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And every time before it.
This was my Hell.
Tears fell from my eyes, coating my cheeks as I screamed for someone to let me out. Begged for anyone to come to my aid. I pounded my fists against the wooden door until my knuckles cracked open and my hands were numb.
I got on my hands and knees and felt around the cramped space. My chest heaved as I struggled for air, fighting the wave of anxiety that ripped through my body like a hurricane.
I hated the dark.
Hated small spaces.
Desperate to escape, I clawed at the molding. Anything that could provide me a way out. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never get out of the closet.
This was my punishment for being born. For taking everything from her.
My mother.
She blamed me for everything that didn’t go her way. The woman should have loved me, like a normal mother. And yet, she had never shown me an ounce of love. Never cared about me. When she looked at me, she saw everything I stole from her.
Youth.
Beauty.
Money.
Her father’s love.
For most of my life, my mother had locked me in a tiny closet. I didn’t have to do anything to deserve her punishment. Just existing was enough for her.
Someone shook my shoulder, and strong arms wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “Alex, wake up.”
My eyes snapped open. A soft breeze from the bay flew into my bedroom through the French doors. I listened to the water crash against the beach, and my heart stopped racing, my hands stopped trembling.
“I got you,” Marcello whispered into my ear. He leaned back against the headboard with his muscular biceps holding me in a vise. “You’re safe, Alex.”
I laid my head on his chest and let out a deep breath. “Marcello.” I slid my palm onto his chest, right over his heart, feeling his heartbeat beneath my fingers until my body relaxed. “My nightmares went away… until you brought me back here.”
His fingers lightly ghosted my skin as he tucked my hair behind my ears. He sat up, bringing me with him. “Time to get up, princess.”
“I need coffee and a shower.”
Marcello tipped his head at the silver tray on the writing desk. I slid my legs off the bed, stretching my arms above my head and yawned. Marcello’s eyes darted up and down the length of my body, and he licked his lips. Ignoring his heated gaze, I sauntered over to the desk and poured myself a cup of coffee with my back to him.
I sat at the writing desk and buttered a slice of wheat toast, topping it with a heaping spoonful of jam before stuffing it into my mouth.
“In one hour, you have a fitting at the boutique in town, and then a meeting with Luca.”
I added cream and sugar and sipped from my cup. “For what?”
Marcello locked onto me with his usual stern expression as I bit into the toast. “Luca wants to talk to you about the Franco Foundation.”
His mother’s charity.
I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. What could Luca possibly want from me? The Franco Foundation had tons of talented artists in their employ.
I glanced over at Mr. Broody, who was glaring at me like I was wasting his precious time. “You should smile,” I said with a mouth full of food. “It wouldn’t kill you.”
Leaning back in his chair, he ignored me. He acted as if he hadn’t climbed into bed with me to pull me from my nightmare. Like this was a normal thing we did.
