Chapter 18 - Stefania
Every day that passes, I grow closer to Marlen.
I can’t even force myself to view him as the man who kidnapped me anymore.
He is so far from that person in my eyes that I sometimes worry I’ve tricked myself.
Watching him move about the kitchen, making homemade pizza with me, I think to myself, maybe I have Stockholm syndrome.
The thought makes me giggle, and Marlen turns to look at me with narrowed eyes.
“What are you laughing at over there, cutie?” he asks.
He looks gorgeous in his blue jeans and long-sleeved black hoodie.
Cutie?
My heart stutters when I hear the nickname. He’s never really called me anything sweet like that before. It’s not helping my Stockholm issues at all.
With a wide grin, I tilt my head to the side.
“Who taught you how to grate cheese? I don’t think that’s the right way to hold the grater,” I tease him.
He glances at his hands, the grater lying flat on the table instead of standing up.
“This works better than the normal way,” he says, defending himself.
“You’re just the type of person who doesn’t like to follow other people’s rules, aren’t you?” I say, moving closer to him.
He sets the cheese aside and grabs my arm, tugging me against his chest.
“I’d rather make my own rules than follow someone else,” he says, his voice deep and drawing me in.
He leans close as though he wants to kiss me, but I’m feeling cheeky and playful. Wanting to prove to myself that I won’t fold so easily.
“I have a rule you better follow if you want to enjoy the rest of our pizza-making party,” I giggle.
“Is that so? What rule do you have for me, little one?” he growls, his voice edged with desire.
I reach around him, grabbing the fresh pineapple that he hasn’t started cutting yet.
“This… goes in cocktails, not on pizza!” I declare, pushing the pineapple into his hands.
He exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, clutching the pineapple to his chest as I step away from him.
Laughing, he says, “I bet you every couple has this argument at some point. And the poor pineapple, innocent, gets caught in the middle of this battle that reigns through eternity. This sweet, colorful little pineapple didn’t do anything to you.
Why are you rejecting him like that?” Marlen cradles the pineapple in one arm and hugs it.
The hard green crown of the fruit spikes his cheek, and he winces, pulling a face.
“Damn, this thing is spiky,” he complains, setting it down on the kitchen counter again.
I love it when he lets his playful side out. It’s weird to think how grumpy he comes across to everyone around him, even me in the beginning. But now that I’ve broken past his walls, he smiles often, laughing freely.
“Couple?” I ask, my heart racing as I repeat what he said.
“Couple what?” he asks, confused.
“Every couple has had the pizza-pineapple argument?” I grin, cheekily. I should leave it alone, but lately my heart is full of hope. Silly hope. Childish and na?ve, but hope nonetheless.
“Uh, yeah, I mean, I was just saying. You know. Friends. Couples. Married people.” He trips over his words as his cheeks flush red.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Marlen blush, and I savor the awkwardness he’s trying to hide.
Maybe he has feelings for me, too? The little voice in my head is full of encouragement.
“Anyway,” he mutters. “How about you sacrifice the fruit to the blender and make us a Pina Colada?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” I smile, taking the spiky little fruit from him and carrying it over to the chopping board.
I set it down, and instantly it stabs me. “Ouch,” I groan, popping my finger into my mouth.
“You ok there?” he asks, sounding amused.
“Perfectly fine, you focus on your weird cheese grating technique.”
I set the pineapple on its side, and it spikes me again as I try to push the knife into it to remove the thick green fronds. “Seriously,” I mutter under my breath.
Marlen steps up behind me, his body pressing into mine, heating every inch of me. He wraps his arms around me and takes the knife from my hands.
With me happily trapped in his arms, he cuts the crown of the pineapple off and slices it into more manageable pieces for me.
“Just ask, little cutie, if you need anything from me,” he whispers in my ear.
I bite my lip as he steps away, and my body instantly begs for him to return.
This man has power over me.
Power I should never have allowed him to have, but that seems to be growing stronger with each passing day we spend together.
***
Late one afternoon, I’m wandering around the mansion bored out of my mind. I know where he is today. He has a delivery that he wanted to oversee the packing of to make sure it all goes smoothly. He’s at the warehouse with the big one-way windows in the office.
A grin sneaks onto my face. He wouldn’t mind if I popped in to say hello. I could surprise him. I’d even be safe about it and ask one of the guards to drive me, so Marlen wouldn’t be able to be angry with me for taking risks.
Excited by my plan, I rush upstairs to change into something cuter. The jeans are fine, but the hoodie could use improvement.
I come out wearing a pink chunky knit jersey, my hair pulled into a high, messy bun, and a touch of pink gloss on my lips.
The guard agrees to take me, even if he is against it, being a surprise for Marlen. I assure him he won’t get into trouble.
“Miss Stefania, I am going to wait for you out here,” the guard tells me, pulling into a parking space outside the warehouse.
“Thank you. If I’m going to stay, I’ll come out and let you know,” I confirm.
He nods, and I climb out of the car and hurry into the warehouse, excited to see Marlen.
I walk past the food crates and the forklifts, through the noisy areas, and head toward his office. On the way, I spot one of the workers I saw before.
“Hi, is Marlen in his office?” I call out to the man.
“No,” he shakes his head. “He isn’t here yet but should be soon,” he answers.
“Thanks.” I wave and carry on toward the office. I’ll wait for him in there. I doubt he’ll be much longer.
The office door is open, and as I walk toward it, I hear a voice that sounds similar to Marlen but isn’t him. Getting closer, I realize it’s Bardil. He’s on the phone.
My body spikes with anxiety. Bardil makes me very nervous. He has a dark, nasty streak in him that’s hard to ignore. He doesn’t waste a chance to let me know how much he despises me.
I hesitate outside the door, but remind myself that I’m here to see Marlen and someone like Bardil shouldn’t stand in my way. He can hate me all he likes, but surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to hurt me? Marlen would be furious with him.
His voice carries through the open door as he phone conversation continues, “Yes, they haven’t let it go yet. It’s too soon to start anything new until the other shit has blown over. I don’t want my brothers catching on…”
I step through the door, and Bardil spins around to face me; his expression becomes angry and tight. “I’ve got to go,” he snaps and slams the phone down. He glares at me with cold hatred.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he snarls, walking around the desk toward me.
“I’m meeting Marlen,” I say, holding my head high and pushing my shoulders back to stand tall and strong.
Did I overhear something I wasn’t supposed to?
It’s not like I heard much. And what I did hear doesn’t make sense on its own.
He shouldn’t be this defensive. Not unless he’s worried about what I heard because he was up to no good.
Bardil stands over me, his face clouded with rage. “If you say anything to Marlen about that phone call, I’ll make you disappear where no one can find you. Not your family, not my brother… no one. Do you understand?”
“I… I… I understand,” I stammer, shocked by his aggression, but also realizing that he’s clearly hiding something.
The more I play into his threats and let him think I’m too scared to disobey them, the safer I’ll be.
The truth is, I’m terrified of the look in his eye.
I suddenly have no doubt he would hurt me if he had half the chance.
But that doesn’t mean I’d keep secrets for him.
I wish I’d heard more of the call.
I stare up at Bardil. His eyes are colder than his brother’s.
Even Simon treats me with respect and is kind and gentle toward me.
Bardil is the only one who harbors so much hatred.
And it’s not even toward me, so to speak.
It’s toward the Abashins and my brothers, for a personal issue between them.
But he’s comfortable carrying that hatred over to my family name. To anyone who carries it.
It’s blind hatred. Cold and heartless and dangerous.
“Do you understand me, girl?” he hisses, still standing too close to me. His fists are clenched, and he seems agitated and jumpy. Unpredictable.
“I understand, Bardil, I understand,” I stammer, averting my eyes and pressing my lips together with worry. I knit my brows and let fear play over my face.
He seems satisfied with my response and takes a step back. He seems like the kind of man who turns into a wild animal when he feels trapped or back into a corner. I have to make him think he’s in charge of the situation in every way.
Bardil glares at me one last time, then storms from the office. I stare at the phone he slammed down, wondering who he was speaking to and what it was about.
What did he say? Can I even remember?
Something about it being too soon to start something new, and about his brothers catching on…
Through the one-way glass, I see Bardil downstairs, talking to the workers.
I don’t have any desire to bump into him again, so instead of waiting here for Marlen, I decide to head back home and see him at dinner.
If Bardil is hanging around the warehouse today, it won’t be pleasant, and Marlen will probably need to focus on his work, not on me.
I shouldn’t have come here.
Sighing, I hurry out of the office, closing the door behind me. Leaving the warehouse, I find the guard standing outside the car, leaning against the door.
“Are you staying?” he asks, pushing away from the car to stand straight as I walk toward him.
“Actually, no, you can take me home rather. Marlen isn’t here yet, and I don’t know how long he’s going to be, so it’s better to head home.”
He tugs the back door open for me, and I slide onto the seat. He closes it and climbs into the front to start the car. “I can call him and find out where he is if you like?”
“It’s ok. I don’t want to disturb him,” I smile.
The guard pulls out onto the road and turns back toward home. Maybe I’ll cook him something for dinner. Or make a nice dessert. I can do something special for him, seeing as my surprise visit didn’t go as planned.
Maybe you shouldn’t be worried about surprise visits and rather be more focused on what just happened with Bardil.
I chew at my bottom lip, worried, because the last time I tried to talk to Marlen about Bardil, it didn’t exactly go well.
Perhaps talking to Marlen isn’t the answer. Not until I have some kind of evidence. If I approach him with nothing more than a story about a weird phone call and my own suspicion, he’s going to take his brother’s side again. It’s my word against Bardil’s, and Bardil is his family.
I need something solid. I need to know what really happened that night of Bardil’s party.
If Bardil is up to no good, it will eventually affect Marlen. And I want to clear my family’s name. I have more than one reason to seek the truth.