Twenty-Four
Amelia
The whir of the shutters opening wakes me, sunlight filling the room.
“Good morning,” Linda says, placing a tray on the table. She’s still wearing black pants and a white blouse. A uniform, perhaps?
“Hi.” I pull the sheet up to my chin.
The bed is empty where Van Wyk lay, and reaching across, it’s cold. Last night he was really glad I’m here; this morning he can’t wait to be elsewhere.
“Lukas had to leave early, I’m afraid.”
So not merely elsewhere then. Gone.
“When will he be back?”
“I’m not sure, Miss Anderson,” she replies, giving me an apologetic smile. “His movements are rather unpredictable.”
She’s not wrong. He breaks into my apartment whenever he wants.
“Would you please call me Amelia?” It’s too early in the morning for formalities.
“As you prefer.” She smiles at me, then gestures at the balcony doors. “There’s a table outside and a lovely view if you want to eat there. Clothes for you in the closet. When you come downstairs, I’ll introduce you to Jorge and Tony, your bodyguards.”
With that, she heads out, leaving me alone again.
Bodyguards? My jailers, more like. Would they open the gates if I asked them? Doubtful.
My sigh fills the room.
It’s tempting to laze around in bed, hiding from everyone, but that’s not my style. Besides, I need to call Lucy. Someone should know where I am, in case I’m never heard from again. Do I even trust Van Wyk, or know what the future holds?
I use his ridiculously large shower, wondering as I do if he has hidden cameras in this house, too.
But of course he does.
I can’t see them when I look, but I’m certain they’re there. As I towel off, I give a sarcastic little wave at the ceiling. It feels a little late to be modest.
I explore the walk-in closet, and at first I assume the clothes are Juliette’s.
But when I examine them, they’re clearly new, and unlike in the romance stories I read, not a perfect fit.
Instead, Van Wyk avoided that problem by buying three sets of everything in different sizes, and the shelves are brimming with options.
I choose a blouse and button it thoughtfully, biting my lip. Linda, last night, expecting my arrival. Bodyguards here. And now a closet full of clothing, clearly intended for me.
I’ve known the man two weeks, yet he’s planned for this.
Who fills a closet with clothes for someone they’ve only just fucking met?
Van Wyk does. It’s such a him thing to do.
Not freaked out. Not freaked out. Not freaked out.
I swallow hard, totally freaking out. My breathing is rapid, my vision tunneling. My legs tremble and I have to catch myself with a hand on a shelf, or I’d crumple into a ball.
He was always going to bring me here.
Could I ever have escaped him? All those times he told me I never would.
It’s a while before I’ve calmed enough to straighten my hunched shoulders. I’m stronger than this. I’m not going to let that bastard get to me or control my life.
But what am I supposed to do now? Alone in a massive house with people I don’t know and a psychopath who could return at any moment?
With no options, I pick at the breakfast, then pull on a pair of ankle boots from among the dozen pairs on offer, and head downstairs.
Linda’s in the kitchen when I get there, but she’s not alone. Another man is sitting at the island, his back to me, wearing a dark suit over a white shirt.
He turns on his seat, assessing me with a quick down-up gaze. “I’m Tony, Miss Anderson.”
“Amelia.” I correct.
He gives me a wry smile. “Got it.”
He’s about my age, hair trimmed short, his suit doing little to hide his lithe frame. Van Wyk is a killer. What does that make men he uses as bodyguards?
And why the hell do I need a bodyguard—let alone two—while I lounge around in this gilded prison?
I ignore him, addressing Linda. “Where do I make a call, please?”
“Who do you need to reach, dear?”
That’s a bit intrusive, but I answer anyway. “My sister. I want to tell her where I am.”
“There’s no need. Lukas has already informed Lucy.”
“He’s done what?” And how the hell does she know my sister’s name?
“You don’t have your phone,” Linda points out reasonably, “and he did mention how important it was to you.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “How did he get her number?” I lift my hand. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”
“Very practical, dear. Would you like some coffee?”
“I’m still going to call her,” I say, lifting my chin and standing my ground.
Linda gives me a sympathetic look. “Alas, Lukas doesn’t believe it’s safe for you to use phones at this time.”
Who the hell says ‘alas’? And why do I feel like a child, my privileges cut off?
I glare at her, then walk out, fists clenched, before I say something I’ll regret. I can find a phone myself.
Tony follows me like a shadow, but I ignore him. It’s fucking ridiculous having a bodyguard in this house, and I know damn well he isn’t. He’s my warden, and I’m only surprised he wasn’t waiting outside the door to my room.
There’s a dining room, a living room, a second living room, the library with the piano, and none of them have a phone.
I turn on Tony, who’s followed me everywhere I’ve been. “Where do I find a phone?”
“The only phone is in Lukas’s office, but I’ll save you the trouble: it’s locked to his code.”
“Fine. Then give me yours.” I hold out my hand expectantly.
He crosses his arms, biceps straining his suit jacket. “No.”
“Why not?”
He holds my gaze, unflinching before my anger. “You didn’t say the magic word, Princess.”
Fuck.
At first, I glare at him. Then I take a breath, letting it out slowly, and try to remind myself that it’s not his fault. “May I please borrow your phone?”
His lips twitch. “No, Princess, you may not.”
“Amelia,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m not your goddamn princess.”
“And I’m not your slave. Act like an Amelia, and I’ll call you Amelia.”
Damn him!
I storm past, heading for the front door. I need space, and I need time to think.
Fortunately, it’s not locked, otherwise I’d be smashing a window and climbing out.
I step into the cool fall air, immediately wishing I’d worn more clothing. The cold hits, raising goosebumps on my arms and killing some of my anger, but I’m not turning back for a coat, not with Tony dogging my footsteps.
The lawn stretches before me, luscious green and cut in neat lines, but the grass glitters with dew. My boots would be soaked in minutes. Down by the gate is the guard, and he’s armed. I veer away when I see him.
“Perimeter security,” Tony supplies from behind me. “There are two of them on duty at all hours.”
“Whatever,” I mutter. One prison guard or three doesn’t make any difference.
The driveway becomes a path just past the house, and I follow it, Tony’s footsteps echoing mine six paces behind. I clench my hands into fists, knowing I’m stuck with him.
Wherever I go, there’ll be no solitude, and that strikes me hardest of all. The isolation of it, the loss of freedom, of agency. No phones, no goddamn privacy. What does Van Wyk plan to do with me?
A hundred yards on there’s another building, easily the size of a normal four-bedroom house. At first, I think it’s guest accommodation or something, then I notice the distinctive garage doors. Three of them.
Where there are cars, there’s a way out. I try one of the garage doors. Locked. I know Tony is watching me, probably amused as hell, and I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying the others.
Frustrated, I turn away, following the path that runs down past the house. Ahead, there’s a swimming pool with a blue safety cover, a pool house beside it, and a patio with a barbecue setup inside a pergola. It’s an amazing home, but a gilded prison is still a prison.
I stop on the side of the pool, blinking back tears, glaring helplessly at the woods in the distance.
Tony walks up beside me. “Do you want to go swimming?”
I scoff. “In this weather?”
“It’s heated.”
Of course it is.
“No suit.”
“There are some in the pool house.”
“Or I could just swim naked,” I say, sarcastically.
His lips quirk in a wry smile. “I’d rather you didn’t. Lukas would probably kill me for looking at you.”
Now I’m half tempted to. “Then don’t look.”
“I have to look,” he replies seriously. “I can’t be your bodyguard if I’m not watching you.”
That earns him another scoff. “What exactly are you guarding me from?” I gesture at the expansive grounds, the beautiful house, the peace and quiet of it all. “Are the earthworms around here so dangerous?”
He stares at me, unblinking, and says nothing.
But I want to fight.
I get right up into his face. “You’re not my bodyguard,” I say scathingly. “You’re my jailer.”
Tony doesn’t move. He just watches me, expression carefully blank, and suddenly all my frustration, all my anger, is focused on him.
I know it’s not his fault, but he’s the symbol of it.
Unable to even call my sister, left behind when Van Wyk’s gone wherever the hell he’s gone.
I feel so… alone. Abandoned. So helpless.
I jab my finger into his chest. “Admit it!” I cry. “I’m a prisoner here!”
No response.
“Are you going to let me leave?”
Nothing.
“Will you give me the keys to that stupidly large garage? Even if I say please?”
He doesn’t even blink.
“What would you do if I hit you?” I say, raising my hand, wanting to lash out at the world.
At last he speaks. “Tell Lukas,” he replies, his voice quiet. “I don’t think he’d be pleased, do you?”
My hand falls down to my side. I scowl at him, then head back to the house.
Tony follows me, six steps behind all the way.
Van Wyk doesn’t come back that night. Or the next day. Or the next.
Or the rest of the week.
Tony swaps out with Jorge on alternate days. Jorge is swarthy, built like a bouncer with muscles but no fat. I’m certain Tony doesn’t like me, but Jorge stays silent and never engages no matter what I do. On balance, I prefer Tony, because at least I can occasionally get a response from him.