Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
We lay in a sex-hazed bliss for long moments before we clean up. I lay on his large, muscled chest.
“Damn,” I breathe, and for that one moment in time, I give in to the fantasy. I may not be Elise, but he really does want me. Maybe I’m more than a commodity. Maybe I’m not just a notch in his belt, a woman he was forced to marry. Maybe I could mean something and maybe, just maybe…this will work out.
But how could it? I’m not the woman I’m supposed to be, and I can’t keep this farce up forever.
“I need to take a shower,” he says. My pulse spikes. I need him occupied so I can see if Elise tried to get in touch with me.
I nod and yawn. “Go ahead. If you don’t mind, I’m going to rest a bit more. Your sister said she’d take me shopping today, and I’m exhausted after everything that’s happened.”
The little grin he gives me is almost boyish, almost teasing. I haven’t seen many glimpses of his playful side, but for one second, I feel I can actually see the boy beneath the tough exterior. He isn’t just a man who served time, or a guy who killed a man yesterday. There are layers to my barbarian of a husband.
I pretend to be asleep, my eyes closed, as he goes to the shower. Like yesterday, he leaves the door open, but it’s all I need. I yawn, stretch, and lean over so I can open the drawer next to the bed.
The phone isn’t there. My heart races as I feverishly push everything aside, including the black box with the instruments of torture he used last night. I didn’t hear him take anything. I didn’t miss anything, did I?
My fingers brush something cold and solid. The phone. It fell deeper into the drawer and is still there. With a choked sob, I take it out. I didn’t realize how attached I am to this phone, to getting in touch with Elise, until that moment. I look frantically at the shower. He’s still in there, lathering up.
I flick it on.
Bestie: OMG are you okay? Are you? I haven’t had reception in so long, I couldn’t call you.
Me: It’s me! I’m okay! BUT OMG I’M MARRIED
No response. I want to cry. I’ve had four missed calls and two texts.
I swipe the phone back on.
We have to talk. Things didn’t work as planned. But are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.
No response. I fall face-first onto the bed and stifle the sobs that want to pull me under. I feel so desperate to talk to her, I’ve begun to panic, half-frantic to know she’s okay. But these messages are recent. She’s okay.
I dial her number. It rings and rings. On the sixth ring, there’s a click and a pause. My heartbeat soars.
“Hello?”
“Oh my God,” I whisper into the phone. “Are you okay?” In a panic, I hiss, “Do not use my name in this call.”
“Well…” her voice trails off. “We’re okay so far. We made it over the border, and Piero has some family friends that are putting us up. But his friends have been trying to get in touch with him, and my father flies into Tuscany tonight. He knows I’m not there, that I’m supposedly where you are, but Piero thinks…this could get ugly.”
It could. She isn’t exaggerating.
It’s going to, I know it.
“What do you mean you’re married?” she hisses, just as the shower turns off. Shit. “Does he have any idea at all who you are?”
I cringe. “I have to go,” I hiss. “Let me go. I’ll text you.”
Bestie: You didn’t escape. My god, what do we do? What can we do?
Me: The most important thing is that YOU’RE safe.
Bestie: No, YOU!
I don’t respond at first, because I have no idea what else to say and I have no time.
I shut off the phone and slide it in the drawer, just as he enters the room. I close my eyes, having a hard time breathing. That was too close. Too close.
“Sleep well, piccola?”
I nod. “What’s that mean?”
I gulp as he removes his towel, his perfect ass and thick cock on full display. I stand to head to the shower myself, as he twists the towel into a rope and snaps it at my ass.
“Hey!”
“It means little one.”
Little one. I think I melt a little. “I like that. It reminds me of The Little Prince.”
He gives me a quizzical look. “Okay, tell me you know what that is.”
“Of course. I might be a violent asshole, but I’m not uneducated,” he says, affronted. “In fact, my French teacher made me read it en français. Should punish you for that, you little brat.”
“Your moods swing like a saloon door, you know that?”
He snaps the folded towel at my ass again.