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“You mean, I can leave my room?” she asked, hoping he just considered the excitement in her voice to be part of the ‘little girl’ act. The kitchen, if she recalled correctly, was at the back of the house. There had to be at least one door she could slip out of, if she could distract Benny long enough.
Chuckling, Benny held out a hand, which she readily accepted. “Mr. Rinaldi says you may go anywhere inside the house, as long as you’re with me. Shall we, Miss Amara?”
“Couldn’t you just call me Amara?” she asked as they descended the stairs.
“That’s up to your daddy.”
“Just like everything else, huh?” she muttered.
Tossing his head back, Benny let out a loud bark of laughter. It was so at odds with his usual quiet demeanor, she jolted and nearly tumbled down the stairs. “Yes, Mr. Rinaldi runs a tight ship. But he’s very fair.” The laughter faded and he stopped on the bottom step to turn and face her. “You could be very happy here, Miss Amara. You’d live like a princess.”
“I’ve been a princess my entire life. I’m not sure I want to trade one tower for another.”
“I suppose I can understand that. Still, you could do far worse than Mr. Rinaldi.”
In their circles, where marriages were still very much the currency of power and alliances, Benny’s words rang with a truth she hadn’t considered. Was Uncle Gio so protective of her because he was saving her for someone else? Someone whose treatment of her would be far more damaging than a couple of welts across her ass on occasion?
Perhaps running back to him wasn’t the best idea, after all.
No. She refused to let herself go down that path. Uncle Gio had never so much as hinted at marrying her off. In fact, she knew for certain he’d turned down at least three strong alliances with families in sister cities because the alliance hinged on her marriage to a son or a nephew. At least, that was what he’d told her at the time. And she’d believed him, because he’d never given her a reason to distrust him.
Head spinning with unanswered questions, she followed Benny into the kitchen. There were, as promised, cinnamon buns the size of her head, coated with creamy white icing waiting for them on the island. Benny helped her onto a stool, where she immediately picked up the pastry and bit into it.
“Oh, my God,” she said, her voice muffled by the sticky dough. “This is delicious.”
“Don’t let your daddy catch you talking with your mouth full,” Benny scolded lightly, reaching over to tuck a napkin into the neckline of her dress. “He’s very strict about table manners.”
“We’re not at a table, silly.”
Her cheeky response earned her another burst of laughter from her babysitter. “Emilio is going to have his hands full with you.”
“Not for long,” she said quietly.
“You wouldn’t have to live like this all the time, you know. There would be expectations of you, as Mrs. Rinaldi, that you couldn’t very well live up to as a little girl.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is it, sweetheart?”
His simple kindness brought on a fresh wave of tears and she was forced to set the gooey pastry aside to wipe at her eyes. The weight of what she’d done, what she’d tried to do suddenly felt like it would crush her if she didn’t tell someone. “He’ll never forgive me, not in a thousand years. I’m a horrible person, Benny. I’m a—”
The kitchen door swung open, cutting off her confession and one of the maids she’d noticed around the house scurried in. “Oh, Benny. Thank God. Callie was scrubbing the windows in the entryway and she slipped off the ladder and hit her head really hard. I think she may need to go to the hospital.”
“I’ll be right there, Martha.” The maid hurried from the room and Benny turned to Amara, his expression stern. “I want your bottom on that stool while I’m gone, Miss Amara. If I have to punish you for disobeying me, your daddy will be very unhappy with you.”
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he slid from his stool and followed the maid out of the kitchen.
This was it. This was her chance to escape. When the door clicked shut behind Benny, she slid off her stool and made a dash for the back door. But she paused with her fingertips hovering just over the handle. If she left now, there was no way she could ever make things right between her and Emilio ever again.
But even if she stayed, the odds of him forgiving her seemed slim to none. With her heart heavy and her stomach in knots, she pushed open the door and stepped into the sunlight.
The brightness blinded her for a minute, forcing her to stop to allow her eyes to adjust to the sudden change. When they finally did, her heart plummeted to her knees. It was at least half a football field to the concrete wall surrounding the perimeter. And even if she made it, how the hell was she supposed to get over the wall?
“You really didn’t think this through, Vitali,” she muttered.
A strong, familiar hand wrapped around her upper arm. “No, you did not,piccolina.”
The hand spun her around, and she came face to face with a furious Emilio. It felt like every ounce of blood drained from her head when she saw him. “Hi, Daddy,” she squeaked out.
