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“You need to eat if you want to take the painkillers the doctor gave you.” He reaches for a pitcher of what looks like orange juice on the tray and fills the empty glass beside it.
It would be a tender moment if he weren’t so rigid and cold.
“I’m having a dress and shoes sent up for you. I picked a pair of flat ones because of your ankle. You’re to dress and join me for dinner tonight. Perhaps we can arrange some comforts for you while you stay with us.” He stands up. “Don’t be late. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
He walks out and shuts the door behind him. This isn’t the boy I knew from university. There’s no passion there, no fire and love for life. This is a man molded after his father. Every last emotion has been beaten out of him.
For a brief moment, I wonder if it’s my fault. If it’s because I left. Surely not. Our love was passionate but brief, and we both knew our families would disapprove.
I eat lunch, and with some difficulty, I move the tray to the chair so I can lie down again. I look out the window. I can see the blue skies from where I’m resting, and I wonder if I can keep my snotty attitude to myself long enough to convince Miguel to take me out.
I just can’t get over the fact that he kidnapped me. I know he meant to take Arianna, but he got me and could have let me go. We both know that. He knows that. He chooses not to.
Suddenly I’m angry again. Raphael needs me. I think about how scared and confused he must be that I’ve suddenly disappeared. I have protected him from the kind of life that my family lives. He won’t understand why I just didn’t come home. He might think that I’ve abandoned him.
All because of Miguel.
Now the Don of the Rossi family wants me, his hostage, to dress up and entertain him over dinner? He can get knotted. That’s not going to happen.
When they bring me the bag of clothes and toiletries after lunchtime, I pretend to be asleep so no one speaks to me.
Around five, though, the guard shakes me, and I can’t pretend to be asleep any longer.
“What?” I snap.
He points to the chair where a beautiful dress rests. “Don Rossi says not to be late for dinner.”
“I’m not going,” I say, glaring up at the guard. “Tell him I’m his hostage, not his entertainment. I won’t do a thing he tells me to.”
I turn my back to the guard and curl up.
“Don Rossi doesn’t like being crossed, ma’am. For your own safety, I would suggest you get up, get dressed, and go to dinner before the Don loses his patience.” The guard stands there waiting, so I snap.
“I said to tell him it’s not happening. I’m not his fucking toy to play with. You tellMiguelthat I don’t have to abide by anything he wants just because he kidnapped me. Now fuck off.” I pull the sheet over my head and hear the guard retreat.
As soon as he shuts the door, I get up. I toss the dress and pumps into the trash can in the corner, and I hobble to the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me.
Chapter 12 - Miguel
I sit at the table, waiting. I told her not to be late, so my patience is wearing thin. I cannot stand how defiant she is. I remember how passionate she used to be, but I also remember how reluctant she was initially to break the rules, especially family rules. We both may have taken that too far, but we were young.
I look up as Jarred comes into the dining room.
“And? Where is she?” I ask, sighing. “Is she really in that much pain that she’s walking so slowly?”
“No, Don,” he says, averting his eyes. “She says she won’t join you. She then locked herself in her bathroom.”
I clench my fist and stare at the plate of pasta in front of me. It’s a family recipe, something I thought she might enjoy. I’ve never been one to show kindness, but the protocol is to treat other families respectfully.
But honestly, I’ve had enough.
“Go back upstairs and lock her room,” I snap at him, causing him to take a step back. “She’s not to receive meals in her room anymore. Unless she’s willing to dress and come downstairs and eat with me, she will starve.”
I pick up my cutlery and start to eat without another glance at him. I hear his retreating footsteps. I stab at my food, angry at the insult. When a Don tells you to eat at his table, you eat at his table.
My mind wanders as I eat, still hyper-focused on her.
Thirteen Years Earlier
