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As I sip the tea, I try to put things in perspective. What Alex did hurt me. The blatant way he executed my disempowerment without considering my opinion angered me. Yet I can’t say it shocked me. Not really. Looking back, I now see the signs clearly—the way he insisted I go out with him, how he wouldn’t take no for an answer until he’d worn down my resolve, how he moved my clothes into his house without consulting me, and how quickly he convinced me to move in with him. Then there was the unsettling fact that he always knew my shift schedule at the hospital.
The truth is he’s always been this way, and despite the blinders lifting from my eyes, I don’t want him any less. One touch from Alex is enough to make my knees weak. It’s always been the case, right from the start, and I doubt the visceral pull he exerts on me will ever change. Last night was proof of that. My body always tells the truth.
I care about him more than I’ve cared for any man. If I want space, it’s not because he’s made me a woman on the run or put my life in danger. The reason I need to slam on the brakes is that he believes there’s nothing wrong with keeping me locked up as long as he’s convinced that it’s in my best interest.
Can I tie myself to a man who won’t give me freedom? Maybe Dania, the daughter of his business partner, was right. Maybe I don’t fit in Alex’s world. How much am I prepared to accept? Can I make peace with letting him dictate my life? No. Like I told him last night, that’s not me. Then how do I take back my power?
A shadow invades my sunny spot. I glance up at the skylight. The sun is setting. I check my watch. It’s close to five, and there’s still no sign of Alex. A shiver of unease runs down my spine. I hate being kept in the dark while anything can be happening out there.
Seesawing between worry and anxiety is exhausting. I’ve been lying here, thinking this thing through until my brain hurts, and I still haven’t decided on a course of action.
Putting the empty cup aside, I get to my feet. I find a bathrobe in the adjoining bathroom and pull it on over my swimsuit. My hair smells of pool chemicals and my skin feels dry. I need a shower to rinse the chlorine from my body.
After I’ve had a warm shower, I moisturize my skin and brush out my hair. Remembering Lena’s comment that Alex prefers to dress for dinner, I choose a blue cashmere dress. I don’t care what Lena and Alex think about my attire, but being underdressed puts me at an unfair disadvantage, even if it’s just in my own mind. After applying mascara and lip gloss, I’m ready.
At seven, I go downstairs. The big house is quiet. Alex and his most trusted bodyguards are still not home. Like the evening before, the table is set with a variety of dishes. I finish dinner in solitude, my only company the ticking of the clock.
Tima distracts me with his lively chatter, telling me the names of the dishes in Russian and explaining their ingredients as he serves dessert and finally clears the table.
Not ready to retire, I go to the library and curl up on a chair. Someone made a fire in the fireplace. I watch the shadows the flames draw on the wall and listen to the crackle of the wood. Soon, a warm glow spreads over my cheeks, and my eyes start to droop.
I give a start when the door suddenly opens. Alex stands in the frame, wearing a dark suit and a black button-up shirt without a tie.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says, studying me with cunning intensity.
Sitting up straighter, I rub my eyes. “I was dozing off.”
He steps inside and closes the door. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to take care of business.”
I follow him with my gaze as he crosses the floor and comes to a stop in front of the fireplace. “Business as in work, or business as in finding out who wants you dead?”
“Both.” He props his forearm on the mantelpiece and stares into the flames. “I hope the dinner was to your liking.”
“It was delicious, thank you.” The concern I can’t shake compels me to ask, “What about your dinner?”
He takes a log from the basket and throws it into the fire. “I ate at the office.”
“Oh. Do you have a private cafeteria for your employees?”
His lips quirk. “We do. But for the executives, we have a standing order from a catering company.”
“Convenient,” I say, studying my hands.
He turns to face me. “How was your day?”
