Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
"Let's get some rest," he says, his raspy voice taking on the stern register he likes to revert to. But he's not fooling me. I heard every word he said.
He brushes the crumbs off the table into the palm of his hand, walks to the door and scatters them outside. I assume for birds or something, like some kind of altruist. He leaves the two water cups on the table.
We walk together to the bedroom. I don't ask him about the bed. I don't talk to him at all. It's the middle of the day, probably lunchtime, and I'm suddenly exhausted. He's right. We've had a long night and I do want to rest.
I haven’t taken a nap since I was a child. Somehow, I feel justified.
I don't think that I can actually sleep lying next to him, though. Not when I have as many questions going through my head as I do. I don't think I'll rest at all. But I'm wrong. He turns down the blanket, lifts me up since getting onto the bed with cuffed wrists is impossible, and lies me down on the mattress. Without a word, he unfastens my cuffs and arranges me on the bed so my hands are in front of me and then his hands are the shackles around my wrists. We lay so close together there isn’t an inch of space between us.
“Don’t move,” he whispers in my ear, his mouth so close to me the hair on my neck flutters. “Close your eyes and rest. If you try anything funny, I’ll punish you.”
“Yeah,” I say on a yawn.
“I wouldn’t be so blasé about it if I were you. I’ll pull you over my knee and spank your ass. You’ll wish you hadn’t, Vivia.”
Again, his raspy threat makes curiosity and something else, something darker and erotic, flare across my chest.
Fine, whatever, I’m tired.
I only nod my head and close my eyes.
I tell myself I don’t like the way his body feels pressed up to mine. I tell myself I don’t like the warmth, the feeling of protection, or the way his hard length pressed up against my ass tells me he sees me, and he likes what he sees.
I tell myself we’re captives here in the middle of nowhere.
I tell myself my only chance is to do what he says and survive while I plan.
And then I’ll escape.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dario
I haven't told her that much about myself, but the little I revealed seems like it may have been a mistake. I have to keep our rules in mind, and it's not going to help at all if I'm letting myself grow soft in any way.
But I am a good judge of character. And something tells me she might not be as guilty as we thought.
Yes, she’s spoiled. I'll fix that while we're here in the woods. Nature itself will be a good teacher, and I’ll make up the difference. I won't let her act like a spoiled brat.
But the women in the Rossi and Montavio families are held to high expectations. Their lives are not their own, and it seems the only trade-off in exchange for everything they’re expected to do is leading a comfortable life. None of them want for anything, whether it's clothes or shoes or a spring break trip to Maui. I'm told Marialena's first car was a luxury BMW worth over a million.
She was attached to the car, until she got into a fender bender about a month ago, at which point she went crying to Mama who soothed her by buying her a new one. Romeo allowed it because he knows as well as I that material possessions and luxury are pretty much the only freedom she has. And I would hazard a guess that Vivia has experienced much of the same. She’s never had to get her hands dirty or even so much as drop bread in a toaster for breakfast.
I think of everything Orlando told me. Vivia may have suspected but doesn't know for sure yet that her family no longer recognizes her as one of their own. I'm expecting any minute to get proof from Gloria and Mario about her guilt, or at least a lead on what she might know that would be helpful. But for now, I do my best to rest. It's a tricky feat when you're using your own body as human handcuffs. It's even harder when the person you're restraining is stunningly beautiful and the soft breath she releases when she sleeps is the most fetching whistling snore you could imagine.
I close my eyes and slacken my grip only a little. I'll know the second she wakes, or if she tries to move. I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
An hour later, she's thrashing in my arms, crying out. I'm instantly awake. Something’s wrong.