I wake up to the sound of crashing waves competing with arguing voices drifting from somewhere downstairs. And faint traces of a familiar scent. I blink my eyes open, my gaze landing on the red velvet box lying on the nightstand.
Itās been a week since Rafael took me out on his yacht. Seven days since I plunged into uncharted waters. Instead of surfacing to find myself close to a solid shore, Iām more adrift than Iāve ever been.
We still have our āworkā evenings in Rafaelās office. I continue trying to fix the bizarre issues in his companyās systems that keep popping up no matter what I do to sort them out. Rafael keeps lurking in his dark corner, sipping his wine until he declares that weāre done for the night.
But thereās a major difference to this ānewā normal. When I head to the bedroom, Rafael follows.
And we fuck.
In near complete silence. Aside from our moans and grunts, and constant panting. We just have sex.
Lots and lots of mind-blowing, unhinged sex.
He leaves me so spent that I canāt manage to wake up before noon the following day. When I finally rise, Rafael is already gone, and the only proof that we spent the night together is my sore pussy and the whiffs of cypress and orange in the air.
And every day, thereās a new velvet box on the nightstand beside my bed.
The first gift was a beautiful gold necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant. I was tempted . . . so goddamn tempted to blast the thing into the sea. I managed to restrain myself. Instead, I threw the box at Rafaelās head that evening before taking my seat at the desk. He didnāt even comment on it. Just caught the necklace and put it away in his pocket.
The next morningāa new velvet box. Slightly larger, containing a matching set of sapphire earrings and a bracelet. I left it by his wine glass before making my way through the office door. Our sex was angry, but we didnāt say a word.
Day threeāanother necklace. Rose gold this time, with a huge round diamond solitaire. A gorgeous, classical look. I shoved it into his hand for good measure. He took it without complaint. Pants pocket, and it was out of sight.
A wristwatch on day four. Solid gold and covered in diamonds. On day five, a āfull houseā designer setāearrings, necklace, bracelet, and even a brooch, all in a diamond-covered jewelry case. On day six, a fucking tiara!
Every night, I returned his gift without a thank you. And each time, Rafael just put it away. Not a word. Not an indignant sound. Just a set of instructions on my next task.
And then, sex.
Epic. Raw. Sex.
Which neither of us talks about.
I push the covers away and sit up in bed. What will it be today? Another watch? Another necklace? One thatās half my weight in gold and precious gems?
Sighing, I lift the lid on the gift box.
And stare at the contents, unable to breathe.
A delicate white gold chaināa rather simple designāwith a small pendant in the shape of a lily of the valley. Polished stems suspend the brilliant-cut diamonds on the flower drops, and marquise gemstones line the leaves.
Gingerly, I stroke the glistening shape with the tip of my finger, while warmth spreads through my chest. This looks delicate and expensive, but nowhere near the other extravagant gifts.
Itās the only one that speaks directly to me. Itās the only one that acknowledges us. Not his wealth.
As I take the chain out of the box, a yellow sticky note falls from the underside of the satiny cushion. It flutters to the floor and lands face down. Bending, I collect the note, turning it around to see what it is.
A drawing of me. Naked. My hair loose around my face. Around my neck, the lily of the valley necklace.
I stare at the note in my hand, then look at the necklace in the other. After eyeing that elegant pendant for a long, long time, I unclasp the chain and put it around my neck.
* * *
The clatter and clang of the cutlery echo through the otherwise silent kitchen. I ignore the looks of concern the maids are throwing in my direction and pull out another drawer to add its contents to the growing pile of utensils already on the counter.
Iāll need at least half an hour to sort everything. Maybe even an hour, if I go slow. After Iām done, Iāll have to find something else to occupy my time or Iāll fucking flip trying to deal with a tangle of emotions that have me all tied up.
Iām wrapped in a thick fog of uncertainty where only blurry, distorted shapes are visible. The guilt is suffocating. I feel like a hypocrite for sleeping with my kidnapper and loving every second of it. For enjoying each moment I spend with him and missing him when heās not here. Iām just so fucking confused by everything. His feelings. My own. Am I truly in love with Rafael, or is it just Stockholm syndrome? Would I feel the same if he wasnāt forcing me to stay? Hell if I know. I canāt trust my heart, canāt make any sense of my thoughts, canāt be positive about my emotions until I get out of this haze. Rafael is the shroud that consumes me.
And him? Does he have true feelings for me, or is it simply a twisted need to possess an elusive prey that would not blindly succumb to the gilded cage he offered? All that fucking jewelry . . . I have no intention of spelling it out for him, letting him know that I donāt need his fancy trinkets. Heās a smart man, and if he truly cares for me, he should realize it on his ownāI donāt want his expensive gifts. I want freedom. And I want him to never again wave the threat to my family as some goddamn flag in front of my face.
I look down, eyes zeroing in on the lily of the valley pendant around my neck. Maybe heās coming to his senses at last.
āMiss?ā One of the maids touches my shoulder. āOtto is here. He has a package for you.ā
I look up from the line of forks Iām making, sorting them by size. āWhat kind of package?ā
āItās from the boss,ā Otto says as he approaches the kitchen island and sets a large rectangular box on the counter. The Albiniās gold logo is prominently displayed on the top.
I open the lid and shift the white tissue paper, revealing an abundance of golden silk and lace.
The dress Iād tried on when Rafael took me shopping.
āBoss said heāll come to get you around eight,ā Otto adds.
āGet me?ā
āFor cocktails.ā
I raise an eyebrow. āAnd if Iām not interested in having cocktails with him?ā
āHe mentioned you may feel this way. And instructed me to tell you that, if you decline, he wonāt be allowing you to make any more phone calls.ā
Biting the side of my cheek, I slam the lid shut and push the box away. Iāve got forks to sort instead of dealing with this nonsense.
Coming to his senses, my ass.
How is it possible to like the man and yet want to strangle him at the same time?
āFuck,ā I groan as I take off my button-down to inspect the cut. Shallow but rather long, itās a diagonal gash across the ribs on the left side of my torso. Still bleeding. In need of cleaning and a good dressing. Seeking the first aid kit, I open the medicine cabinet above the sink.
A street fight. I canāt believe that I got into a fucking street fight because of a woman. It was just a random group of stupid drunk punks throwing bottles at the wall of an alley. I could have just passed them, but no. I stopped the car and then got into a meaningless fistfight with four young idiots just so I could ease some of my frustration.
The reason for my frustration? A tiny little Russian princess who has been pretending that thereās nothing going on between us. I went along with her request not to discuss what is happening in my bedroom because I thought that fucking her would be enough. Itās not. I donāt want her to simply be my nightly fuck. I want our banter. The teasing. Those awful doodles. I want all that and more. But she is still insisting on fixing my IT systems as fast as possible. So she can leave.