Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Lorenzo’s mouth curves. “No can do. Now go to bed.”
“No can do,” I parrot.
Rafe laughs.
Lorenzo doesn’t.
“Listen.” He lifts his finger to catch a loose strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. My heart rattles in my chest at how tender his touch is. “You’re not part of this.”
I slap his hand away, my palm stinging from the contact. “I’m part of whatever you dragged me into.”
His eyes flash with irritation, something darker under it. Heat?
“You’re part of what happens in this house,” he corrects, voice sharpening. “Not what happens out there.”
“Why?” I demand, breath shaking. “Because you don’t trust me? Because you think I’ll run?”
His gaze holds mine, unblinking. “Because if you know too much, you become leverage.”
My throat tightens.
Rafe clears his throat, shifting like he’s trying to remind Lorenzo there are witnesses. “We should go.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flick toward Rafe. “Get the car.”
Rafe doesn’t argue. He just turns and leaves with the brisk efficiency of a man used to taking orders.
Lorenzo pivots back to me, his expression smoothing into something colder.
“Go upstairs,” he repeats, voice quieter now. “Stay in your room.”
I plant my feet. “Make me.”
His eyes narrow, but then he smiles.
“Oh . . .” He leans in so close his mouth brushes the shell of my ear without quite touching. “Don’t tempt me, Little Bird. I’m trying very hard to keep you alive.”
My stomach drops.
He pulls back, gaze dragging over my face. Then he turns on his heel and heads for the door like the conversation is finished.
I stand there, breathing hard, watching him.
He pauses at the threshold, one hand on the door, and glances back over his shoulder.
“Don’t test the guards tonight. I won’t be here to stop them from being stupid.”
Then he’s gone.
The front door shuts, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath like I expected something else to happen.
I’m still standing in the foyer when I hear footsteps, then hushed voices. A maid passes with a tray in trembling hands. Her gaze meets mine for a split second, and in that glance, there’s fear so raw it makes my stomach churn. Not fear of me. Fear of him. Maybe I should be scared of Lorenzo, too.
I’m not, though, and that should be alarming.
Despite what I was ordered, I don’t go upstairs right away.
Instead, I drift through the hallways like I’m mapping the mansion.
Eventually, I find my way back upstairs, then slip back into my room and close the door quietly.
I wonder when Lorenzo will be home.
Home.
What a funny word.
This isn’t my home, yet despite being caged here, I do feel safe, so maybe it is.
Because Lorenzo is protecting me. While he’s currently planning a war, he still thinks of my safety.
I should feel scared, but ironically, I trust Lorenzo to keep me safe. And while I might want to fight him, I know that whatever is happening outside these walls . . .
It’s bigger than me.
And for the first time since the wedding, the fear in my chest isn’t just about what Lorenzo might do to me.
It’s about what someone might do to him.
And I hate myself for that.
45
Victoria
The library is the only room in this house that doesn’t make me feel like I’m suffocating.
It’s exactly what I need . . .
It smells like paper and dust and the amazing fragrance of old leather.
Also, from what I can tell, no security monitors stare at me in here. Unless they are hidden, which I wouldn’t put past Lorenzo, but at least I don’t have to see them.
Nothing is worse than seeing the damn blinking red light. Every day, in every room, it torments me.
I slip inside and close the door behind me. My shoulders sag the second the latch clicks.
“Okay,” I whisper, pressing my palm to my sternum. “One minute. Just one.”
I love how quiet it is.
I drift along the nearest shelf, fingers grazing titles without really reading them. Italian. Latin. English.
My eyes go wide when I notice a certain spine sitting on the bookshelf.
Of course, he has it.
My heart beat picks up, and for a second, it feels like I’m punched in the gut.
Wuthering Heights.
I take a step closer, reaching my hand out until my fingers hover beside it.
For a second, I’m back in the boathouse, laughing too loudly, thinking nothing bad could ever happen to me.
How wrong I was.
Because now, at twenty-two, I’m married to that boy, and he’s using our past against me.
I pull the book out carefully. It’s not going to bite, but I’m still scared of it.
Once it’s in my hands, I take it in.
My brow furrows.
It looks well-read. The cover is worn, with faded letters and yellowing pages.
My throat tightens.
I flip it open.
This is very old. A first edition?
My breath catches. “No,” I whisper, because it feels like the only word my brain can manage.
It can’t be.
Or . . .