“‘Audaces fortuna iuvat,’” he quoted.
“‘Fortune favors the bold,’” I translated.
“Yes,” he said, obviously pleased. “My favorite quote in all theAeneid.”
“It’s how you live your life—it’s how Flynn lives his life, too.”
“Men like us… It’s the only way to live.”
I wondered how long we were going to do this dance, but I was tired of asking questions and receiving no answers. I could tell he wanted me to ask why I was here, what his plans were for me, beg him to take me back to the city, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Let the dance continue.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You may,” he said, his tone hopeful.
“Might I get an alarm clock in my room?”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to keep track of the time.”
“What’s my name?” he asked.
“Dolinsky.”
He looked disappointed. “No, you may not have an alarm clock.” He strode from the library, leaving me with a room of leather-bound books and my swirling thoughts.
Over the course of the next week, I carved out a routine. Every morning I woke up to a breakfast tray and coffee. I ate and then showered before putting on clothes that magically found their way into the armoire, closet, and dresser. I’d discovered an expensive pen in the library, and I’d taken it with me to my bedroom. In the far back part of the closet, I pushed aside the rack of evening gowns and made a tally of my days in Dolinsky’s home. I still had no alarm clock.
During the days, I spent my time in the library, attempting to read. I rarely got more than one paragraph in before my mind began to wander, and I thought about Flynn. I worried for him, much more so than I ever considered worrying for myself. I wondered how he was explaining my absence to my best friend, but more importantly, I wondered why he hadn’t found me yet. Had my trail gone cold?
I’d found an English/Russian dictionary and somehow managed to absorb a few words. It was the only thing that seemed to occupy my mind.
Dolinsky left me to my own devices during the daylight hours, but every evening, we dined together in the spacious, elegant dining room. He insisted I dress for the occasion, and he was complimentary. He always wore evening attire, looking fashionable and handsome.
I hated that I noticed his appearance, but more so, I hated that he treated me like an equal and asked my opinion on many subjects. He genuinely seemed interested in what I had to say, and he wouldn’t let me give him one-word answers.
On night eight, I let my guard down just enough to be lulled into a peaceful state. Dolinsky and I were in the middle of a debate and forgetting myself, I yelled at him for playing devil’s advocate. We laughed.
Together.
Horror registered across my face, and I shoved away from the table, running to the illusionary privacy of my room. Throwing myself onto the bed, I cried for all the confusion I felt. Dolinsky was my enemy, my captor, and I had been enjoying his company.
There was a knock on my door. I sat up quickly and jumped off the bed. I hastily ran my fingers under my eyes. “Come in,” I mumbled.
Dolinsky stood in the doorway. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I lied, refusing to meet his gaze. “Just a little too much wine.”
“You never have more than a glass.” He took a step toward me, and I held up my hand to thwart him.
“Please, don’t. I don’t have the energy for this. Not tonight.”
“Energy for what?”
“For games. How long are you going to keep me here, pretending I’m a houseguest and not a prisoner? Even though you’re here with me, your men are out there, hunting down my husband.”
