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I get through the day by working myself to a standstill. Even my brain is too tired to think. That night, for the first time, he doesn’t come to me. I’m a heap of shivering and aching need when morning comes, cursing him and my body. Visions of him in the blonde woman’s bed drive me to maddened tears. He’s ruined me for other men. He’s ruined me for even myself.
I’m busy with the vacuuming the following morning when he stumbles through the door, Rhett and Quincy in tow. His hair is disheveled, and there’s blood on his shirt. His knuckles are bleeding. My heart squeezes, and my pulse quickens. He glances at me, but limps down the hallway without a greeting. I contemplate the reason for his state the whole day, refusing to acknowledge the worry that gnaws on my gut. Worrying means caring, and I don’t care.
At five, I have a shower and change into my shorts and T-shirt. I throw my tank top into my bag together with the food for the homeless dogs. I’m not in the mood to face Gabriel, but I’m not so stupid as to ignore his order to say goodbye before I leave.
Like yesterday, he calls me in when I knock on his study door. I don’t enter, but only pop my head around the frame.
“Have a good weekend. I’m off.” I retract my head, hoping to get away with a quick greeting, but I’m not that lucky.
“Valentina.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before facing him again.
He gets up from behind his desk. He’s wearing a blue shirt with navy pants and a striped tie, looking as hot as ever. “I’ll take you.”
All I can do is stare at him in confusion. “What?”
“I’ll drop you off.”
Gabriel is offering me a lift? I’m not sure how I feel about that. I don’t want him to be kind to me. “That’s not necessary. I can find my own way.”
“Like you did last week?”
“Um, yes.”
“In a minivan?”
“Yes.”
He crosses the floor with menacing steps. “If you ever get into a minivan again, I’ll tan your ass so hard, you won’t sit for a week.”
I blink up at him.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” he asks.
For a white girl, he means. Other people have cars. Nobody dares walking in the street alone. The chances are too good of getting raped, tortured, and murdered. Life carries no value in this city, but in my world, if you don’t have a choice, you just have to take your chances.
“You’re worth a lot to me, Valentina. I own you, and I protect what’s mine.”
He returns to the chair and lifts his jacket off the back. Picking up his keys from the desk, he takes my hand and leads me to the garage.
I feel small next to him in the luxurious interior of his car. He says nothing as he steers the sleek Jaguar down the driveway and into the traffic. Instead of heading east, he goes north. He doesn’t ask where I’m going, so I keep my mouth shut until he pulls up in front of an exclusive store in Sandton. I get out when he comes around to open the door for me, clutching my bag to my chest as he guides me inside the luxurious shop. It’s not like any department store I know. There are no items on display. There’s only a leather sofa and a glass desk stacked with clothes, purses, and shoes. A pretty, young lady greets us by the door and waves an arm to the desk.
“Everything’s ready for you, Mr. Louw.”
He acknowledges her with a curt nod and ushers me forward. “Go ahead. Choose whatever you like.”
Dumbfounded, I gape at him.
“What’s your color, darling?” the woman asks. “Red will look good with your complexion. White, too. Silver for the evening.” She starts pulling dresses from the heap and drapes them over the sofa.
“Um, excuse me.” I clear my throat. “May I please have a moment with…” What do I call him in front of her? “…Mr. Louw.”
“Gabriel,” he corrects.
The woman looks from me to Gabriel. There’s judgment in her eyes, even if she tries to hide it. “I’ll fetch refreshments. Take your time.”
When she disappears into a backroom, I turn to Gabriel. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting you clothes.”
“Why?”
“I threw your blue dress in the trash.”
“I don’t expect you to replace it.”
“I told you I like to take care of you.”
Wringing my hands together, I close the distance between us. “I can’t take your money.”
His eyes darken, the chipped blue turning stormy. “It’s legal money.”
“It’s not that. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Feels pretty damn good to me. Are you saying making me feel good isn’t right?”
“Don’t twist my words.”
He grabs me to him so suddenly my breath catches. Holding me around the waist with one arm, he cups my breast and gives my nipple a soft pinch. “Don’t test my patience.”
