Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
She was right.
“Maybe you could…”
Natalie shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t be a part of that anymore.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“I understand. It’s okay. I just think she needs some friends or something.”
“I’m sorry, I just—”
I touched her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
An awkward silence hung between us.
“Do you need anything?” I finally asked.
She shook her head. “No, we’re fine. We’re good.”
“You’ll call me if you do, right?”
“I promise.”
“I miss Sergio.” My eyes felt hot.
“Me too.” Natalie wiped hers before leaning against my chest. I hugged her, rubbing her back.
“Hey, I’m going to take Jacob to the beach a little later. Why don’t you come with us?”
I nodded, not really having to think about it. I didn’t want to go home. I’d bury my head in the sand for a little bit longer. “I’d like that.”
“Good.”
Jacob stood then, holding out two of the farm animals he was playing with. Both were a little wet from drool, but I took them. He stood leaning against my legs, babbling.
“That so?” I asked, not really understanding a word he said.
Natalie chuckled and stood. “More coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Jacob, Uncle Salvatore’s going to come with us to the beach. What do you think of that, honey?
Jacob leaned his face into my leg and smiled, still “talking.” I made out the word beach then something sounding like uncle in there before he gave me a cuddle. I cuddled him back.
I’d spend the day here. It would be good for me. And I’d think about what Natalie said about giving Lucia time and space. I could do that. It would help me get my thoughts figured out.
7
Lucia
I was a prisoner here.
I spent the day in my bedroom. I slept a little, then read and slept some more. Rainey brought me a tray at lunchtime when I told her I wasn’t feeling well, and then another at dinnertime. I didn’t ask where Salvatore was or what he was doing. Didn’t know if he’d just come barging in here and demand things from me. Punish me. Humiliate me. But he never did. When Rainey came to clear my dinner tray, I finally got up the nerve to ask.
“Is Salvatore home?”
“No, ma’am. He called a little while ago to say he wouldn’t be home tonight.”
So was he spending the night somewhere else? Where? With whom? And why did I care? At least he wouldn’t hurt me, not if he wasn’t here.
But Salvatore didn’t come home the next night either. Unable to hide in my room any longer, I finally left it late the following morning and gave myself a tour of the house, looking around in the corners, behind plants, for cameras. I wouldn’t be surprised to find them. He’d said I had free rein of the house apart from his study and bedroom. Of course, the first thing I did was try his study door but found it locked. The bedroom, too, was locked, but when I saw the maid slip out of the room, I tried the door. She’d forgotten to lock it behind her.
I looked around to make sure no one was watching and slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind me. I spent a long moment with my back against it, trying to calm my breathing, knowing if he found out I was in here, that I’d disobeyed, he’d punish me. And yet I felt like a triumphant, defiant kid who’d taken the piece of candy she wasn’t allowed to have.
I pushed away from the door and looked around. The room was about twice as large as mine, and the furnishings were all dark wood or metal, the carpet and drapes shades of blue to match his eyes in all his moods. Leather panels covered the whole of the wall behind the four steel frames of the bed, which was perfectly made, all corners tucked neatly in, since he’d not slept here for two nights now.
The connecting door to my room had a key in the lock. Figured it’d be on his side. Another door led to a bathroom similar to mine, just larger, this one containing black towels and bath accessories, nothing feminine about the space.
The final door opened to a closet. I stepped into it, chuckling at the inch of space between each of the black velvet hangers that contained suits, jackets, and pants on one side, dress shirts sorted by color along another wall, and more casual wear, again, grouped by color and perfectly spaced along the final one. Three dozen pairs of shoes filled the neat little show racks, and two shelves contained belts. Ties were rolled on their own cushions, the color coding continuing even there. The drawers held underwear and socks. Everyday items. Things I for some reason could not associate with the man who owned the house.