Page 47

Something monumental. Something that eclipses everything else.

Elio’s words both astonish and bemuse me. They send my heart soaring while simultaneously cracking it wide open because he’s making it clear that I am that something.

I don’t know how to handle any of this. He cut off a man’s finger in front of me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was partly for my benefit. As though he was challenging me to reject him. I don’t want to do that, especially when he seems to think it’s happened in the past as well. Yet I can’t turn my back on my old life, either.

I am truly wedged between a rock and a hard place.

“I think I need to lie down,” I murmur, turning away without meeting his gaze.

A stormy cloud of frustration and disappointment builds at my back as I walk away.

“Dinner will be up here tonight at eight,” he calls harshly. “I expect you to attend. You’ll find new clothing options in the bedroom.”

I peer back briefly and nod, my eyes snagging on the quiet visitor in the corner as I do. He’s watching me intently, dissecting every morsel of interaction between Elio and me. I’m not sure what to think about him. Maybe I’ll get a better feel for him at dinner.

When I get back to the room, I find piles of shopping bags laid on the bed. Thick paper sacks with names on the outside that I don’t recognize, but when I delve inside, the brands are unmistakable.

Fendi. Prada. Ferragamo.

This isn’t a Walmart run for the basics. He spent a small fortune.

I still don’t understand it. Why after all this time? Why me?

When I see buttery-yellow fabric in a bag, I hold it up and admire the lovely dress. It has thin straps, a corseted midsection, and a mid-length skirt. The fabric at the bust is accented with yellow eyelet lace and a bow tied in the middle. It’s flirty and fun and a welcome departure from the cold winter back home.

I’ve always loved yellow. It’s not necessarily ideal for my complexion, but I never cared. Yellow is sunshine and warmth and happiness. I could use a dose of that right now.

I lay the dress on the side of the bed to wear later at dinner, then put away the rest of my new wardrobe before lying down to rest. The day has already been exhausting, and it’s far from over.

What a strange alternate reality I’ve fallen into that has me dressing up for a dinner party with my kidnapper. All my needs are being met, and I’m surrounded in luxury, yet I can’t leave. I have no access to phone or internet. I am a prisoner.

Even a gilded cage is still a cage.

While I try to tame the salty air out of my hair and apply color to my lips, I’m assaulted by relentless worry about the people I’ve left behind. Knowing I’m playing dress-up while they suffer has me sick with guilt.

I considered refusing dinner. I’ve considered all sorts of things in the hours I’ve had alone in the room. Elio stopped in briefly to retrieve a change of clothes, then left to allow me privacy while I get ready. What kind of captor does that?

No amount of ill temperament can disguise the thoughtfulness of his actions. And he tries. He’s brutish and abrasive at every opportunity, but his actions speak volumes.

That’s why I’m still in the yellow dress.

Something tells me I need to see this through. The only way to get to the bottom of it all is to wade through the swamp and attack whatever demons I come across head-on. Maybe then, once we’ve made it to the other side, we can both go home.

No need for a clutch because I have nothing to carry; I take one last look in the mirror before heading upstairs. I haven’t even reached the stairs, however, when I nearly crash into someone exiting another cabin.

“Oh!” I peer up, expecting to see Elio steadying me, but that isn’t the case. The handsome yet mysterious visitor from earlier holds me in his warm hands that linger before releasing me.

“My apologies.” He lifts his chin. “I should be more careful about charging into hallways. These boats aren’t particularly accommodating when it comes to numbers.” He’s oddly aloof. Pleasant but removed as though he’s studying me rather than engaging for pleasure. It gives him a mysterious air. Between that and his chiseled jaw, steely-gray eyes, and wavy dark hair on the cusp of rebellion, his effect is rather mesmerizing.

“No harm, no foul.” I smile. “I was just heading up to dinner.”

Despite my attempt at being friendly, his sharp edges don’t soften. “I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier. My name is Kairos.”

“I’m Isa.”

His stare unnerves me—as though he’s stripping me bare and taking measure of my soul itself. “Who are you to Elio?”

The unexpected question dances around my head as I struggle to formulate an answer while simultaneously questioning why he wants to know. He and Elio seemed to be on friendly terms, but if that’s the case, why wouldn’t he have asked Elio rather than me?