Page 9 of Isle of Seduction
I almost lost her. She could have died, just like my mother.
I’d sell my soul to the devil ten times over if it meant she was safe.
“I can never thank you enough for what you did. How are you, really, G?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve survived men like Capaldi all my life.”
“They never were your husband, though.”
“Fake husband,” I insist. I don’t want to look too closely at what I feel for Andrea right now. Because I’m confused. He helped us retrieve the person I love most, so I’m grateful. But he also negotiated for my freedom in exchange for his help. He’s just one more made man taking something from me that wasn’t freely given, and though I understand everything in our lives is a contract, a business agreement and driven by need and power, it doesn’t hurt any less.
Thankfully, Pierce clears his throat behind me and enters the room.
I kiss Lana’s cheek and she lets me go but not without making me promise to text her about my situation.
Pierce and I switch places, but I remain at the foot of the bed. Andrea’s looming presence at my back is a beast in its own right. I refuse to give him any of my emotions so I keep looking at Lana and Pierce, until they start kissing and that’s my clue to leave.
On my way out, I ignore him and lock myself into the room he gave me in his house.
* * *
After Lana and Pierce leave Andrea’s annoyingly comfortable cottage to get back to Kalliste, I’m left with my new husband in what will be my home for the next five years.
I was too preoccupied to look around me when we first came here. Now I look around, taking my new environment in with fresh eyes. Everything in the living room feels like it’s been designed with me in mind, from the creamy walls to the exposed beams, from the cognac leather sofa to the coffee tables made of raw wood and the bookcase and dresser to match. The open kitchen is all reclaimed wood and porcelain white and though I can’t cook for shit, it really makes me want to hang out there.
I could almost feel comfortable if it wasn’t for the aura of danger around Andrea and his scent of tobacco leaves and bitter orange permeating every single inch of space. It’s fucking with my head, the emotions of the past few days heightened. I can’t trust anything that comes out of my mouth right now.
I retreat to my room but he stops me by encircling my wrist with his large hand. There’s no pressure there but the gesture reeks of dominance and power. Tingles spark from the place his fingers touch me and climb up my arms like an army of little flames.
“Dine with me tonight.”
“I’d rather starve to death.” I smile sweetly and pull my body out of his reach.
I get to the room and close the door behind me, exhaling heavily like a weight off my shoulders has been lifted. It hasn’t but at least, I’m not in Andrea’s proximity anymore.
The place is sparse and simple, with light beige walls and equally boring beige sheets on a King size bed with a canopy. Next to the bed is a vintage cognac Chesterfield seat that matches the sofa in the living room. It looks like an eyesore in the middle of so much beige though it’s my favourite feature of the room, along with the wood beams on the ceiling that seem to go through the entire house and the huge windows on two walls of the room. The curtains, unfortunately, are beige as well.
The only thing that isn’t beige here is the bathroom, lined with tiny small turquoise tiles from floor to ceiling and a golden clawed bathtub that’s calling my name.
After I draw myself a bath, I undress and get in with a moan, the hot water melting my tired muscles. The smell of the bubbles invades my nose, citruses immediately putting me at ease. I drop my head back and close my eyes, revelling in the short moment of respite after days of all-consuming anxiety.
In the silence of the bathroom, I let the tears fall down then submerge my head entirely and yell into the water until the lack of oxygen burns my lungs. I come up for air and repeat the process a couple of times, enough for my body to relax.
Most people think I’m an air-head and everything glides off me, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.
I already miss my home, hot summer nights and cold autumn mornings, Friday dinners at the Bartoli’s mansion and Mammona’s ravioli. Summer hasn’t even ended, and it’s already raining here, leaving everything damp and depressing.
I know she’s safe but I also can’t stop thinking about Lana and text her before putting on polyphonic songs from my home country to help me relax.
Time to think of ways to manage my pest problem. Pierce made me promise not to kill him—yet—so I can’t come back on a promise I made.
Thoughts of murder and blood, my favourites, lull me to sleep and I let my muscles and my anxious mind take a much needed rest. I’m still half-asleep when a zing of energy lights up a path under my entire skin, from the roots of my red hair to the tips of my pink painted toes. My eyes blink open but nothing has changed in the room except for the setting sun peeking behind the grey clouds visible through the oval window.
A glass of red wine sits on the corner of the bathtub. I sit up straight in the bath, turning my gaze to every corner of the room like he’s going to jump on me any minute.
Fucker was in this room while I was naked.
I’m so killing him.