Chapter 21
I wake up at noon to find a note from Gianni next to the bed.
I remember the doctor coming in to examine me last night, and also saying he’d give me something to help me sleep.
Normally, I would’ve said no. I’m in a stranger’s house—Until proven otherwise, my new kidnapper, I think, but then immediately feel ridiculous—and also, a man who somehow managed to make me open up when I’ve never been able to confess my darkest fears to anyone, not even Amber.
I pick up the piece of paper again and reread the message.
Make yourself at home. I had to go to Rome. I’ll be back by tomorrow night at the latest. Despite what you believe, you are my guest. Enjoy your day. The staff will be at your disposal.
I get up, take a long soak in the bathtub, and for the first time in a very long time, I simply close my eyes and try to relax.
For most people, that might be easy; for me, it takes a lot of focus, which might seem contradictory.
The truth is, I’m tense and restless, and while I know a big part of that is just my nature and can’t be changed, I need to rest at least a little or at some point, I’ll completely break.
I also have to believe Amber will be okay with Beau and, more importantly, face this time here in Italy as something inevitable.
My mind tries to wander back to the days when I was held captive, but I force the memories away by getting out of the tub and deciding to give myself a queen’s treatment.
I slather lotion all over my body and call for one of the maids, asking her to bring me a pair of tweezers. I also ask if there’s any makeup in the house. Unfortunately, she says there isn’t.
Half an hour later, after plucking my eyebrows, I put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—the brightest color I could find among the clothes I’d been given, a salmon shade—then slip on some sneakers and decide to take a walk around the property.
I stop by the kitchen to grab a piece of fruit, and, munching on an apple, I stroll through Gianni’s estate, taking in the scenery around me.
I don’t go beyond the walls. I don’t know if anyone would stop me if I tried, but at the moment, I don’t have the urge to leave.
And I don’t even have any documents, of course, but I plan to fix that today.
When we talk, I’m going to tell him I want the documents, fake or not, with me.
I come across some workers, both men and women, along the way, noticing how they look at me with curiosity.
I take out the phone Gianni gave me, and, breaking one of his rules, I turn it on and do a quick search on the internet about the region where I am.
Tuscany, Italy.
I’ve heard of it, of course, but I don’t know much about it other than that there are a lot of wineries.
I also discover that Tuscany has a triangular shape and that the landscape is mostly made up of rolling hills and mountains, which I can easily confirm just by looking around me on this short walk.
I scroll through a few pages showing the most interesting tourist spots and make a promise to myself: someday, I’ll come back and see it all at my own pace.
I know I should turn off the phone now, but a little devil on my shoulder whispers that a few more minutes won’t hurt.
So, I satisfy my curiosity by typing his name into Google.
The first results are in Italian, so I filter for the United States instead. There aren’t as many stories there as on the local gossip sites, but enough for me to piece together that Gianni is very real.
I admit I’m surprised to see his photo associated with the name he gave me.
Part of me expected it to be fake or a pseudonym.
But no, there it is: Giancarlo Andresano, heir to one of Italy’s most traditional families.
The more I read about him, the more confused I become.
What could a man like him possibly have against Angelo?
I mean, I know that bastard probably has plenty of enemies, but there’s nothing incriminating in my search of Gianni. In my mind, to be either a friend or an enemy of Angelo, someone would have to be just like him.
I keep scrolling and notice there’s plenty of news about his family, too, not just his business life.
One headline makes my stomach twist.
It calls him and his brothers “illegitimate children,” since, apparently, they’re their father’s secret second family.
I leave the browser, feeling strangely protective of him, hating how people can be so cruel just to sell gossip.
I’ve only walked a few steps when my phone rings.
Jesus, I’ve been caught red-handed. I completely forgot to turn off the damn thing.
And I have no doubt who’s calling.
“I thought I told you to keep that thing turned off, Elodie.”
“I could lie, but I won’t. I was looking you up.”
“Did you find another kidnapped woman like yourself on some police report? Search my criminal record?”
He doesn’t sound angry. His tone is light.
“No. From what I saw, I’m the only lucky one.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. Thank you for last night. I don’t know what that doctor gave me, but I actually managed to rest.”
“I want to take you to dinner tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Food. Wine.”
“I. . .”
“Yes or no?”
God, I am so damn provincial! I have no idea how to handle a situation like this.
“It’s just. . .I didn’t expect you to let me go out.”
“I thought we’d already moved past the whole ‘kidnapper and captive’ thing.”
Despite his ironic tone, I can hear genuine concern in his voice.
“You don’t have to take me out to dinner just because of what I told you last night.”
“I don’t do anything out of pity, Elodie, even if that’s what I was feeling, which I’m not. I want to take you out because you’re beautiful.”
“But I can’t be seen.”
“With me, you can. No one would dare try anything. But I’m not talking about a crowded place. I’m thinking of a restaurant nearby that I really like. It has only ten tables, and they’re all in private rooms.”
I take a deep breath, my heart pounding. “The last time I accepted a dinner invitation, I ended up in a cell for days.”
“The only risk you run is ending the night in my bed, but I give you my word you’ll get there by choice.”
And with that arrogant blow, which, instead of irritating me, sends my pulse racing, he hangs up.