Chapter 7
June
I’m sitting across from him at a large, polished dining table and have never felt more out of place, the shame of what just happened still lingering deep inside me.
The dining area is a bright and inviting space right next to the open kitchen, with giant French doors that lead out to the garden at the back of the house. The room is softly lit by a modern chandelier overhead and a soft tune of classical music is playing in the background.
This unexpected layer of normalcy is bizarre, to say the least. I didn’t expect him to live like this, and I definitely didn’t expect to sit at a dinner table like this. Everything here is so orderly, pristine and so… normal. Well, normal for rich people, I guess. My father and I didn’t live like this, at least not after he had lost his business. We used to have a pleasant home out in the suburbs, with a beautiful garden at the back, but he had to sell the house when things went bad and we moved into a small apartment in the city. The same apartment I now share with Tracey.
We also didn’t eat like this. I’m staring at a simple yet elegant meal before me, unsure what to think.
“Grilled salmon with a side of asparagus and a quinoa salad,” he declared when he put the plate in front of me.
He’s already eating, while I feel like my throat has been closed up by a giant clamp. I’m starving, but I must have left my appetite back in the city, or at least outside the walls of this marvelous house. A house that was paid for with blood money.
“You’re not eating,” he remarks.
“Did you make this?” I ask. I saw him take it out from the fridge, before he warmed up the salmon and the asparagus, but it’s hard to believe that this is takeout food.
“No, Enzo, my chef did,” he says. “I don’t have time to cook most days. I’m a very busy man.”
“Of course you are.”
He throws me an impatient look, before he says: “It’s not poisoned. I’m not trying to kill you.”
“What is with you and poison?” I laugh as I pick up my fork. “Besides, it wouldn’t be good for you if I was dead.”
“I’m aware,” he retorts.
For a while, the clinking of our cutlery is the only sound that joins the soft piano music playing in the background. The food is amazing, probably one of the best meals I’ve ever had. But I can’t let him know that.
From what I know, Grace’s family never struggled financially, like me and my father did. The Reids are nasty, but they are wealthy. Or at least, they used to be. I don’t know what caused their current money problems, because I never cared to ask, but I have a feeling that there’s a lot they’re not telling me.
“So, tell me a little about yourself, Grace,” he demands. He speaks without looking at me.
Oh, great, small talk.
“What have my brothers told you?” I want to know. I need to make sure my story lines up with whatever he may have found out by himself.
He shrugs. “Not much. Just that they’re very protective of you.”
“That’s it?” I probe.
He lifts an eyebrow at me. “Yes, that’s it. I never asked, so why would they provide me with any information about you?”
I’m surprised to hear that he never inquired about the girl he was so keen to get a hold of. When Tyler, the youngest Reid, told me that Ryker was asking for their sister as a pawn, my first thought was that he must be some kind of pervert. Why else would any man ask for a young girl as a collateral instead of some luxury object, or cars or whatever? No, he asked for a human being, a young girl.
And despite my suspicion, I was ready to jump at the chance to get closer to him. I’ll do anything to get my revenge.
Anything.
“Well?” He’s looking at me, still expecting me to share my — or rather Grace’s — life story with him.
Luckily, I’m prepared for this. I didn’t walk into his arms with no preparation.
“I enjoy reading, and I’m really into architecture,” I say.
“Architecture? What’s so interesting about that?”
I shrug. “It’s where function meets beauty. Like, when you step into a house, it’s not just a roof above your head. I like to see how the place interacts with its inhabitants, how modern conveniences are implemented while still representing historical context, which is something you can witness in a lot of New England mansions as they get renovated. Places like this.”
I twirl my finger around, proud of myself. It’s true that Grace has an interest in things like this. I know this because her brother Tyler told me. But I came up with that little monologue all by myself, after doing a little research on the topic myself.
“Or have you noticed how light plays a critical role?” I pile on. “Windows are such a big deal, the size, the placement. Natural lighting can alter the mood and perception of space dramatically. And materials! The tactility of brushed concrete juxtaposed with the warmth of terracotta tiles can speak volumes about a space’s character, of when—”
“I don’t need a whole lecture,” he cuts me off. “I can tell you’re passionate about this.”
I’m not, but it’s great that you think that . I’m playing my role perfectly.
“Maybe I can come up with a few things to improve your home,” I say, pointedly scanning the room.
“No, thank you.”
“But what am I going to do while I’m here?” I ask. “You took away the only form of entertainment I had.”
He sighs, and a line emerges between his dark brows when he looks at me. “Don’t expect me to entertain you.”
The starkness of his reply makes me flinch inwardly, but I press on, needing to understand the extent of my confinement. “Will you lock me up?”
“Yes,” he says simply, as if we were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “It’s necessary for now. You will have meals provided, and if you want to read, you can get something from my private library. I don’t have too many books here, but enough to keep you entertained for weeks.”
“What kind of books?” I want to know.
But he shakes his head. “I will show you later. Finish your dinner first.”
His words make me chuckle. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
“Then don’t act like one and just do as you’re told.”
I want to remind him that this is exactly what one would say to a child, but I check myself and focus on the food in front of me. I may be a prisoner for now, but at least I won’t be fed like one.
And in our case, it’s not me who deserves to be locked up, but my warden.