Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Did I ask for your reprimands?” When my hand closes over her tit and squeezes, she grits her teeth together. “I think you’re forgetting your situation here, but I would be more than willing to remind you.”
“I’m not forgetting anything,” she grits out, trembling, her body frozen stiff.
It’s a heady feeling, knowing I completely control her life. There she was, worried she would never earn the credits she needed to graduate. I wonder if she’s even given thought to her schooling since I captured her. Isn’t it strange how our priorities shift at the drop of a hat? The way mine did the day of my wedding.
I should not want this woman. I shouldn’t give her the opportunity to explain herself. She doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve to live.
Why can’t I stop craving her? She is a weakness I cannot afford. I stand suddenly, fighting for control that seems to slip away no matter how tightly I try to grip it.
“Where are you going?” she blurts out. I lift an eyebrow in surprise, though she looks as surprised as I am at her sudden question. Like it came out without her intending it.
“Since when is that any of your business?”
Her cheeks go pink, and she averts her gaze, looking out the window before lowering her gaze to the heavy silk blanket covering the bed. “I was only wondering. I’ve… barely seen you since we got here.”
She flinches at my disbelieving snort. “Is my faithful wife missing me?” I venture, watching her reaction. Where is this coming from?
“Forget it.” Her arms fold, covering her chest.
“Is there something you wanted to discuss?” I’m willing to entertain this. Perhaps too willing. Perhaps looking for an excuse to linger a little longer, inhale her scent, and watch as light streaming through the big windows caresses the curves of her face, her body. Lucky light. My hands ache to do the same.
“Not really. I mean… I just figured…” She lifts a shoulder. “I thought maybe you’d want to have somebody around after…”
She can’t be sincere. There’s no way she wants to spend time with me after how I’ve treated her. This is another way of twisting me up, as she did before. Tricking me into caring. Pushing me to forget why she’s here. What she’s done. “After the funeral? After burying my grandfather?”
“Yes.” Her features pinch together in a pained expression that quickly fades. “You don’t have to be alone, is all. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re right. You’re not going anywhere.”
“You don’t have to be alone,” she whispers. She still won’t look at me. I can’t read her. Could I ever? “That’s all I’m trying to say.”
“Who said I’m going to be alone? You’re the one who doesn’t deserve company.” She flinches, and that’s a good thing. Better for her to remember her place.
If anything, I’m glad she reminded me of my priorities before I did something idiotic like sit down with her—or worse, like pulling back that blanket and crawling into bed to do anything but sleep.
Every moment I spend with her is another moment I’m risking my resolve breaking entirely. That’s why I leave her without another word, closing and locking the door, putting at least that between us so the temptation isn’t quite as strong.
I have no idea what to do with her, especially since the memory of how good it feels inside her refuses to let me go.
5
ALICIA
It’s the strangest feeling, the sense of being a princess locked in a tower. Like my life has suddenly become a fairy tale, the sort of thing I used to read and watch movies about when I was a kid. The poor, plucky princess who, through no fault of her own, has to suffer indignities and pain, wishing with all her might for someone to rescue her.
Right about now would be a nice time for my fairy godmother to show up. Maybe she could get me out of this because I certainly can’t do it on my own.
In the absence of such a presence, there’s nothing for me to do but look out the windows, pace my bedroom, and take long soaks in the deep bathtub. I can’t pretend that isn’t nice—the thing is practically the size of a small swimming pool. Sometimes I soak well past the point where my skin prunes, just for something to do with my time.
There are books up here, but they seem more decorative than anything else, dusty old hardback copies of obscure works. I’m desperate enough for some way to pass the time that I’ve read a few of them, only to find myself with no memory of exactly what I read by the time I finished. It’s like I read the words, and I process them, but nothing sticks.
How am I supposed to get out of this? That question is always on my mind and the reason I can’t focus on anything. There’s always the fear lingering in the back of my consciousness that Enzo will come charging in at any moment, threatening me, touching me, making me feel small, helpless, and totally under his thumb. It’s like living in limbo, never able to settle down or relax. I sleep so lightly now that the slightest noise wakes me. And in a house this big and this old, a lot of creaking is going on. Rattling pipes and windows that shake a little in a stiff breeze. Sometimes I sit up in the darkness, staring at the windows until I can start to make things out, thanks to the early morning light.