Chapter 7
GIANNA
I’m in the vast bedroom with the beautiful view, surrounded by all the gorgeous clothes I bought.
They’re covering all available surfaces, and include everything from evening dresses to casual dresses, shirts, blouses, pants, shoes, bags, casual wear, nighties, and so much beautiful underwear of all shapes and designs. And only about half of it is black.
In my old life, I’d be in Heaven right now, trying on the clothes, dreaming up all the combinations, figuring out makeup looks to go with each outfit.
I got a ton of makeup too, a few perfumes, and assorted toiletries.
Everything I need to stop looking like a disheveled homeless person that almost got kicked out of that store to being the woman I used to be.
The one they closed down stores for when she went shopping.
It all seems so empty now. So vain. So far removed from my actual reality.
Although a part of me enjoyed the shopping very much. It’s why I didn’t get nearly as many black mourning clothes as I planned on getting. And it’s why I had the best time taking everything out of the bags and boxes after Matteo and his sour-faced assistant brought it all up for me.
But the sun is setting. It’s not quite a golden sunset, it’s too tinged with red for that. The color of blood. Because that’s what will happen here now. Blood will be spilt. Maybe my father’s blood. Maybe Matteo’s.
I don’t like how I hate the idea of those two things happening with the same kind of fear and distaste.
I hate him and I love him.
But the more time I spend with him, I love him more. I love him a little more each time he shows me some of that warmth of his that I was first drawn to.
And it’s not even because he buys me things. Or says the right things.
It’s in the little things. The way he stood there, rigid, and stony-faced as I waited to hear the news of my sister’s condition.
The way he visibly relaxed while I spoke to her.
The way he rescued me at that store like it was a personal affront to him that the sales ladies were mean to me.
The way he understands me. The way he doesn’t blame me, not even for trying to kill him.
The way he protects me and gives me everything I could possibly want even as he keeps me locked up.
And the way he touches me. Looks at me. Makes sure I have it all—all the pleasure, all the comfort, all the love—even though I lost it all. Even though he’s the one who took it all.
I shake my head, toss the intricately woven panties I’ve been holding—enjoying the softness of the fabric and the beautiful design—on the floor and walk to the balcony.
It’s the pretty, serene whiteness of the bedroom that is making me go all soft inside.
Everything is in shades of white, light blue, gold, and silver in there, the edges rounded, the fabrics flowing, all the edges rounded, the decor taken straight from some upscale magazine.
I’d say whoever decorated it wanted it to match the ocean stretching out into infinity outside the windows.
Soft, pleasant, timeless. Comfortable. And they succeeded.
But I don’t want to be comfortable.
I want my family back.
The garden is a different matter. The trees and shrubs are wild here.
Tall palm trees, oleanders with beautiful pink and white flowers and sharp poisonous leaves, aloe and agave plants overgrown, their fat pointed arms stretching out all over the place.
But the grass is cut short and some of the trees and bushes show signs of having been cut back recently.
The sun is halfway in the water and shade dark as night is developing in parts of the garden. Shade filled with men. They started arriving soon after I was deposited in my bedroom prison.
Grim-faced, dressed in black and dark grey suits, some patrolling the grounds, some just wandering around, taking in the place.
None of them smiled. They didn’t talk much either.
Matteo greeted each and every one, his silver suit catching the dying light of day long after everything else was shrouded in shadow.
His looks in my direction were always hotter than the sun, even as twilight fell.
I wished he would come to me. And I didn’t.
I wished he would kiss me and hold me, and I didn’t.
I wished he would let me run this house for him and I didn’t.
And I don’t know which of those is the truth. And which just lies.
The garden is completely dark now, even the white flowers black. I didn’t hear the lock on the bedroom door unlock, and I didn’t hear his footsteps. But I felt the heat of the sun as he entered the bedroom, feel it now as he joins me by the balcony railing.
“I’d have thought you’d be wearing something new by now,” he says, sounding tired and a little disappointed. Sad, even.
I don’t want him sad and disappointed. And I do. And I don’t know which is the truth.
“Most of it needs to be washed before I can wear it,” I say, being practical, offering an answer that won’t make him more disappointed. “Especially the underwear.”
He gives me a fond little smile, wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head. I melt into him willingly. I don’t want to. And I do.
“Then just put on one of the evening dresses,” he says. “No need for underwear.”
I turn rigid and move away from him. “Why?”
“Because we’re going out to dinner,” he says. “I’m starving and you must be too.”
“We can just eat in,” I say although the idea of a meal in one of those LA restaurants where you run into celebrities sounds like a very good idea too and something I would very much like to do. In my old life, anyway.
He shakes his head, smiling fondly again. “Not unless you’re in the mood for more protein bars. And I know how much you love those.”
I roll my eyes the way I always do when he presents me with one of those as a meal.
“I’ll see to getting a housekeeper and some staff tomorrow,” he says. “They can wash your clothes too. But for tonight, I’m in the mood to take you out. I’ll be back in an hour.”
This time he doesn’t wait for my answer before striding back into the room. And the only reason I’m not saying anything is because what I actually want to say is, “Yes, I’ll be ready in an hour.”
He turns and looks back at me. “And please make yourself look gorgeous.”
I scoff. “What? I’m not pretty enough for you like this now?”
He chuckles. “Oh, you can come as you are now, I’ll be perfectly happy with that. Just thought maybe you’d want to do it for yourself. Like you used to.”
Then he’s gone. The door closes behind him and I don’t hear the lock. My throat is all closed up so I’m happy he didn’t wait for me to say anything more.
Like I used to…
He’s not wrong about that. I used to spend hours and hours doing my makeup, arranging my hair just so, picking the perfect outfits.
As shallow as it was, I loved it.
And why shouldn’t I look gorgeous even now, in my downfall, in my captivity?
Why shouldn’t I feel as good as I can? Why shouldn’t I look like a queen while he takes me down? Show the world I am unbroken?
Doesn’t mean I forgive him. Doesn’t mean I accept him. Doesn’t mean I love him.
I don’t know if that’s the truth or just lies. But I can live with that. I have to.