“Don’t test me, little flower,” he warns.
I stare up at him, chest rising and falling faster than it should.I want to scream at him.I want to kiss him.I want to throw my drink in his face.I want to run my hands through his hair to yank his face down to mine and press my body flush against his.
And I really want to take my sweet, sweet time in that bathroom now.
“Fine,” I snap, pulling my arm free with an exaggerated sigh.“But if I run into Gian, I can’t make any promises.”His eyes darken, and I smirk as I turn on my heel and disappear into the crowd.
The restroom is mercifully empty, the heavy door swinging shut behind me with a soft hiss that cuts off the hum of the gala.For the first time all evening, silence wraps around me like a blanket.I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and grip the edge of the marble sink.My reflection stares back at me—flawless makeup, curled hair, a gown that clings in all the right places.Yet beneath all the polish, I can still see the panic in my eyes.I lean closer, splashing cool water on the insides of my wrists to cool off the tension inside me.Maybe I’m just overwhelmed.Maybe I need five minutes, just five quiet minutes, and I’ll go back out there and smile and behave like the good little puppet Damiano expects me to be tonight.I take my time, basking in the silence.
But as I turn to leave, something catches my eye—a small window at the far end of the room.I take a slow step toward it, heart beginning to pound.It is cracked open, letting in a thread of fresh night air.I reach up and push.It creaks but swings open fully.It looks big enough for me to fit through…barely.A thrill sparks in my chest.My fingers curl around the sill.I stare at it, at the world on the other side so close I can almost taste it.
No more guards.No more stifling ballroom.No possessive hand gripping my waist like a leash.
This is my chance.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the trash bin from under the sink and flip it upside down beneath the window.I unstrap my heels and toss them through.They land on the other side with a soft clatter.I grip the edge of the bin with my bare feet and I hoist myself up, scraping my thigh on the frame as I perch on the sill.
One last glance over my shoulder.
No one has come looking.
Yet.
I swing my legs through.The drop is higher than I thought.I press my palms against the frame, my body trembling with the effort, then I let go.The landing is rough, jarring through my ankle and scraping my hands as I land crouching, but I bite down a cry and push to my feet, heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
I’m out!And for the first time in weeks…I’m free.
I crouch low in the darkness, hands scrambling through gravel and patchy grass.
Where the hell are my shoes?
My breath comes fast, harsh in the silence.The pulse in my ears drowns out every other sound.After a few seconds, I stand up, giving up the search.I don’t have time.Damiano is probably already looking for me.
Guess barefoot it will—
“Looking for these, sweetheart?”His drawl slices through the still night like a blade.
I freeze.
My stomach twists painfully as I look up.A tall shadow stands a few feet away, silhouetted against the faint glow of the building.As he steps into the moonlight, I see them, my shoes, dangling from his hand like a trophy.
A sob slips from my lips unbidden.
Game over.There is nowhere I can run.
I retreat until my spine is pressed against the wall behind me, waiting for my fate.My heart is hammering in my chest and I feel dizzy.
God, please don’t let me faint.
Damiano steps closer, his face unreadable, his eyes two black voids.Then he kneels down and picks up my left foot, gently, almost reverently, to strap my shoe back on.When he is done, he presses a kiss on my ankle and proceeds to do the same with my right foot.When he stands, I am so tense I can barely breathe.
He takes my arm to slip it under his as if we were going for a walk in the gardens.I am defeated, not knowing what to say or if I should say anything, so I let him lead me inside toward our table with resignation.I keep my head bowed the whole time, not daring to look at him.
What is he thinking?He acts utterly composed, like nothing happened, like I didn’t try to run from him mere minutes ago.No one notices the storm brewing at my side.At our table, he pulls out my chair, and I sink into it, trying to keep my hands from shaking.He takes the seat next to me and pours a glass of champagne, utterly composed.His unbothered demeanor only puts my every nerve ending on alert.My body senses the predator ready to pounce under his detached façade.
This isn’t over.Not by a long shot.
I take a big sip of my champagne and nearly drop the flute when I feel his big hand on my thigh under the tablecloth.He slowly drags my dress up, drawing lazy circles.I peek at his face, but he is deep in conversation with a man to his left, his face turned away from me.The only detail giving away his state of mind is the tic on his clenched jaw.I try to wiggle away but his hand immediately clamps down painfully on my thigh and I stop.His hold releases and he resumes his game of pulling up my dress.By the time my dress is bunched up high and I can feel his warm hand on my bare thigh, I am wound up so tight I want to scream at him to stop his game.
