Stunned by her surroundings, Alice forgot the harrowing circumstances of her life. Her eyes opened wide to view a garden so beautiful, nothing she’d seen before could compare to the small piece of paradise hidden beneath the shade of giant live oaks, their moss hanging from solid branches and swaying in the same warm wind that brushed across her face.
“What is this place?” she asked, her voice reverent and breathless.
“Your garden,” he answered, his eyes catching her from the side, his fingers squeezing her hand tighter before a sharp tug pulled her forward, deeper into the labyrinth of flowers, shrubs and ornamental grasses.
Fingers trailing across the feather soft white tuft that rose above the thin spindles of tall grass, she caught herself smiling. Happiness didn’t belong in this place and not beside this man. But when the wash of color swallowed her, when the melody of birdsong drifted softly past her ears, she was lost to the serenity of the environment. The sun against her skin warmed her. The smell of roses and gardenias lulled her into a false sense of harmony and promise that life here wouldn’t be completely bad.
“Mine?” she finally asked, the word nonsensical when given birth through sound.
Max inclined his head, releasing her hand to spin and face her, to watch her eyes track across the collection of plants and trees that had learned to exist together. Some tropical and others only tolerant of a colder environment, she wondered what masterful gardener had managed to cultivate the impossible.
“This is your place, Alice. A refuge you can come to when I’m away. It’s yours to manage and care for, yours to nurture and support.”
The generosity of his offer was a development that confused her. Scared her, really, because she didn’t understand how someone so cruel could give her something so valuable.
Gardening had always been a haven for Alice, a place she could escape to in the hours that her father was home. Originally planted by her mother, a large garden existed outside their modest home, and on the days that her father’s rage reared its head, her mother would lead her outside and away from the terrible words and the physical blows that would soon follow.
At first, and because she’d been so young, she wasn’t interested in the knowledge or skill that came with tending to the lives of useless plants. They smelled nice, yes, and in the spring they were beautiful, but they couldn’t play with her, couldn’t talk to her when she needed just one person to listen.
And just like her father, those plants had thorns, sharp points that would prick at her skin, mocking her with their beauty.
However, as the months passed and as the plants she’d grown from seeds began to emerge and bloom, Alice fell in love with the belief that she was a part of the world where she’d long believed she didn’t belong. Her few years had been filled with the label of freak, her father often calling her a pest that would have been better left unborn.
As soon as she learned to love the feel of her hands dug deep into the cool wet soil, she’d spent most of her time there through each season, through the bite of cold in winter and the blistering heat of the long summer days.
There was always something to escape to in the garden of her youth, and in this new life, Max had returned to her the one place that had been her only true friend.
“Thank you,” she breathed out, her mind so lost in the wonder of the garden, she’d forgotten the price that still hung over her head.
Weary eyes became brighter as they followed the stone and pebble paths that wove like streams over the entire space, her feet pulling her deeper into a maze of colors and greenery. The breeze carried with it the smell of jasmine in bloom, and Alice glanced over to see the vine that covered a black, wrought iron gate.
Stopping in her tracks, she marveled at the gate, at the bit of gothic mystery that was hidden behind the thick vines. Almost covered completely, the thin, sharp spires still rose above the tangle of flowers.
She took a step towards it, her curiosity too powerful to contain. However, her forward path was stopped by a strong hand that landed on her shoulder, by the press of fingers into the soft spot above her collarbone that shot pain along her arm.
“You can never go beyond that gate, Alice. The garden is enclosed and there is no escape. Never think that anything beyond that border is the key to your freedom from this place.”
His words were spoken softly, a warning hidden beneath the velvet softness of his voice.
“What’s behind the gate?” She turned to look at him. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
The icy chill of his gaze drifted past her shoulder, locking onto that lonely gate that stood lost and abandoned beneath the shade of trees. He was so quiet she thought he’d never answer, but then his throat moved and his lips parted, the truth revealed on the whisper of his sorrowful voice.
“Seven children. A mother. A father. And one other. That’s what lies beyond that gate, and if you ever decide to break the rules that I have set for you, you’ll remain behind that gate, as well.”
12:34 p.m.
White door.
Dark wood desk.
White and beige striped couch.