Joanna yanked the weeds from the bed, muttering to herself as she tried not to cry as she had for the past two nights. She had fallen in love with Addison, but it was becoming clearer every day, Addison didn’t feel the same.

Sunday on her bed, Monday against the desk in the study, and Tuesday on the small settee in the library, Addison had taken Joanna to orgasm and then walked away without saying a word. She had never allowed Joanna to return in kind or to touch skin, bare under her clothes, and the words Addison had spoken on Monday night kept repeating in Joanna’s mind. “This means nothing more than what it is.” Unfortunately, it meant much more to Joanna.

She knew Addison was waiting in the study on Wednesday and Thursday, but Joanna couldn’t bring herself to open the door. She no longer wanted to be taken. She no longer wanted to hide her feelings. She wanted to touch. She wanted to taste. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be held like a lover holds a lover and experience all that that four-letter word involved, and in her heart, those feelings were there, but it was quickly becoming apparent, Addison didn’t feel the same. So, forgoing any more visits to the study, for the rest of the week, Joanna had retired to her bedroom and cried in the dark. She never knew love could hurt so much.

As memories of the past week swirled through her mind, Joanna sniffled back the tears she refused to let fall and got to her feet. She dusted off her hands and traipsed up the stairs Addison had yet to see. Once she reached the top, she leaned on the railing and looked out across the gardens still covered in vines and weeds. Months before Evelyn had said there were many things Addison simply didn’t care about, and it was now apparent to Joanna that Evelyn wasn’t just talking about the conditions of the house or the gardens.

***

Addison could hear the chime of the clock, and counting the strokes, midnight was announced as the last dong echoed through the house. This was the third night she had sat alone in her study. Her briefcase was still latched, the work inside it ignored in much the same way as she had been since Tuesday. Their talks during dinner had remained the same, filling each other in with tidbits about their days, but just as she had on the two nights previous, Joanna hadn’t visited Addison’s study after dinner. With every creak the old house made, Addison’s eyes had darted to the door, but it had never opened, and the more she paced, the more she grumbled, the more she felt the need to numb.