5. Dani
DANI
Ineed to believe in other universes.
I need to believe there’s another world where I meet my soulmate and finally experience the kind of love I’ve only known through the pages of my romance novels.
Because I’m not just in a rut. I have completely given up. I am never finding love. I am never going to have the husband and kids and the perfect home.
But that’s okay! Because in this universe, I am creating the life of a strong independent woman.
Eventually.
Because let’s face it, living alone would be an upgrade from the developmentally stunted girl who lives at home on the wrong side of twenty-five and speed-reads crappy books to dissociate from her crazy family.
However, I was ungrateful, because in this universe I am not supposed to live alone, or have the happy family, or even live smooshed into a too-small Upper East Side condo with my annoying family.
No, in this universe I am apparently the girl who gets kidnapped off the street.
This is not like kidnapped by the duke.
Or kidnapped on a horse by the duke’s brother.
Or kidnapped by the gardener but really he’s a duke.
My kidnapper is crazy and dangerous, and I’m very scared and not turned on.
(Well, not really. But if he doesn’t like me, then I don’t like him. So there.)
I take it back. I’m not meant for love, especially not like this.
I am not the heroine. I know my place.
I’m the background character. Not NYC pretty. Not good enough for the cool girls. I’m the filler. The sidekick, the chubby friend, the floater friend.
The one who’s just on the outer circle, desperately wanting to fit in.
Guys always bypass me to talk to my pretty friends while I stand there awkwardly and laugh along at jokes at my expense.
And yeah, “awkward” definitely describes me.
I’m the weird girl who cuts her bangs and makes cringey videos. I bite my nails and can’t say no to free office food. I can’t even be one of those sad single-girl influencers because I don’t even have my own apartment.
I have my sad little life and read my little books, and I am not happy, but at least I can doomscroll social media and buy pizza somewhat whenever I want to.
Also I have access to a shower.
“Help!” I scream. I don’t know why. No one can hear me.
Well, one person can.
I bang on the door.
“Shut up!” the deep voice thunders.
I’m hyperventilating.
Trying to calm down in the dark room, I take deep breaths in and out.
It smells like him, the rich wood scent. It actually smells good, which really says something about my piss-poor mental state.
Low self-esteem. Piper’s right.
If I get out of here—when I get out of here—I’m going to go find the first guy I see and make him be my boyfriend for Tuesday.
I can hear my kidnapper moving around in the bedroom, talking to himself, though I can’t make out what he says.
It’s like American Psycho.
“Let me out!” I shriek and bang on the closet door. “I’m going to pee in your closet.”
He flings the door open.
“Are you an animal? There is a bathroom to your left. God, I kidnapped the worst fucking woman in NYC, didn’t I?”
“There’s a what?” I yelp.
He points.
I squint up at him then glance over my shoulder.
Sunlight streams into the closet, illuminating a set of paneled doors at the back of the closet. I fling them open, revealing my dream bathroom, all white marble and antique brass hardware. A tub big enough to sleep in. More windows with that million-dollar Central Park view.
“How long have I been in here? What day is it?”
His chest heaves as he breathes heavily, looking down at me from that impossible height.
Not in a weird sexual way, of course.
I’m not the hot girl.
I’m the awkward floater friend, remember?
And now the floater girlfriend.
How does my kidnapper have buyer’s remorse?
He’s not as ugly or as old or as creepy as you’d assume a kidnapper would be. And the way he’s frowning makes him very Victorian-gothic romance coded.
“Look, I need to get out of here. You obviously don’t want me.” I wait for him to deny it. Chew on my lip. “Just… I cannot be here. I cannot be kidnapped, okay?”
“Clean up,” the deep voice snarls.
The shower is absurd. Rainfall head. Perfect water pressure. Steam curling around white marble like I’ve wandered into a spa. I stand there too long, just letting the heat soak into my bones, trying to forget how I got here.
Numbly I scrub my skin and wash my hair.
I don’t have my anti-tangling conditioner, and I know my hair’s going to poof up later. Will it matter? It’s not like he’s ever going to let me see another human soul.
There’s a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
I hesitate then slip it on.
My kidnapper’s scent envelops me. Clean. Expensive. Disturbingly comforting.
At least I’m clean now.
I pad back through the closet.
The door is open, and I blink in the sunlight streaming from the fifty-million-dollar view over Central Park.
“What are you doing in here?” the deep voice bellows.
“Ahh!” I scream.
“Fuck.” He curses from the doorway, where he has his tie half tied. “Get back in the closet. And what are you wearing?”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t lock the door!” I shriek at him.
“Fuck.” He swears again.
“You suck at this. You’re a terrible kidnapper. You probably just forgot, didn’t you? You forgot I was in there.”
“Go back in there and get dressed,” he snarls as he manhandles me back toward my prison.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Yes, you do.”
He shoves me inside, and I stumble.
“Asshole.”
“Yeah, I am. And don’t fucking forget it.”
“I don’t have any clothes unless you have a bunch of sewing mice locked up in here too.”
He dumps my clothes in front of me.
“Okay, you obviously didn’t separate the whites and the blacks when you washed these, did you? Now I need to iron them.”
“I already ironed them. I’m not giving you an iron. These clothes look better than they did last night.”
I make a face at my jacket. I don’t think this blazer’s ever seen an iron, much to my mother’s consternation.
“You don’t want to watch?” I scream back at him.
I’m just met with a disgusted snort and the slamming of the door.
Hands shaking in anger, I pull on my clothes. Then I tug the handle of the closet door.
“You forgot to lock it again,” I announce as I step into the bedroom.
“Goddamn—” He glares down at me.
I do a little curtsy.
I know what I look like. Too-small blazer. Damp curls. The general vibe of a traumatized raccoon.
“Is that what you’re going to look like? We’re going to brunch, not a circus.”
“Is it going to be some weird, creepy brunch where I have to sit there naked?”
“Brush your hair and put on makeup.”
“Why bother? We’re probably going to eat in your living room with all the curtains closed or something.”
He lets out a breath.
I’m on thin ice, but I don’t care. The last thing I ate was pizza last night, and now I’m hangry. I am not someone who skips breakfast.
“Guess you should have been more discerning in your choice of victim.”
His nostrils flare.
Little paws scamper across the lush carpet.
“Lulu!” I shriek as the Frenchie rushes over to me, licking my face.
“That’s what you named that dog? Lulu?”
I stand up, Lulu in my arms. “No, I didn’t, and it’s really not any of your business. Next time you kidnap someone, you can choose a girl with a dog with a different name.”
The scowl is back on his handsome face.
And yeah, it is handsome.
Unfortunately.
If you had to get kidnapped by someone…
Except guys don’t like me on a good day, and my kidnapper is clearly disgusted by me.
That’s a good thing, right? That means he won’t—gulp—you know. Take my V-card.
But I really have some self-esteem issues if I’m a little miffed by it.
It really is what they say: We women are so toxic. A man is tall and rich and attractive, and we will literally let him get away with any type of shit.
He looks at his watch, impatient.
“We need to go. We’ll be late. We cannot keep my mother waiting.”
“Wait,” I say slowly, looking up at him. “You’re actually taking me out somewhere?”
“For brunch, yes.”
“At a restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“With your mother?”
His jaw clenches. “Her whole family will be there.”
“Love a family-inclusive kidnapping.”
“I didn’t bring you here—”
“Kidnap me.”
“—so that you can just insult me and mess up my closet. Now hurry up. If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late.”
“What if I run off? What if I scream and tell everyone that you kidnapped me?” I argue.
“You have no sense of self-preservation. It’s like in the car yesterday with that damn dog.
You could have escaped. You should have escaped.
” He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “You don’t tell the kidnapper your escape plan.
God, no wonder you were wandering outside in the middle of the night alone. ”
“I’m just trying to see what kind of moron I’m dealing with here.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Mmm. You did forget to lock the door to my prison.”
“It’s a closet. A very high-end closet.”
“Twice. You forgot it twice. But sure, let’s all go out in public. Where there are people with phone cameras. I’m assuming you’re paying.”
His nostrils flare.
“I do have a way to make you cooperate. Make you be the loving, attentive girlfriend I know you can be.” His voice takes on a mocking lilt.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll hurt your dog if you don’t cooperate.”
“Just—Lulu! Don’t hurt Lulu!” I beg him, clutching my little dog to my chest.
His arm lashes out and grabs an expensive vase.
It crashes on the wall above my head while Lulu barks.
I crumple into tears and squeeze my dog.
“Stop crying!” he bellows.
“Please don’t hurt Lulu, please!”
He grabs my jaw, forcing my chin up.
“Are you going to play along and be the perfect loving girlfriend?”
I nod, blinking away the tears.
“Good girl.”
He leans in close to my neck.
I can smell his aftershave.
I turn away from that handsome, evil face. The early morning sun catches the tears on my eyelashes.
“You’re afraid of me. Good.” He crowds into my space, forcing me to yield to him.
I see the thrill of satisfaction on his face when I do, handing him the dog.
“Now let’s go to brunch. I think you’ve had a difficult evening.”