I DON’T UNDERSTAND HIM
I can’t believe this is the first day in my life that I’m having fun outside my house—and with a man I barely know.
I’m losing the game, but Dante has started missing his throws, just like me. Not once has he gotten angry when I’ve laughed at him; he has even laughed with me. Over time, we began chanting during each turn.
To my surprise, the ball skims the edge on his last shot.
“No! I was so close.”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I tease, laughing.
He smiles and shakes his head as he picks up another ball. I sit down to watch him, but the rumbling in my stomach distracts me. My appetite has returned after all of this, and I haven’t eaten since lunch. All I had was a salad!
I bite my lip. I don’t want to bother him.
“Daddy won!”
I turn my gaze to the side. The family next to us smiles and chats. A little girl bounces on her toes before her father scoops her into his arms, beaming.
My stomach twists again. There was a time when my father seemed to care about me—just for a little while—but he never truly loved me.
It was all a lie, because when Tara was born, he changed completely.
The last good memory I have is of him lifting me so I could climb into bed with Mum and meet my little sister.
After that, everything turned into pure hell.
I was five when I met the devil himself.
Does that man touch his daughter too? Does he hurt her? There are no visible marks on her, nor the fear I used to carry whenever I was near my father.
Is he a good man? Does he love her?
If I have children with Dante, will he be like that man or like my father?
Will I feel as safe and content with him as I do now, or will he hurt me?
Will I have to learn to cover my bruises the way Mum did?
She told me to trust him, but how can I when all I’ve known is violence?
I don’t want to live like my mother. I don’t want to live in fear that I might lose my daughter.
I don’t want a son who grows up to become like my father.
I want them to be happy. I want to give them everything I never had but always wanted.
Freedom.
“… ragnetta. ”
I flinch. Dante kneels in front of me, frowning as his thumb gently strokes the back of my hand.
“Is everything okay?”
“I… Yes, I’m sorry. Is it my turn?”
He nods.
I stand up abruptly and step away from him. I repeat the same steps I’ve been practising for the past hour, turning around before the ball strikes the pins. Reaching for my bottle of water, I unscrew the cap.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask, taking a sip.
Dante smiles as I drink, glancing behind me. He nods toward the pins, and when I turn around, not a single one remains standing.
“I did it!”
He laughs and stands up.
“Want to go to dinner now?”
I tilt my head. “That depends… what are we doing after?”
I follow him as he starts walking.
“We could go to the cinema, or I could look for a fair…”
I’ve never been anywhere except restaurants or shopping centres. Is that pathetic?
Dante is a man—he’s probably been on dates before. Meanwhile, I’ve spent most of my life locked in my room or tagging along with Mum and Tara… Whenever my father wasn’t parading me around like a trophy or a piece of merchandise to trade.
I have no experience with dates or anything like this, and it terrifies me.
Dante told me to be myself, but I don’t even know who that is.
I don’t know what I want or what I like.
My father only taught me how to be a good wife .
Boyfriends were out of question. I didn’t even meet Declan; I was supposed to see him for the first time at the wedding.
Before I was kidnapped, I thought I was happy—or at least, I tried to be.
I smiled more, talked to the guards, and chatted with the housekeepers.
I’d reach out to Mum and ask her to help me with makeup, just so I’d look pretty at dinner.
I loved spending time with my sister; she was my best friend.
We did everything together. If I wanted something, my father would say no, but Tara would ask for it instead, and then she’d give it to me.
And then they took me.
I lost my sister, my mum, and my soul.
When I came back, Mum was worse than before. Depression had already weighed on her, but now paranoia consumed her. I listened to her cry every night for months. She had nightmares too.
Tara was gone. She got married to my fiancé because of my absence. She was only fifteen.
And me? The woman I used to be—happy, full of life, even a little flirty (by my father’s orders)—is gone. In her place is someone insecure. Filthy. A woman who doesn’t even have the courage to flirt with the attractive man who’s supposed to be her husband.
The worst part of all this is that I’ve spent the last few days feeling ungrateful because, deep down, I know I’m lucky.
We’re not supposed to meet our future husbands before we get married, let alone go out on dates.
Tara’s marriage happened quickly, and I doubt she even met Declan before the wedding.
Maybe she didn’t want to get married, but she didn’t have a choice. We never have one.
I haven’t spoken to her since the day I was taken. No one lets me. Once we marry, we’re cut off from our old lives. We’re told to devote ourselves entirely to our husbands. Parents, they say, are just a distraction—a nuisance.
I don’t know what I’ll do when I lose my mum. Her hugs, her cooking, her presence. Her everything.
A hand seizes my waist and pulls me back as a car speeds past. My back collides with a hard chest, and my breath quickens.
The car nearly hit me.
He’s touching me.
I didn’t even realise when I put my boots back. Has he spoken since? Is he angry that I wasn’t paying attention? My father always told me to stop being so distracted, but this… this has been happening more often since the rescue. And even before, when they were raping me.
The doctor at the hospital explained why my mind would drift.
She said something about it being a defence mechanism and that I needed therapy.
But after two weeks in that hospital, my father decided I didn’t deserve attention.
He locked me in my room, cutting me off from the outside world.
No doctors, no counsellors. The only one he allowed in was a gynaecologist.
I was so sick.
So sick that I—
His hand tilts my chin upward, his other still resting firmly on my waist. Our eyes lock, his face mere inches from mine. He doesn’t push for anything more. He just… looks at me.
His deep blue eyes are mesmerising. I can’t help but wonder how he got those scars. I have so many of my own etched across my body, but none on my face. They always said a scarred face would ruin my worth, that no one would pay for me.
When they caught me clawing at my face, desperate to escape my own reflection, they tied my wrists and hung me from the ceiling for days. My mind is so shattered, so full of cracks, that I don’t even dare try again. Not now, not ever.
Because a ruined face means no one will want me.
And if no one wants me, I don’t know what they’ll do to me.
I’m tired.
I’m so, so tired.
I’m sick of this life.
Why can’t the eyes in front of me show me the truth? Why do they feed me the illusion of freedom? Of love?
“ …ragnetta , please—”
I blink rapidly, swallowing the knot in my throat.
“Hmm?”
He sighs, but I can’t tell if it’s out of frustration or relief. His eyes flicker to my lips before returning to meet mine.
God, his eyelashes are longer than mine. How can someone be so effortlessly beautiful?
“What’s going on inside that little head of yours?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
“I was just distracted, I’m sorry.” I pull away slightly but quickly loop my arm through his. “I can’t think clearly when I’m starving.”
Hunger always drags unpleasant memories to the surface.
He strokes the back of my hand softly, and we keep walking.
I don’t understand this man. He doesn’t get angry, he doesn’t yell at me, he doesn’t even want to hit me.
Why is he like this?
“I’m not sure if a date can work if you already know everything about me.”
The waitress giggles before walking away, and I blush. Dante tilts his head, his lips curling into a smirk.
“You think I know everything about you?”
I shrug. “There’s not much to say. If we’re being honest, I don’t even know myself.
” I break off a tiny piece of bread and nibble on it.
“I lived locked in my room most of my life. My best friend was my sister—she’s the only person close to my age.
I didn’t go to school. I haven’t even had a boyfriend—”
“Is there something you like to do?”
His question takes me off guard.
“I think… not.”
His brow furrows slightly, but he presses on. “And what do you do during the day?”
“I… nothing?”
His jaw drops. “Nothing?”
“There’s not much to do. I mean, I enjoy cooking with my mum, but I don’t really like it.”
“Paint? Read? Nothing?”
“I’m not…” My voice falters, and I lower my gaze. “Allowed.”
His face darkens, and his hand clenches around the butterknife.
My pulse races. Is he going to stab me with that? It’s not sharp, but if he’s strong enough, he could still hurt me.
I can’t run. I can’t ask for help. All I can do is stay here and wait.
His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring, and he can’t seem to look at me. Maybe he’s reconsidering the marriage. Should I feel relieved? Or terrified? Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, right?
But what if he’s better than my father? What if I actually have a chance to be happy?
“I-I know I’m boring, but… but I can spend more time with you that way and—”
“ Time with me?”
Dammit.
I swallow hard and start scratching my fingers under the table.
“For—uh… for making babies and stuff like that.”
I duck my head, letting my hair fall forward to hide my burning face. Men are supposed to think like that, aren’t they? So why does he make me feel like an idiot for saying it out loud?
“Lana—”
“I don’t understand why you act so weird,” I snap. “You don’t know me; you don’t have to know me. We just have to get married, make babies, and…”
“That’s not how relationships work.”
“We won’t have a relationship! That doesn’t exist. There’s not a single person who’s happy in their marriage.”
“ Amore —”
“Stop. It’s not necessary for you to do all of this.”
It’ll hurt less if I don’t let you inside my heart.
The weight in my chest starts to bother me. It’s making it hard to breathe. I shouldn’t be here. I should ask him to take me home, but if he does, I won’t be allowed to eat, and I’m starving.
Maybe that’s better. I should lose weight.
“If I decided to marry you, it’s because I want you to be okay.” He reaches out to me. “I want you to be happy, relaxed. There hasn’t been a moment where you stopped fidgeting, looking around, or losing yourself in your own thoughts since we got out of your house.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“It has everything to do with the way you grew up. With your father.” He pauses.
“I know you’re trying so hard not to piss me off that perhaps you’re restraining yourself or you’re even willing to do anything to not make me angry.
If I do, you’ll wait for me to beat you up and take advantage of you, but this doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. ”
I swallow the knot in my throat.
Sweetheart, ragnetta, amore . Why does he keep calling me like that?
“Which other way would this work out? It doesn’t make sense. You need a man to make babies, and that’s the only job women have.”
I raise my head. His eyes are fixed on mine, with a look I tend to see on my mum, but I’ve never known what it is.
In a soft voice, he says, “That won’t be my woman’s job.”
I’ll be useless, then!
“What do you want me to do?”
“Whatever you want, whenever you want. You won’t have to cook, clean, and if you want babies or not, it’s your choice and only yours. Not mine or your father’s.”
“But you—”
“What I want or not doesn’t matter. I will adapt to you, not the other way around. Even if you want to stay away from me for the rest of your life, sleeping in separate rooms, barely talking, I don’t mind. It’ll hurt, but I’ll accept it without reproach.”
“Why would you accept that?”
“Because I respect you and I care about your well-being. I know this is hard, because of what they’ve taught you—”
I huff. “It’s impossible that you don’t want the same as every man.”
He sighs in exasperation, but he keeps reaching his hand out to me.
“ Ragnetta , I need you to trust me.”
“I can’t… What happens if you—if I believe you and you lie to me… I couldn’t live with something like that.”
“Why would I lie if I’ll get what you think I want anyway?”
Okay, he has a point.
“I don’t know.”
He smiles gently. “I have no reason to betray your trust, nor to take advantage of it. All I want from you is your love, Lana. So, I’m begging you to believe me, because I promise I won’t let you down, and I always keep my promises.”
I stare at his outstretched hand.
My whole life, I’ve been moulded into someone obedient, someone who accepts everything without question, without hoping for more, or even a little love.
The only reason I know that’s not what I want is because Mum used to tell us love stories, ones Tara’s nanny taught her.
They gave me a hope I didn’t know I could have.
They taught me what my father was doing was wrong, and I grew up hating that he only loved me when I was quiet in my bed, letting him touch me while he told me I was such a good daughter for not telling Mum.
I was desperate for any love from him.
If Dante is lying to me, the only thing that could happen is for me to end up like my mum, and I was already willing to accept that kind of life.
But if he’s telling me the truth, then maybe I could live with love, with a husband who respects me and puts me first. Maybe he could even help me with my traumas.
He could really love me, and I could love him.
If this goes wrong, I have nothing to lose.
So I take his warm hand, and hope I’m not making a mistake.