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“Naturally,” Less replies without elaborating.
I look down at the little piece of duck drenched in cherry sauce, over the delicious mash.
The food is always out of this world at the Valmonts’, but she’s right: we didn’t use to eat quite so many courses. This is definitely a special meal. I know better than to think it was ordered for our benefit; Alessandro is likely celebrating getting to the mountain. And if itwasin our honor, it’s only because he’s congratulating himself for getting his dumb, useless ex-whatever back under his thumb again.
I reallyhatehim.
Bella’s presence helps; she’s so magnetic, she brings all of the attention to herself without trying, and I can breathe a little easier when no one’s paying attention to me.
She’s telling everyone about our mother’s latest show at the gallery when a phone vibrates, loud.
“Excuse me,” Ciccio says as he checks the screen. His frown deepens. He clears his throat, turning to Less. “Sir, I’ve had news from the main house. I asked text for alerts if anything changes, given that our internet’s currently cut off. It seems like the storm’s likely to last another two days.”
“Two days!” I wail, standing up.
He must be kidding. It can’t last that long. It just can’t.
“It’ll be fine,” Bella says with an indifferent gesture. “You’re off work for ten days, right?”
Well, yes.
“But…Mom and Dad are supposed to come here.”
And we’re supposed to get away from Manor Winterlich, I don’t add.
I can’t remain locked up here with Alessandro for that long. I simply cannot. It’s been a couple of hours and my nerves are already on fire.
“They’ll come when they can. We’re supposed to stay here for two weeks,” Bella reminds me, unhelpful.
I chew on my lip, getting back to my seat, despondently.
Sadly, there’s nothing I can do about the freaking storm. But that doesn’t mean I have to stay here. Not really. I just need wood, and I can return to the chalet.
Only I know for a fact that demanding that will make me look bad, ungrateful, not to mention pathetic.
Not that Less will let me leave, even if I did ask.
I ignore my plate, my appetite gone. When the servants come with dessert, I thank them and decline my plate.
“I’m exhausted,” I say. “I’d better head back up.”
No one protests when I get up to my feet.
I pointedly look everywhere but at Less. “Good night, everyone.”
“Lovely to properly meet you, Ivy,” Hawk replies. “And looking forward to seeing a whole lot of you.”
“For two whole days,” I grouse, making him chuckle.
I wasn’t lying, exactly: I am bone-tired, but it has nothing to do with my physical state. This evening was mentally trying.
I had a bath in the decadent free-standing clawfoot cast iron tub, but I fill it up a second time, tie my hair in a high bun, and hop in, wishing I could have a glass of wine.
I don’t rest. Each passing moment of silence feels surreal. Though Alessandro said nothing when I opted to go up, I haven’t forgotten my promise to dowhatever he wants.
Part of me wished I could tell him to fuck off, and go screw my sister if he feels like it after everything. But even though I realize how pathetic it makes me, I can’t. I just can’t let him touch her. If it means having to let him touch me instead, so be it.
I’m not looking forward to it. Really. I’m not. The fact that he’s the only man who’s ever made me come is completely irrelevant to me. I’d rather have an entire life without a single orgasm rather than fall in his net again.
