Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I put my head on his shoulder and think about what it was like to have a father who disliked you for being good. My stomach clenches with the thought.
“My father neglected me,” I say, then I bite my lip so I can thoughtfully pick out the right words. I have to be careful that anything I say is generic enough it could be Elise’s father, and not so mean that Orlando will hunt him down to seek revenge. And that’s absolutely something he would do.
I want him. I don’t want to let him go. I love that he’s so possessive, so protective. I love this man.
I twirl a piece of my hair thoughtfully as I think about my words. “His friends mattered to him, his work. But not me. I was only an accessory.” I close my mouth so I don’t say much more.
“Why do you speak in the past tense? Your father’s still with us.” As he talks, he gently places his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him. I lay my head against him. It’s a soothing sort of feeling, one that brings surprising tears to my eyes.
“I just meant that it was like that when I was a child. Now, we live our separate lives…” I don’t look at him when I say this. I have to be careful not to slip up like that again. I have to change the subject. “Do you still meet here?”
“Yeah, Romeo holds inner circle meetings here sometimes.” He’s brushing his thumb across his lower lip when his phone dings with a text. It startles me when his eyes go dark after reading it.
“Everything okay?”
Again, he doesn’t answer. “Let’s finish this tour.”
We head to another section of the house. Everything’s decorated in ornate decorations, some imported directly from Italy. Heavy drapes hang by windows, but they don't look stuffy. It's elegant in here, refined, with the taste of old-world culture and a flavor of the modern. And I love it. I love it so much.
“Downstairs is the secret wine cellar,” he says. “Or was. The bottles in the dining room line an entire wall. They’re straight from our vineyards in Tuscany.”
“Wow, so that’s not over-the-top at all.”
That earns me a stinging pinch to the ass.
I hold my breath when he opens the entrance to the wine cellar, a hidden doorway marked only with the outline of a doorway.
“Okay, so, tell me this is how you get to the dungeon,” I say with a forced laugh. “You and your knights imprison your captives until they’re brought to the presence of the king, eh?”
“Very good. That's exactly how it goes.”
There isn’t a hint of humor in his voice. I clear my throat.
“Uh, Orlando. This is kind of, like, scaring me.”
No response, just a tug to my hand that makes me quicken my step.
“Orlando…”
“We’re almost there.”
He leads me down to the dungeon. It looks exactly the way I’d expect a dungeon to look—dark and dank, with chains on the wall and a cement floor that’s dark enough to hide whatever stains it.
“You weren’t lying,” I breathe while I cringe.
“I was not.”
I gulp, and he threads his fingers through mine as he leads me in. “This is the dungeon. We interrogate our prisoners here, and it’s a useful place to put someone if they’ve broken a rule and need to be punished.”
I’m sick to my stomach. I can almost hear the echoes of pleas for mercy, the screams of the damned.
“Got it.” My heart’s beating faster, my mouth all dry. I squirm when he leads me to the middle of the room where chains are dangling from the ceiling.
“These chains here,” he says softly, as he hefts one of the manacles, “work really well for keeping prisoners in place.”
Without a word, he lifts my wrist. “Orlando, I—”
The click makes me squirm. I tug my wrist to find it secure in the cuff. My heart races faster. He takes my second wrist and lifts it, then slides the other cuff in place. “There you go,” he says softly. Is the man a psychopath? He just put me in chains in the dungeon. “Now we can have the talk we need to have.”
I can’t see him when he paces behind me, but I can hear the soft treading of his feet. “Orlando…”
“Elise…”
Does he know who I am? Does he know I’m an imposter? What did he bring me here to do? I’m shivering uncontrollably from the fear. I’m secured so high up, I’m on my tiptoes. In my peripheral vision, he takes something out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, terrified. I stifle a whimper. “Orlando…”
If he’s brought me here to punish me for lying to him…
A strip of leather skates around my neck, making me shiver and squirm. “Got a text from Romeo.”