Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
As I don’t have a say, I simply let it happen, let things unfold. My control is limited, and the war stretches a lifetime ahead of me. I have to choose my battles wisely.
The coat he provided is warm, but I can’t stop shivering. The frost inside me refuses to melt. While the driver takes two travel bags from the trunk, Angelo removes his own coat and hangs it over my shoulders too. His smell wraps around me like a favorite memory, cedar and citrus bringing me comfort despite myself. I cling to the false sense of safety, clutching the edges of the coat together as if I’m hanging on to it for dear life.
Angelo guides me inside, holding me under the hollow of his arm while the driver carries the bags. We bypass the reception and walk straight to the elevators. Angelo must’ve already checked in.
As we wait for the elevator, he smiles down at me and tilts his head toward the mug in my hand. His tone is uncharacteristically soft. “Finished?”
I nod.
He takes the mug and pulls me inside when the doors open. The driver follows with the bags. Angelo obviously doesn’t trust the hotel staff with his luggage. After what just happened, I can’t blame him.
We get out on the top floor. He unlocks the first door with a keycard and holds onto me as he brings me inside a spacious lounge. The room is richly decorated in beige and gold. The style is baroque. The driver drops the bags in the adjoining room and leaves. Only when we’re alone does Angelo drop his arm and give me space.
Stepping sideways, I hug myself. He watches me, never moving his gaze from my face as he takes off his jacket and throws it over a chair.
I tense when he walks to me. He reaches out carefully but with determination. Going about it slowly, he brushes his coat from my shoulders. He catches it over his arm, searching my eyes as he lays it over his jacket before removing the coat he gave me, which fits me surprisingly well.
I stand quietly, allowing him to strip off the coat, but when he cups my face between his palms, I duck and put distance between us.
My voice is shaky. “I need a shower.” I need to wash what’s happened away.
“Of course,” he says, standing with his empty palms raised for a second before lowering his arms to his sides.
I’m glad he doesn’t ask why. I’m relieved that he gives me quiet understanding as he takes my hand and leads me through a large bedroom into a bathroom where he turns on the water in the shower.
“Can you give me a moment?” I ask, biting my lip. For some reason, I don’t want him to see me naked. Not now. I have to do this alone.
“What have they done, Sabella?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. I didn’t want to talk about it in the car, and I still don’t.
Steam billows in a white cloud over the door of the shower cubicle, turning the air warm and humid, but he doesn’t budge. “No, bella. It wasn’t nothing. I know how the system works.”
Exasperated, I say, “Then you know what happened.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Why?” I exclaim. “Why do you want me to say it if you already know?”
“Because I’m asking you.”
I huff a laugh. “I think you have no idea. You just want to make sure I didn’t sing like a canary.”
“That’s not true,” he says, his long legs eating up the distance between us.
I take in the wide set of his shoulders and how the fitted shirt hugs his frame. How the muscles weave and string together underneath. How strong he is. Has he ever been forced to do something he didn’t want to do? I doubt that. Very much. Not a man like him. No officer has ever laid a finger on him.
Testing my theory, I ask, “Have you ever been inside?”
He purses his lips.
A victorious smile curves my lips. “Thought so.”
“I don’t have to be arrested to imagine what it’s like.”
It’s hard to hold that smile when my mouth is so stiff from the effort. “You can’t imagine feelings you’ll never know.”
“You’re right.” His manner is demure. “I’ve never set foot in an interrogation room.”
“Then you can’t have any idea what it’s like to strip naked, to bend over, and to be examined by a stranger in parts too private for strangers to see. You can’t know what it’s like to be chained to a table and the floor in a room for hours. You don’t know how it feels to be so cold that the pain in your hands and feet becomes needles under your skin.”
The violence that flows so shallowly under the surface of the man who’s now my husband surfaces in the rage that contorts his features. In contrast, his voice is calm as he reaches for me again. “Then tell me.”