46. Ana
46
ANA
I floated around the apartment, still riding the high of the morning. For the first time in months, I felt like myself, like I was contributing . Like I might be worth more than just my pussy and my womb. And Luca still wanted me, even though I’d left him.
My stomach growled, and I opened the fridge, looking for something to satisfy myself. Valentin and Angelo typically didn’t leave me alone long enough to get hungry, and neither of them snacked much.
I scrounged the apartment for ingredients, determined not to be the spoiled princess they still believed me to be. I’d make myself dinner—no, better yet, I’d have dinner waiting for them when they got home.
Pasta, sauce, and a salad? Yeah, I could do that. How hard could making a quick sauce be?
Humming softly, I imagined Angelo and Valentin’s delight when they came home to dinner on the table and ignored the part of me that cringed at the thought of being a happy homemaker for my two owners.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, I corrected myself quickly. But I didn’t know shit about keeping or making a home. My mother had been a terrible example, and my father had been worse.
Cheerfully, I gathered ingredients and set them on the counter. First, the salad. I put a mindless comedy on the television while I chopped ingredients, then mixed a vinaigrette. That, at least, I was confident I could do.
Vague memories of cooking shows noting that the pasta shouldn’t wait on the sauce had me reaching for tomatoes and onions for the sauce first.
Garlic and onions in … butter? Valentin was French. We had to have butter. I dropped a large dollop into a pan and turned the heat up so it would melt. To my surprise, the butter quickly began bubbling.
While it cooked, I chopped up garlic and onion before adding it to the pan. It smelled delicious, but in seconds, the pan was smoking. Frantically, I tried to scrape the garlic and onion from the pan as it blackened and acrid smoke filled the room. When it didn’t work, I shoved it under the faucet and the pan caught fire. Before I could put it out, the fire alarm went off.
Nonononononono! I opened the door, and the bodyguard stood there, furious. “You stupid bitch, do you think this trick will work twice?”
I shook my head. “It was an accident, I’m sorry! I’ll go with you, I promise.”
Grumbling, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me along with him. We joined the rest of the building in the stairwell and escaped outside.
“Please, call Valentin,” I begged the bodyguard as tears streamed down my face. They’d never believe me. They’d be so disappointed in me, and I hated it. “Please!”
His phone rang. “Too late—he’s calling me.”
I snatched the phone out of his hand.
“Valentin?”
“Ana? What the fuck is going on?”
“I’m sorry!” I wailed. “I’m not trying to escape again, I swear!”
“Ana, take a deep breath,” he snapped, using the edge of command he used when he expected instant obedience.
I sniffled and sat down on the curb, my stomach in knots, watching the other residents of the building mill around, frustrated that their evenings were interrupted.
“I’m sorry, ma?tre ,” I whispered. “So sorry.”
Valentin sighed deeply. “Princess, tell me what’s going on.”
“I wanted to make you and Angelo dinner,” I whispered. “But I fucked it up and set off the fire alarm. I swear I wasn’t trying to escape.”
The silence on the other end of the line broke my heart. My breathing sped up as fear sliced through me.
“Valentin? Ma?tre? ” My voice cracked.
“Where are you?”
The bodyguards who now surrounded me studiously pretended not to see me sitting outside, sobbing my fool heart out, looking like a fucking idiot.
“I’m outside the building, with your bodyguards.”
“You’re safe?”
“Yes,” I whispered. Safe from danger, though not safe from Valentin’s disappointment. “I don’t—I don’t know how to cook, ma?tre. And there wasn’t any food in the apartment. And I?—”
Another sob tore out of me. How was this somehow even more humiliating than all the sexual bullshit they’d put me through over the last few weeks?
“I swear I wasn’t trying to escape,” I repeated. “I swear.”
“Princess,” he said. “I believe you. I’m coming, all right? Stay where you are.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
“Good girl.”
Thirty minutes later, the fire department had cleared the building, given me a stern talking to about cooking butter on too high a heat, and approved the residents to go back in.
I waited on the curb, following Valentin’s instructions, embarrassed that I was such a mess, and that the world was witnessing Ana Costa lose her shit in public, but unwilling to disobey him, even to go back into our apartment.
When his black sports car pulled up, my heart leapt into my throat. He stepped out, and I rushed to him, throwing my arms around him and sobbing into his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I repeated it like a prayer as he awkwardly wrapped his arms around me so I could burrow into the comfort of his warmth.
Valentin didn’t stop me, didn’t berate me, didn’t do anything but hold me until my sobs subsided and I’d collected myself enough to look up from his chest into his warm brown eyes.
“ Salut ,” he murmured, his brow crinkled with concern.
His shirt was soaked where I’d buried my face in it. I patted it awkwardly. “ Salut ,” I answered.
“ ?a va? ” Are you okay?
No, I wasn’t okay. And I wasn’t okay with not being okay. I’d reacted out of fear, not of punishment, but because I didn’t want to disappoint Valentin, my captor and owner, and because I didn’t want to hurt Angelo’s feelings.
Who the fuck was I turning into?
One of his hands stroked up my back and tangled in my hair, gently holding my face in position, forcing me to meet his eyes, so I couldn’t hide from him, but not hurting me. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t trying to escape,” I promised again, searching his eyes for a sign that he believed me.
“I know,” he said and brushed his nose against mine so sweetly it took my breath away. “Tell me what happened.”
I closed my eyes against the embarrassment, terrified Valentin would find a way to turn this into a way to mock me, to drive home what a silly, spoiled rich girl I was.
“Princess,” he growled, and I didn’t dare delay any longer.
“I wanted to make dinner,” I whispered, keeping my eyes shut. “But I—” I took a deep, shuddering breath, gaining control of myself and my emotions, grateful.
“Open your eyes,” Valentin commanded. I met his gaze, finding no judgment, only patience.
“The pan started smoking, and then the alarm went off, and when I tried to put it out with water, the pan caught on fire.”
I waited for his amused cruelty. Instead, he searched my eyes, then tugged me back into his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a warm hug.
“I swear?—”
“I know, princess,” Valentin murmured against the top of my head, his hands rubbing up and down my back in soothing strokes.
“I’m sorry you had to leave whatever it is you were doing to handle this.” I waved my hand vaguely in the direction of the downtown area.
“Look at me,” he said, that edge of command back in his voice. “Don’t apologize for—” he cut himself off. What could he say? Don’t apologize for trying to make a home? Treat him? Do something sweet?
He sighed again. “What were you trying to cook?”
“Pasta and tomato sauce,” I muttered.
He hummed. “From scratch?”
“If there was a jar of tomato sauce in your kitchen, I’m going to murder you.”
He laughed, clear as fucking day, his face brightening. Valentin was gorgeous, and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to fall hard for this kind, compassionate version of him.
“ Allons ,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to his car. “Let’s get groceries, and I’ll teach you how to make a simple sauce.”