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He shrugged. “It’s my house. Do I have to have a name for every room?”
My own lips curved in a smile. “I guess not, but they should have a purpose. Do you just use this room to store your massive record and whiskey collection?”
My house in Comitán had been small, but it’d been full of love. Every inch of the home had been lived in and appreciated. I’d even loved sharing a bedroom with my sister, although I’d thought she was annoying for far too many years of my life.
A pang shot through my heart at the thought of the family I’d been forced to leave behind.
Thankfully, Raúl distracted me from my grief with his bizarre response.
“I come in here to enjoy my whiskey and cigars.” He gestured at a wooden door set into the wall opposite from the whiskey bottles. “That’s my cigar humidor.”
I glanced around the room again. “But there’s only one chair. You don’t use this space for entertaining?” The incredible luxury of being able to afford a home with an entertaining room was utterly foreign to me, but at least I understood the concept.
He shrugged. “No, it’s just for me. I don’t entertain. Stefano throws more than enough crazy parties that I have to attend.” His lips twisted as though he’d bit into something sour. “My home is my own space. I have everything I need here, and I don’t have to endure bullshit small talk with people I barely like.”
“Oh.” That sounded kind of lonely to me. I’d give anything to be crammed back into my tiny house with my family, but Raúl seemed to prefer solitude.
He cocked his head at me, trying to read my mood. “Don’t you like whiskey and cigars?”
“I’ve never tried them. Not nice ones like this, at least.” As though I ever could’ve afforded such a thing.
His grin hit me square in the chest. I’d never seen him crack a wide, genuine smile before. The effect was dazzling.
“I’ll introduce you to the finer points later,” he promised, tugging my hand again.
He walked more quickly as he led me deeper into the house, pulsing with energy that I could only describe as eager. For a man who liked his alone time, Raúl seemed shockingly enthusiastic about showing me his personal haven.
We toured his massive home gym and a billiards room before exploring a full spa. He simply called it “the pool”, despite the fact that the enormous space contained an indoor pool, a hot tub, and a sauna.
My eyes were practically popping out of my head by the time we reached the bowling alley.
“You have a bowling alley?” I was completely overwhelmed by the inconceivable excess of his house. And there didn’t seem to be a single spare bedroom. Raúl obviously took his no guests policy very seriously.
He shot me a crooked grin. “It came with the house, but I figured I’d keep it. Why not?”
“Why not?” I echoed faintly, nodding as though that was the most reasonable explanation in the world.
“Well, that’s it,” he announced. “I’ll show you the grounds.” His expression dropped to something more serious. “I meant what I said, Marisol. Do not try to run from me. You won’t get far before I find you, and I don’t think you’ll like what will happen when I catch you. But I’m not locking you in a cage,” he added. “There’s plenty of green space on my property. You can go outside.”
My eyes searched his stony face, assessing. “I can go outside, but I can’t leave the property?” I pushed back a bit, testing his limits.
“Right. You won’t leave my home unless I’m with you.” His chin tipped down, causing his heavy brows to cast forbidding shadows over his eyes. “After your last escape attempt, I don’t trust you yet. I’m sure you can understand why.”
I bit my lip and broke from his gaze. “I really am sorry that I put you at risk.” I truly meant it; I wasn’t trying to manipulate him. Guilt knotted my insides as the gory images that’d haunted me during my reckless flight to Juárez flickered across my mind—Raúl, dead because of me.
“I believe you,” he rumbled. “But you’ll have to prove that I can trust you not to run. That will take time.”
I nodded glumly, too bogged down in my guilt and residual trauma from that awful day to muster up any anger at his controlling decrees. For so long, I’d been surviving one day at a time. While I felt far safer with Raúl than I had in months, I remained locked in that limited mindset. The idea of staying with him whether I wanted to or not felt far too much like captivity, no matter how comfortable my prison was.
Grappling with my feelings over this strange new scenario was too much. Once I had a few more proper meals and a lot more sleep, I could start thinking about the future. For now, I could stay with Raúl without protest.
