My heart rate ratchets up as I bring it closer, gaping at a drawing. It’s hardly a lifelike masterpiece and is done in plain blue pen ink, but I’m certain it’s me, reclined in the office chair, pencil clenched in the frowny-looking mouth. Rought lines around the face probably represent the stray strands of hair, while the rest is depicted as a glob on top of the head. There’s another bold curve with a wider tip that I’m guessing is supposed to be a man’s tie, twisted around the mass of tresses.
My eyes flit over all the details once more, then I look at a note scribed in strong male handwriting under the sketch.
I want some real food for breakfast.
A small giggle escapes me while warmth surges inside my chest.
Rafael De Santi. The man whose name alone makes people tremble in fear, left me a doodle on a sticky note. I slip the paper into my pocket and look around the terrace, but there isn’t anyone else here. Sighing, I pull up a seat at the table and pick up a slice of tart from the closest platter. For the briefest moment, I hoped Rafael would be joining me for this feast.
My hand stills on a juice jug. I’m attracted to him. Attracted to a man who threatened to kill my family. Who is keeping me a prisoner. And I have no idea what he even looks like.
Peachy.
After I’m done with breakfast, I carry my plate and glass to the kitchen. The jumpy maid is there, putting the groceries away into the fridge, and the moment she notices me, she shrieks.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” I mumble, nodding at the plate in my hands. “I just brought this back.”
The girl blinks in confusion, then rushes toward me and basically snatches the plate and glass from my hands and loads them into the dishwasher.
“Um . . . I could have done that. Okay, I’ll go bring the—”
The maid dashes past me right out of the kitchen. I glance at her retreating back, seeing her scurry onto the terrace, where she starts collecting the breakfast leftovers.
Ooookay. I have no idea what I did, but the woman seems to be terrified of me for some reason. Deciding not to stress her further, I leave the kitchen through the side door that leads to the garden.
As I’m strolling along the driveway, raised voices carry toward me on a slight gust of wind from the direction of the estate entrance. One is male, sounding exasperated but determined. And the other is female, obviously distressed and shouting in a high-pitched tone. With my hands clasped behind my back, I continue down the gravel path, toward the source of the commotion. Poking my nose in other people’s business is not something I usually do, but my curiosity has been piqued. It’s a rare break from the monotony of a lifeless mansion.
The first thing I notice when I approach is a shiny red convertible parked on the other side of the gate. A woman, wearing a tight white dress, is standing next to the car and yelling at the guard while pointing her finger at the house. The man seems to be trying to calm her down, without success. The only thing I grasp from their conversation is Rafael’s name. Suddenly, the woman’s head snaps in my direction, and her long hair—nearly an identical shade to the car—flicks through the air in the process. Her eyes travel down my body, from the top of my head where Rafael’s tie is keeping my bun secure, to the pale-gray shirt of his that I’m wearing.
“Chi è quella?” the redhead sneers through her teeth. It’s more than clear she is not happy to see me here.
The guard rushes to her side and practically manhandles her into the driver’s seat. Glaring at me the entire time, the woman spits out a slew of unpleasantries. Her irate words and hand gestures leave me with no doubt about that, despite the barrier of language. Then, she reverses the car and disappears into a cloud of dust.
I pivot and head back toward the house, while an unexpected pang of disappointment pierces my chest.
Rafael has a girlfriend.
* * *
The warm, salty breeze whips the loose strands of my hair into my eyes. I adjust the soft white cardigan around me and reach for the wine glass I’ve set between the succulents on my left. My gaze is drawn to the distant shimmer of yellow lights scattered across the dark expanse of the Mediterranean. The fishing boats.
I waited over an hour for Rafael in his office tonight. When I arrived at the agreed-upon time, he wasn’t there, and eventually, I concluded that he wasn’t coming and trotted downstairs. I roamed the empty rooms, but as always, it felt strange being alone in such a vast yet magnificent space. Even Guido was nowhere to be found. After a while, I returned to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine and a glass, then came out to the garden.
This is a beautiful site, with a myriad of succulents and wildflowers thriving in crevices and graveled beds built around rocks and boulders along a natural slope. An olive tree with its widely spreading branches casts a shadow onto the massive flat stone I’m sitting on, just steps away from the thick trunk of the evergreen. I found this spot this morning during my exploration of the grounds, and the view from here is even more majestic at night.
The crunch of gravel somewhere behind me startles me, and I almost spill the wine all over my new cardigan.
“I was afraid you managed to slip away, Miss Petrova.”
My body relaxes. It’s just my kidnapper-slash-host-slash world’s deadliest assassin. The fact that this realization brings me comfort is highly concerning.
“Between the cliffs, the electric fence, and your Uzi-carrying security, my options for escape are rather limited.” I lift the bottle to pour more wine. But it’s empty. Crap. “You weren’t in the office when I came by.”
“I had some things that needed to be taken care of.”
I look over my shoulder and find Rafael leaning on the olive tree, swallowed by the shadows.
Always in the dark.
“Your girlfriend dropped by earlier today.”
“Hardly a girlfriend, but an ex nevertheless. She’s not handling the breakup that well,” he says. “Apparently, she’s still mourning.”
“You broke her heart?”
“Worse. I canceled the credit card I gave her.”
I chuckle, then turn back to watching the sea. The sound of his steps over the stones is faint but drawing near. Clothes rustle as he takes a seat behind me. He stretches his long legs on each side of me, and even though we’re not touching, I can feel his heat as his huge frame surrounds me, and his presence seems to envelop my body and soul.
“I left your extravagant gift on your desk.”
“Didn’t you like it?” his deep voice, just next to my ear, whispers. My heartbeat picks up.
“It’s lovely. But gifts do not replace an apology in my eyes.”
“Why not?”
“Well, this might come as a surprise to you, Rafael, but you can’t buy people.”
