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This is the one room I haven’t been in yet.
I don’t know why I’m hesitant. It isn’t like Owen has respected my privacy or anything, but it feels too weird to just go in there now without an invitation.
But if I don’t go in now, then when will I get another chance like this?
My stomach churns.
I feel a little sick.
But I push the door open anyway, despite the anxiety, and I force myself inside.
I remain on my tiptoes, too afraid to be heavy-footed, but truth be told, I don’t really know what I’m expecting to find here. This room is as bare as mine.
Where does Owen keep all his stuff?
I guess he doesn’t live here, but he must havesomething. He must have planned this out somewhat.
But I don’t find anything in every drawer I open and cupboard I peer in.
A few items of clothing, but nothing special.
Nothing that gives me a way out of here.
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to find…”
Owen’s booming voice makes me damn near jump out my skin.
I thought he was gone. What the hell is going on?
“But you won’t find a thing in here.”
He smirks, knowingly, before turning away from me, leaving me a heap in the middle of his bedroom floor.
I feel silly and pathetic.
How the hell am I going to convince this man to let me out of here when he’s always three steps ahead of me? I don’t know if this is a person I’ll ever be able to outwit.
“Whatever,” I shoot back with a one shouldered shrug, acting all passive aggressive. “I mean, you can’t blame me for wanting to get out of here, can you?”
He chuckles. “No, I guess not.”
I rise to my feet, not quite done with the conversation yet.
I don’t knowwhatI want to say, but I would love to keep him talking.
See what I can get out of him.
Maybe Owen is a man who values honesty.
He might not be the most honest man himself, but if I try and be truthful with him, then we might get somewhere.
I have to try anyway, because I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.
“What do you think about arranged marriage?”
“Huh?” Owen furrows his brows as he settles on the couch. “What?”
“Arranged marriage. Like when parents decide who their kid should marry.”
