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I can no longer comprehend a world without her in it. Which is problematic in itself, given she ran because she could not conceive of a way to live, and survive, in my world.
We do not fit together in any way, shape, or form.
But I don’t care. I will never give her up. Especially not now that she’s carrying my child. For better or worse, we are a family, and she will never escape me again.
13
“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.”
Emily Dickinson
Bianca
I waitedhours for Rio before coming to the realization that he had no intention of visiting me tonight. He’s a bastard, for sure, and now that I’ve given up waiting and curled up in bed in my sexy nightie, I’m tempted to reach down between my legs and give myself the earth-shattering orgasm he promised me.
Only problem is, I know it won’t be the same unless he’s here.
Fuck him.He doesn’t own my body.
But as soon as I slip a finger into my already-wet seam and swipe around my clit, I still. It’s not right. Even though I’m dying to relieve the pressure cooker of sexual tension that grips my body, something feels wrong about doing this without him.
I groan in frustration and thrash my head back against the pillow, but I remove my hand and roll over onto my side to curl up my legs.
The fire and need in my veins stop me from sleeping until somewhere near dawn, if my bedside clock is accurate, and when the housekeeper arrives with my breakfast, she has to shake me awake.
I blink at her before coming awake properly and accept the tray she hands me. As usual, it contains a blueberry muffin and a mug of tea, which has become my beverage of choice at present. Coffee has a bitter, almost metallic taste that it never had before, and I’m hoping that once I’ve had the baby, my taste for coffee will return. Even the smell of it puts me off these days.
But alongside the muffin is a not-so-usual addition on the tray—a gold-edged white card. An invitation to join Rio on his yacht for lunch and an afternoon on the water. I throw the invite down, tempted to send an answer back upstairs confirming he can go to hell. I wonder who he needs to impress this time. More Mafia gangsters? People in positions of power who have become corrupt over time and are now on Rio’s payroll?
Will this be our life from now on? Me stuck down here in my lonely dungeon, summoned when he needs to remind the world he’s married, and then shoved back down here far beneath his estate to be forgotten about until the next time he needs to show me off?
But in the end, I decide not to be childish. The invitation provides an opportunity to get away from the estate for a short time and get some fresh air and sunshine on my face. It is likely far too hot up there in the real world, being the end of summer, but the outing hopefully will break up the monotony of my new existence for at least one day.
I only hope Rio gives me the chance to sit out in the sun before he shuffles me back down here to my dungeon.
* * *
When the goonsescort me out across the lawned area of the property and down to the river dock where Rio’s yacht is moored, I lift my face to the sun, enjoying the heat on my cheeks.
God, I never thought I’d miss fresh air so intensely. Even with the two short walks I’ve been allowed each day, it doesn’t seem enough.
Luckily, I’ve chosen a lightweight, floral-patterned sundress featuring a flared skirt that finishes at my knees. I wasn’t privy to the weather up here, but I’ve guessed correctly. Boston in summer is hot, so it didn’t really need a lot of brain power to figure it out.
One of the goons guides me up a small ramp onto the yacht itself, and I make a mental note to ask his name when he comes back to collect me. The other regular one, too. It’s not their fault they work for a monster. And not all of Rio’s men are heartless. Well, I guess maybe they probably are, but I don’t like to think of being surrounded by men who murder others simply because they’re ordered to.
Rio, on the other hand, is the one whogivesthe orders. So technically, his shoulders are the ones who bear the weight of responsibility for decisions like those. The goons are just the messengers.
The yacht appears to be empty as I reach the deck. I turn back and frown down at Goon One, who has folded away the boarding ramp and doesn’t seem to be following me aboard.
“Where is everyone? Isn’t there a party or event or something that Rio wants me to attend?”
Goon Two steps up beside One and shrugs. “We were told to deliver you here, at this time. So that’s what we’ve done, ma’am.” He looks past me, over my shoulder, and bows his head deferentially. “Hello, Boss. Do you need anything else?”
“Not at present.”
I whirl at the familiar voice to find Rio leaning in the doorway of the captain’s area. He’s wearing lightweight black trousers and a casual short-sleeved black shirt, and I gape at the unexpected and wholly sexy sight. Other than when we’ve made love and lain tangled naked in each other’s arms, I have never seen Rio dressed in anything other than business attire.
“What’s the occasion?” I manage after a pause, when it becomes apparent he’s not going to speak first.
