Page 97 of My Favorite Kidnapper

He was attentive and concerned. Gentle and kind.

And completely removed. His kisses were brief and perfunctory. His gaze became disconnected. As if he was shutting down.

When I woke up that morning, I was alone. In the dining room, he sat, staring out at the overcast skies. A pot of coffee sat in front of him, and weariness was etched into his skin.

“Hi,” I murmured.

He offered me a hollow smile. “Hello, Little Bee. How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

He poured me a coffee. “Good. Up for a little trip?”

“A trip?” I asked.

“Yes. It’s time to go home.”

I shut my eyes in relief. He was right. We needed to get back to the villa. We could get past this there.

“Yes. I want to go to the villa.”

Something passed over his face, but he only nodded. “We’ll leave after we have breakfast and you pack.”

“What about you?”

He flashed me another smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Already done.”

“Been up for a while, old man?” I asked, teasing.

He lifted an eyebrow, and I grinned, trying to get him to lighten up.

“I’ll let that pass.”

I was disappointed. I had rather hoped he’d at least threaten me a little. Maybe walk me slowly to the bedroom and have his way with me to disprove my words. Then I decided he probably was worried about the short car ride and my reaction to it. I’d show him tonight I was okay. I’d bake him some cupcakes, and he’d reward me. We’d get back on track. My bruises would heal and fade, and he’d get over his worry.

Maybe even address the fact that I’d told him I loved him.

I drank my latte and ate the croissant and fruit. In the bedroom, I packed the things I’d brought plus the new items we’d purchased, stuffing them into the bag. Dante came and picked it up.

“It’s a little fuller than when we got here.”

He touched my cheek. “Good.”

I wore a set of overalls and one of my new shirts. I slipped my feet into sneakers and left my hair down since that helped cover the bruising. I followed him to the car, and he tossed my case into the back.

I studied him, feeling tense. Something was off. He was acting oddly. He was stiff and removed. His touch had been distant. I noticed he didn’t hold my hand in the car. He always held my hand. We drove in silence, and I was confused. We seemed to be headed the wrong way. My confusion reached epic proportions when I spied the airport. He guided the car through some gates, and we pulled up to a private terminal.

“Dante, what’s going on?”

“I told you, a little trip.”

“I thought we were going home to the villa.”

He shook his head. “No.”

He climbed out and held out his hand. “We’re flying.”

I let him pull me from the car, and we headed to the plane. “What if I didn’t pack the right things?”