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I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. To find myself being moved to a different location or sent back to Vito. But neither happens, although Ciaran stays away, coming back to the suite after I’m asleep and leaving again before I’m awake. The only reason I know he's been here is because of the indent in his pillow.
I find myself waiting for him to come back, hoping he’ll speak to me, acknowledge… something. But that never happens, either.
He does, however, keep his word to Róisín, and she’s full of an innocent glee and excitement the first time she’s allowed to take me to another part of the compound.
We don’t have carte blanche, but I’m allowed to visit the library - I’m still kind of amazed there is one - and I’m allowed in the small inner courtyard, which is flanked by buildings on all four sides.
It’s nice to feel the sun on my face, the breeze in my hair, and to breathe fresh air though. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to committing the various corridors and locations to memory so I can make sense of the compounds’ layout should the opportunity ever arise for me to escape.
So far, we’ve always been accompanied by a somber, untalkative guard who shadows our every move while simultaneously pretending we don’t exist, which is kinda bizarre. He always does a great job of not appearing to pay attention, but I can tell he’s following us closely. I've nicknamed him "The Phantom" due to his almost otherworldly presence and tendency to appear out of thin air.
I try not to acknowledge it, but despite Ciaran's withdrawal, the lingering sense of our bond is still there - like a ghost haunting the corners of my mind. A constant reminder of something I can't let go of. As much as I want to push it aside, the echoes of our passion linger like a haunting melody I can’t get out of my head. One that’s remorselessly stripped away for the nonsense it really is on the third day, when Róisín comes to the suite with a couple of new outfits for me.
“I don’t have any time today,” she tells me with an exaggerated pout.
I give her a smile. “That’s okay. I know you have your own life to live. I don’t expect you to chaperone me every day. Just being able to leave this suite a couple of times is more than I expected.”
I say the words, but I can’t deny the disappointment. I enjoy Róisín’s company and we’ve spent hours comparing childhoods and clothing, movies and music preferences.
” Urgh… Ciaran’s brought some tart home and expects me to have dinner with them,” Róisín declares, her Irish accent thick, like it’s the worst thing in the world.
“Tart?” I ask with a grin. “You mean like desert? That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No, silly. I mean he’s brought a woman back here. A lady friend.”
She uses finger quotes to highlight those last few words, not knowing how much they affect me.
I bite my tongue and attempt to behave like nothing is wrong, when in reality, I feel like I’ve been spurned. Which is ridiculous, of course, because Ciaran has already made his feelings perfectly clear. But jeez, how can it hurt so much to hear he’s entertaining another woman a few short days after he couldn’t keep his hands off me?
And why do I even care? It never bothered me when Vito paraded other women right in front of my nose.
Logical or not, I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy and betrayal, even though I know it's irrational. Even though he’s made it clear I’m nothing but his prisoner.
I try to act casual, but I can’t look Róisín in the eye. I know she didn't mean any harm, but the words hurt like a dagger to my stupid, needy heart.
Dear God, what did I do to deserve this life?
Róisín chatters on, oblivious, and I do my best to follow because I know the insights I’m getting are important. “I’m surprised if I’m honest. Especially after what happened to…”
She trails off, and I know she was about to mention Orla. That she doesn’t out of consideration for my own presence here only makes me like her more.
Shaking her head, Róisín continues. “What I mean is, there’s a lot of tension. My brothers are both distracted. I can tell there’s something going on, not that they bother to tell me about it, so it's an odd time to bring a woman back here.”
I say nothing about the woman. What could I say, anyway? And even though I feel like crap for squeezing Róisín for information, that’s what I do. “Maybe she’s a business associate?” I suggest, hating the ball of hope that unfurls in my belly. “There are a few high-powered women within the organizations, after all. And you did say there’s stuff going down.”
Róisín shakes her head adamantly. “Nu-uh. She’s the type that reeks of sex more than she exudes power. And she’s all over Ciaran like a leech. Even Cal told them to go get a room.”
My cheeks heat then, and I can’t hide it.
“What?” Róisín demands, and I hide the real cause of my mortification with a roll of my eyes.
“Yeah, because that’s not awkward at all when I’m being held captive in his damn suite,” I mutter as a fresh bout of shame holds my emotions prisoner.
“Oh! I see what you mean.” Róisín laughs, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I may have made a fool of myself over Ciaran, but at least no one else has to know about it.
But when she leaves, I can't help but wonder what's happening downstairs in the main hall with this mystery woman, and for the first time since I got here, the walls of Ciaran's suite seem to press in on me.
That night, Ciaran doesn’t come back at all, telling me everything I need to know.
