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My mouth opens and closes.
“No. No, of course not,” I blush, as if she’s accused me of something. “But what am I supposed to do? Just…sit in here and wait for…”
For what?
I don’t even know what I’m waiting for.
For Salvatore to come in here and whisk me off to a wedding? What changes then? I have no idea what tomorrow looks like, or the day after, or the day after that. But the thought of it looking like these four walls—I don’t know if I can stand it. Like a caged animal, I might start beating my head against the wall or gnawing off my own limbs.
“Never mind,” I sigh. “You’re bad at introductions, I’m bad at being kidnapped, apparently. I’m Tessa.”
Ava smiles sympathetically.
“It’s nice to meet you. I mean…well, sort of...” She winces at herself. “Sorry. Obviously, you wouldn’t think there’s anything nice about this. I don’t know why I said that.”
There’s a certain awkwardness about the interaction that neither of us can shake. My unwilling imprisonment lingers in between every polite word we try to exchange.
If Salvatore had sent some man in here, I might have felt brave enough to try and beat him over the head with this tray. Ava seems too soft-spoken and sweet, just as uncertain about all of this as I am. I suck it up and pick at my breakfast.
I’m not hungry, and even the artful slab of French toast and bright, fresh berries on my plate can’t convince me that I am. I just sip at the orange juice, served in a skinny glass, with a fresh orange wedge on the rim, alongside a glass of ice water.
“If you need anything, you just have to ask,” Ava explains, “I can’t let you leave this room, and I can’t give you anything electronic. But besides that, Salvatore said you can have whatever you want.”
I scoff softly, fiddling with the plastic utensil I’ve been given.
“Except a real fork, apparently.”
Ava blushes guiltily.
“And nothing that can be used as a weapon,” she agrees softly.
“Nothing quite like the insane asylum treatment,” I say, “A danger to myself and others.”
“I’m sure that’s not true...” she says gently. “I can give you time to eat—”
“Wait,” I say, desperation cracking in my voice. I don’t want to be locked away alone again. I glance over the room, looking for any excuse to make her stay. “What’s all that?” I ask instead, motioning to the bags of clothes on the floor.
Ava glances down, and for the first time since entering my room, she fights a smile.
“Oh. Well…first of all, it’s not my fault,” she says.
I arch an eyebrow at that little disclaimer. It’s as though she’s been itching to talk about this, some of her shyness melting away as she lowers her voice as she opens one of the bags to show me,
“I looked through some of them. Of course you’ll need clothes, but…” She fights another laugh, “Let’s just say they sent a man to do a woman’s job.”
Oh, God.
“…what does that mean?”
Ava pulls something from the bag. It’s dark and tiny, and when she gets it straightened out, it becomes a skimpy little mini dress. It’s not something I’d lounge around in, but I don’t hate it either.
“It’s not bad,” I say, but Ava’s smile doesn’t waver.
“I’m glad you think so, because—” she reaches into the bag and pulls out another, completely identical dress. I blink, and she pulls out another. “Apparently, whoever was sent to do your clothes shopping didn’t know your size. So…they just bought three of everything.”
“You’re joking,” I say, reaching for one of the bags. Sure enough, three identical cream, sheer tops are folded up inside, each a different size. I double-check the designer brand, then turn my stunned gaze to Ava. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, biting down her laughter.
“Wait, there’s more—I’m convinced, really convinced, that they thought this was a bra—”
