Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“You are mine, Autumn. No matter what happens, you are mine.” Then he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the sofa where Isadora had sat. He lays me on it. The tears roll down my face. I want to stop crying, but I can’t. “I loved her,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“I feel so hurt, so devastated. Nothing makes sense anymore. I just want her to come back.”
“She’s not coming back, Autumn.”
I beat his chest. “It’s unfair. It’s unfair,” I sob.
He pulls me towards him and holds me tight. I don’t know how long I stay like that, but eventually, he pulls away. “It’s time for you to eat. It’s just soup and bread.”
I don’t remember him calling anyone, but almost as if he had, someone comes in with a tray bearing soup and a hunk of bread. The soup is yellow with a circular pattern of cream in it. I take a spoonful. It tastes of nothing.
“Keep eating,” he instructs.
I take another. And another. He tears a bit of bread, dips it in the soup, and holds it to my mouth. I let him feed me, as if I am a baby. To my surprise the bowl becomes empty, and the bread is reduced to crumbs.
“Feel like painting now?”
I nod.
We move to the library. He takes up position and I start to paint, and to my great surprise Zelena was right. For the first time since Sam was snatched away from me, I forget to mourn and yearn for her. In fact, I forget everything. There is nothing but my painting, the thick viscous paint, the right brush, the rag, the turpentine, and the subject… that I must now confess I am in love with.
Chapter 52
Rocco
Outside it has begun to rain. I walk up to her. “That’s enough for tonight, Autumn. It’s time you were in bed.”
She nods silently and wipes her hands on a rag.
I take her upstairs to her bedroom. “I’ll run a bath for you,” I say, and go into the bathroom. When I come out she is sitting on the bed looking lost. I walk up to her. “Stand,” I instruct.
She stands quietly.
Like a child, she lets me undress her. Then I carry her into the bathroom and lower her into the scented bath water. She leans back against the bath. For a while I let her be, then I begin to wash her. Meticulously, tenderly, with infinite care, as if I am a mother with her newborn baby.
Her tears mix with the water. “I can’t bear the pain,” she sobs.
“I know,” I whisper, and lift her out of the water. I stand her on the ground, and dry her body down with a towel. Then I carry her to bed and lay her on it.
She holds her arms out to me. “Fill me, Rocco. I’m empty. So empty.”
“You’re not empty, my darling,” I say, as my gaze moves down her creamy stomach to the soft nest of curls. “Open your legs and show me your pussy.”
Her thighs part to reveal her opening, full of wet swollen flesh.
“That’s a good girl,” I say, and part her thighs as far as they will go. Then I put my mouth on her sweet heat and make her forget her pain.
For hours I make love to her and afterwards I give her a small glass of fruit brandy laced with a mild sedative.
I let her drink it, and watch her fall into an exhausted sleep. I stay on guard next to her until five minutes before her alarm is set to go off. Then I slip away quietly.
Afterwards, I stand at the window of one of the empty rooms facing the driveway and watch her get into the car with Raoul. I wait until the car goes out of view and is lost to me before I go about my business.
Chapter 53
Autumn
Two days pass.
Every day I go down the mountain to work at the gallery, then Raoul picks me up and takes me back up to Ze Dem Adelar. I paint, then we eat together, speak of anything other than Sam, then we go to my bed and have the kind of sex that makes me forget the world and Sam. I fall asleep in his arms, and wake up alone. I get ready and another day repeats.
Once Rocco tried to remind me that we need to talk, but I turn on him like a wild animal and kiss his mouth. He forgets what he wanted to say, or just understands I am not ready. Maybe I won’t ever be ready, because I feel certain now that hearing what he says will mean I will have to give him up and I can’t lose him. I cannot hear the ending of the story of the hawk and pigeon. I know now, I am the pigeon and his family are the hawk.