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She puts her hand in the crook of my arm. “I hate you. You can’t force me to do anything. I’m not your slave.”
I shake my head, laughing a little to myself. She’s something else. If putting her hand on my arm pisses her off, she isn’t going to like what the future holds for her.
“I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’m giving you a choice. Me or my father.”
“That’s not a choice.”
“It is a choice. I think you will find that my family is more than fair when it comes to giving you free will while you stay with us even though you owe us a huge debt,” I say, leading her out of the family room.
“A debt that your family manipulated me into having.”
I stop. “You can hate my family, but you don’t get to blame us for the predicament you are in. If I remember correctly, my brother even tried to warn you. This is on you. You had a choice to drink or not even though you knew it was spiked. You had the choice to be saved or to stay with them. You chose us. Now, deal with it.”
She pouts but doesn’t argue about it any longer, so I keep walking. I show her the kitchen, our family’s private dining room, our offices, the library, and then the art gallery.
It’s clear when we enter the library that also holds walls of art that this room is her favorite. She runs her hands over the spines of the books and studies each and every painting we pass.
I should have done more research before she came. I know Arlo knows everything about her. I should have been better prepared.
“Do you like art? Books?” I ask before realizing how stupid I sound.
She nods. “I like history. I like learning about the past. Art captures the imperfections of people’s pasts, and books tell their stories. What isn’t there to love?”
“Are you an artist?”
She laughs. It’s a beautiful sound that I want to hear over and over again.
“No. I’ve tried, but that isn’t where my talent lies.”
I step closer to her, closing the space between us, testing to see how uncomfortable I make her. She doesn’t step back.
“Why would I tell you what my talents are? Why would I tell you anything about myself? You are just going to use it against me.”
I smile, liking how fierce she is when she speaks. It’s adorable that she thinks she has any control in this situation.
“Because it might make your stay easier if you were my friend and not just the woman I fuck when I’m bored.”
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything. She isn’t going to tell me anything about herself. I’ll just have to find the file that I know my obsessive, organized brother has on her. I’ll find out everything I need to know from that.
But, from the look in her eyes, I know where to find her if I ever need her. She’ll be here, enveloped in a story about medieval times or some shit like that. I’m sure books are interesting, but I prefer to make history rather than read about it in some book.
“Come on. Let me show you to your room,” I say, again holding out my arm to her.
She doesn’t want to take it. She doesn’t want to do anything that she is told. I’ll have to remember that tidbit. She needs to feel in control.
“You hold on to my arm, or I’ll hold on to your ass. Your choice.”
She frowns but takes my arm. I can practically feel the blood pulsing through her body just from the touch of her hand. She’s excited or nervous or turned on. I can’t tell which. Arlo is better at reading people than I am.
“You should really cheer up, sweetheart. Things could be a lot worse than they are.”
“How could they be any worse? I’ve been kidnapped. I’m a slave. I
just got married, and I don’t even get to have a life with my new husband. I think this is about as bad as it gets.”
I shake my head. “No. You made the right decision when you chose us over Erick seven years ago.”
“And why would you say that? From what I’ve seen, you are both scum.”
