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She slowly turned around, pulling her hair over one shoulder. The t-shirt she wore was loose on her curves, but the jeans hugged her tightly, showing her bubble ass and slender thighs. She looked at me with her light brown eyes, the color of young tree bark. “Mia.”
Fourteen
Mia
Carter unlocked the door in the morning, letting me out of my cage like some kind of dog.
I told myself not to complain, not when I was able to sleep comfortably in the bed without a chain hooked to my ankle. I could shower when I felt like, pee when I felt like it, and I could look out the window all I wanted.
We were somewhere in between Milan and Verona, in the countryside, without another house in sight. He had olive trees around his property, and there was a high stone wall that surrounded it, keeping everything contained. He had a swimming pool, a nice terrace, and a spectacular garden. There was no way he took care of that himself.
He didn’t wait around for me after he unlocked the door. He headed downstairs.
I followed him a moment later and examined my surroundings, finally exploring the house without him breathing over my shoulder. There was a picture mounted on the wall, so I stopped to look at it. Carter was in it, along with other people who looked similar to him. It seemed to be a family portrait at Christmastime. Of course, they were all beautiful just like him.
I glanced down the hallway and assumed the room with the partially open door was where he slept. His office was there too. I was tempted to sweep the place for stowed away guns, but he probably cleared everything—with the exception of his room.
I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do about him. I could either try to kill him or convince him to let me go. He seemed to be a momma’s boy, so that told me he had a heart under that hard chest. But the fact that he bought me at all told me he wasn’t innately kind. If I laid my cards on the table too soon, he would never drop his guard and would know I would always be a flight risk.
So I had to do this carefully.
I walked downstairs and joined him in the kitchen. He had made a cup of coffee with the espresso machine.
“Can you cook?” He unbundled the newspaper from the rubber band and laid it out on the table. He pulled out the sections he wanted to read, sports, world news, and surprisingly, comics.
Cooking was one of my skills. I hadn’t done it in years, but I used to cook almost every meal. “Yes.”
He grabbed his coffee and headed to the dining table. “I want scrambled egg whites, a piece of toast, sliced tomatoes, and an assortment of fruit.” He issued the command without even looking at me. He turned his back on me, the muscles under his skin shifting and moving as he carried himself. All the muscles of his back were precisely tuned, like he lifted various kinds of weights to work out each one. With tanned skin that complimented the dark hair at the nape of his neck, it was a nice sight. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing the muscles that flanked him on either side of his spine.
The sight distracted me for a moment. “That wasn’t a very nice way to ask.”
He didn’t turn around as he stepped into the dining room, which was filled with natural light. “Because I didn’t ask at all.”
I reminded myself that making him breakfast was much better than the ways Egor expected me to serve him. He preferred to have large meals in front of me while I starved. Then he liked to beat me until tears emerged from my eyes. Only then would he fuck me, when he could listen to me cry.
This was definitely preferable.
But I refused to be grateful for it.
I whipped up the food he asked for and served it to him.
His newspaper was off to the side, and he was scrolling through his phone, checking emails. He didn’t lift his gaze to look at me. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” Now that my job was done, I walked back into the kitchen.
“Sit with me and eat.”
I came back to him. “Eat with you?”
“Yes.” He kept typing a message. “You made something for yourself?”
“No. You didn’t tell me I could eat.” If I ever tried to eat without permission, Egor didn’t refrain from strangling me, which was ironic considering he starved me in the first place. He pushed me until my breaking point then punished me for placing a piece of bread in my mouth.
He finally looked up from his phone, his right eyebrow arched. “You were waiting for permission?”
