind these doors is a mansion no one knows about but me and my staff and now Snow. At least she will know. For the first few days, she’ll see very little of the home I’ve created for us. The little touches I insisted on to suit her tastes. I want her to be comfortable here and proving how much I know about her and what she needs should help me to prove that to her.
I unlock the door and step across the threshold with her in my arms. The scent of cinnamon, her favorite fragrance, hits me head-on. I’m all too aware that the move is usually reserved for husbands carrying their new brides into their shared home, and it gets me thinking. Maybe I could marry her while she’s unconscious…
The thought is interrupted when Snow stirs in my arms, a soft whine filling the air around us. I’m running out of time to get her in her room before she wakes up. The drug I gave her was non-harmful, and I only gave her enough to get her here without a scene. Soon she’ll come to know I won’t ever do anything that would harm her. Well, maybe I should rephrase that. I won’t ever do anything that could permanently harm her. I am tearing her away from her life and family without so much as a word, and I suppose that will have a negative impact on her in the short term, but nothing permanent.
I carry Snow into her room, the one right beside mine, and gently lay her out on the bed. For a moment, I can’t tear my eyes away from her beauty, the space in my chest where a heart should beat constricts in a rare moment of feeling. She’s the only person who’s ever made me feel anything, and maybe that’s how she found her way here. The little lamb in the lion’s den. My pretty princess in her ivory tower.
Her mess of blonde hair splays across the pillow, framing her perfect face. I’ve spent so many hours staring at her that I’ve memorized every single angle of her face, the small dusting of freckles on her nose, the way her lashes whisper across her cheeks when she closes her eyes. Snow is ingrained in my mind, and some days I don’t know where she ends and I begin. That’s what obsession is though, the unhealthy need for another person, the person who occupies your mind during every waking minute and your dreams too. Just the way Snow has since the moment our eyes locked from across a crowded room ten years ago.
God, she was pretty that night. The white dress pooling around her legs, giving her the image of floating. Her hair pulled into an intricate braid on the top of her head, and I swear I thought she was an angel. She’s too pure for this world, too pure for me. But there’s the sick side of me that craves making her dirty. Dragging her down into the abyss I live my life in to tarnish her purity. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for a decade, and now she’s all mine to stain.
My poor little Snowflake won’t know what hit her when I finally get my hands on her. The good little angel from all those years ago will kneel for me, and I can’t fucking wait.
