Collateral Page 6

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Like I said, you don’t want to know that.”

  “Does it have to do with why you smelled like that the first night?”

  I wonder if she can still smell that smell. I can.

  I nod.

  She shifts a little in her seat. “Do you mean to go through with it? Marrying me?”

  “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “Why? How will that punish him?”

  “To take his daughter. His heir. To flaunt her, this dirty Sicilian that I am. To watch him do exactly as I say and humiliate him before I bring him to his knees as I steal the Marchese legacy out from under him. That’s how this will punish him.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “What am I? Collateral damage? This is my life too. You’re punishing me too and I haven’t done anything to you. I don’t even know you.”

  I set my elbow on the table, lean my chin into it. “Are you innocent, Gabriela?”

  “I’m a pawn, Stefan. First to him. Now to you.”

  “But he loves you.”

  At that she chuckles and turns her attention to the horizon where the sun is beginning to set. After a moment, she pours more wine for herself.

  “You need to slow down on that.”

  She glares at me and drains her glass.

  One side of my mouth curves upward. Her hangover tomorrow may teach her better than my warnings.

  “You’ve come into my bedroom uninvited three times,” she says.

  “And?”

  “And I don’t want you to do it anymore. You’ll knock. It’s polite.”

  “Who says I’m polite?”

  “You’re right. You Sicilians are more like animals, aren’t you?”

  She doesn’t blink, but I can see she’s testing. Unsure.

  “Do you mean we dirty Sicilians?”

  “If you say so.”

  “You’re arrogant.”

  “I am.”

  “A princess?”

  She grits her teeth.

  “Daddy’s precious little princess? What will he do when I put my dirty Sicilian hands on you?”

  Her smile vanishes and her face pales.

  “You had a pistol in your bag, Gabriela.”

  “You went through my things?”

  “Nothing is yours anymore. Everything is mine. Including you.”

  “I’ll never be yours.”

  “What were you going to do with it? Shoot me?”

  It takes her a moment to answer. “If you put your hands on me, then yes.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing I took it before you hurt yourself.” I finish my whiskey and lean toward her. “And just so you know, when I do deign to touch you, you’ll be begging for it.”

  She snorts, matches my posture with elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands. “Let’s get one thing clear, Stefan. I will never beg you for anything. I don’t want you. I don’t want this.” She takes a breath. “This isn’t my choice.”

  “It’s not mine either so that makes two of us.”

  At that she’s baffled.

  I get up, walk toward her, reach into my pocket and toss the box at her.

  She catches it and I walk away, taking a seat on one of the cushioned benches. I watch her turn in her seat to face me.

  “What the hell is this?” she asks, turning the velvet box around in her hands.

  “Did this morning not teach you about language?”

  Her eyes are darker when she looks up at me and if looks could kill, I’d be dead.

  She sets the box on the table. “Yeah, that’s another thing. If you’re expecting some perfect lady who wears high-heels to dinner and speaks properly, well, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you’ll do exactly as you’re told.”

  “And what in hell gives you that impression?”

  I lean back, stretching my arms out as the sun sets and darkness falls so the lights of the house and those of the pool come on to illuminate her.

  “Take care, Princess. Next time I spank you, I’ll be sure to leave a more lasting impression.”

  “If you ever try that again, I will kill you.”

  I laugh outright at that. “How would you do that? I took your gun.”

  She glares.

  “Are you stronger than me? Will you somehow overpower me? I think not.”

  Her jaw tightens as her hands fist.

  “Open the box,” I tell her.

  She stands. “I mean it, Stefan. You are never to touch me like that again! I won’t have it.”

  I stand too, shove my hands into my pockets and study her, go to her. I have to give her credit for not shrinking away from me.

  I reach out, touch her hair, it’s thick and soft and I remember how it lent itself to my grip. I brush her bangs behind her ear and search her face, then lower. I see how her nipples are pebbled against the fine material of the dress and it’s not cold enough for it to be the temperature.

  When I lean toward her, I hear her breath catch. She puts her hands against my chest.

  “You’re pretty when you’re angry, you know that?” I say in a quiet voice.

  “You like playing with me, don’t you?”

  I straighten and I’m so close that I can feel those hard, little points against my chest through my T-shirt.

  “I do. Very much.”

  I brush my jaw against her cheek, inhale her scent.

  “And just to be clear, I’ll touch you any way I want. You’re mine. You belong to me,” I whisper against her ear, feeling her shudder before I draw back and open the box. “Now,” I say, turning it so she can see the ring. “Hold out your left hand so I can put this first mark of my ownership on you.”

  It takes her a long minute before she drags her gaze up to mine and in that time, I can almost feel the rage bubbling inside her. This insult of ownership. Of being made to submit.

  I watch her and wait. I’ve learned patience over the years.

  Anger makes her eyes darker. I think this is how they’ll look when I lay my dirty hands on her. When I fuck her.

  “You know what you can do with that ring, Stefan?” she asks, eyes blazing. “You can shove it up your ass.”

  She tries to push past me, but I catch her wrist and make her turn to me. I squeeze and watch her face contort with the pain.

  “You’re going to make this fun, aren’t you?” I ask through gritted teeth. I turn my attention to her hand and force the ring on her finger before twisting her arm behind her back, forcing her to turn so she’s facing away from me. I tug her backward and close my other hand over her throat.

  “I don’t want it. Take it off,” she manages.

  “I don’t give a damn what you want.” My voice is tight, years-old rage burns inside me. “You’ll wear my ring. You will never take it off, not at any time day or night because if you do then you and I have a problem. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Let me go. You’re a thug. A bully.”

  I tighten my grip on her throat. “Am I clear, Gabriela?” I ask, keeping her immobile.

  “Crystal,” she spits.

  Good.

  I release her and step backward.

  She stumbles, turns to face me, both hands protective over her throat.

  We stay like this for a moment, facing off. I see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty. I almost feel sorry for her. She is so far out of her league.

  But then I remember my brother. I remember my dead brother mutilated and left in that stinking morgue and every muscle tightens.

  “Now go to your room and stay there until I tell you you can come out,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “With fucking pleasure!” she spits, before running past me and up the stairs, tripping once in her haste before she disappears into her borrowed room.

  7

  Gabriela

  I slam the bedroom door and l
ean against it, not sure if he’s on his way up now to make good on his threats. To hurt me. To make me docile.

  But I am not that. I will never be that.

  I touch my throat and it’s like I can still feel his hand around it.

  He could snap my neck in a second. He could strangle me on a whim. It would take little effort from him.

  The cold of the diamond ring makes me draw my hand away. I look down at it, the too tight ring with its enormous diamond. I hate it. I fucking hate it because it’s exactly what he says. His mark of ownership.

  Rebellion has me tugging at the thing, wanting it off. I’m not sure if I’m glad it fits too tightly to be pulled off so easily because I did hear his warning loud and clear. I’m not stupid enough not to heed it.

  I do not want a problem with him.

  No matter how much I fight, how rebellious I am, I know better than to make a problem with Stefan Sabbioni.

  He will punish me and the rage that rears its ugly head from beneath that calm, sophisticated exterior, it scares the fuck out of me.

  When five minutes pass and it’s still quiet in the hallway, I step away from the door.

  I look around for some way to block it. The dresser will be too heavy to push so I take a chair and lodge it under the doorknob, not sure it’ll work to keep him out. Knowing, actually that it won’t. That if he wants in, he’ll be in. He’ll break the door down if he has to.

  What I did was stupid. I know. I shouldn’t have pushed him like that.

  I slip off my shoes and go into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I’m trying not to look at the ring on my finger, but I do touch the reddened print of his hand on my throat.

  What the hell does he want from me? What does he expect? That I’ll meekly do as he says? That I’m remotely okay with having my life stolen so he can take his revenge against my father?

  What could my father have done to make him do this?

  And aren’t I included in that vengeance? I am my father’s daughter and Stefan seems to think I’m precious. So, to bury my father, to use Stefan’s words, does he then mean to bury me along with him?

  I open the bathroom door and walk back into the bedroom. It’s dark, the only lights those from the pool coming in through the still open French doors. I don’t turn the lights on though.

  Instead, I open every drawer in the dresser, then search through the closet for a weapon. Apart from the heels on some of the shoes, I find nothing. Maybe I could lodge one in his eye.

  But when ten minutes pass, then twenty, then thirty and he’s still not here, I start to relax.

  That half hour turns into an hour and I take out my book, sit on the bed to read, although I’m so distracted, I just keep re-reading the same passage.

  The night grows darker and I get up to go outside, to look at the sea.

  From here, I can see down to where we’d sat for dinner. The table’s been cleared, and candles are lit in hurricane jars. Those, combined with the lights inside the pool, makes for a pretty, elegant affect.

  I’m about to go back into the bedroom when I hear voices. First a man’s. I think it’s the same man who was here earlier but I only heard him for a split second so I could be wrong. Then I hear a woman’s laughter. A musical sort of laugh that immediately grates on my nerves. It reminds me of my father’s whores.

  I’m barefoot so my feet don’t make any sound on the marble floor. I think every floor in this house is marble.

  When the voices grow louder, I walk to the French doors, then edge out a little to get a look at who’s here.

  I see the top of Stefan’s head first, then the other man. I was right. It’s the same one who was here earlier. They’re drinking their whiskey and laughing at something.

  Stefan says something to the woman who must still be inside because I can’t see her, and the two men laugh as a tall, beautiful, elegant and very naked woman walks out onto the patio.

  I’m not exactly sure what I feel at seeing her. She casually walks up between the two men and pushes them away with one hand on either of their shoulders, saying something in a low, husky voice before slinking into the pool and gliding across to the other end to come to rest there.

  I feel the strangest thing at seeing this.

  Jealousy.

  And I know I’m so far out of my league, I’m not even in the same universe.

  When I turn to the two men, I meet Stefan’s eyes and freeze.

  He’s watching me. He was probably watching me watch that woman.

  Embarrassed, I blink first. I slip back into my room to hide like a child. Because that’s what I feel like. A child.

  What are they doing down there?

  I want to close the balcony doors, especially when I hear laugh. Are they laughing at me? But I don’t dare risk him seeing me again and so I remain in the darkness of my borrowed bedroom and hug my arms to myself at the sudden chill I feel.

  I’m alone. I know that. I knew I would be before I got here. And it’s not that I mind it. Even at home, I’ve always been alone. I’ve always hidden in some way.

  But at least at home when my dad was a jerk, it was still my home.

  Here, I’m not wanted. Not welcome.

  No, it’s worse than that.

  I’m their enemy.

  And if I had any idiotic doubt as to how this would go before, Stefan made it perfectly clear after dinner.

  I pad into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth. Even though it’s early, I get into the bed and close my eyes, trying hard to block out their talking, their laughter. I turn my back to the balcony doors and squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to hear their little party downstairs.

  8

  Gabriela

  An unfamiliar sound wakes me early the next morning. It’s only five o’clock according to the clock by the bedside.

  It takes me a moment to remember where I am, to remember the night and how it took me hours to fall asleep. I wonder if they’re still here. Wonder what they did.

  Wonder if the woman slept in Stefan’s bed.

  But mostly, I wonder why I care.

  A glance at the door tells me he hasn’t been in here, although I swear I can smell his aftershave.

  It’s still dark out, and I hear the sound again.

  Someone’s swimming.

  I push the blanket back and get up, go out to the balcony to peer over it down to the pool and I jump back instantly because it’s him.

  It takes me a full minute to get my courage up and look again because he’s naked.

  I watch him swim the length of the pool underwater, then come up for air and repeat again and again and again. He’s a strong swimmer. Even from here, I can see how his muscles ripple with each elegant stroke, and I wonder how he doesn’t tire.

  When he finally hauls himself up and out of the pool in one smooth motion, I slip out of sight and remain hidden until I hear him on the stairs. I hold my breath, thinking he saw me, and only exhale in relief when the footsteps pass my room and I hear a door open and close.

  I walk back outside and look down at the empty patio, then out to the sea at the sliver of light in the far distance.

  The sun is rising, and I think how much I want to swim. What I would give to swim. To dive into the pool or, better yet, into the salty water of the sea and let myself float. Just float. Let my ears fill up with the sound of water. I remember how peaceful that always felt. Floating with my ears beneath the surface.

  I miss it.

  I used to love swimming, but now, even the thought of it scares me.

  I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. My stomach growls. I’d kill for a cup of coffee, but I push the thought aside. Instead of choosing one of the dresses he’s bought me, I put on the pair of jeans and a T-shirt I’d brought with me and go out to the balcony to sit on one of the two chairs and watch the sunrise. I think it’s the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen.

  A sound from my left startles me and I turn to find I’
m not alone.

  Stefan is standing on the balcony watching me.

  I’m confused for a moment, but I remember the closed doors I’d glimpsed yesterday. I hadn’t given it a thought, but I realize now we share the balcony.

  His hair is wet, and I think how he looked a little while ago when he was swimming naked.

  “Get a good look this morning?” he asks as if he read my mind.

  I feel my face flush as I stand and look away. I clear my throat when he approaches.

  I glance inside at the chair lodged under the doorknob and feel so stupid. I probably hadn’t imagined that he’d come into my room last night. I wasn’t imagining the aftershave at all. He probably was in here. Again, while I slept.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  I fold my arms across my chest, and I don’t miss how his gaze momentarily drops to my hand. He’s probably confirming I’m still wearing his ring. His mark of ownership. I don’t admit to myself my relief that I hadn’t been stupid enough to take it off.

  “Badly,” I say, even though I slept fine.

  “You were out when I checked on you.”

  I grit my teeth.

  “Have fun with your friends?” I ask, my voice higher than I want it to be.

  “I did, thank you for asking.” He smiles, all cocky and sure of himself. He looks me over. “It’s warmer here than you’re used to and too warm for that. Change into one of the sundresses.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “But I’d like to see more of you.”

  “Didn’t you get an eyeful of the woman with the irritating laugh last night?”

  “Careful, Princess, or I may think you’re jealous.”

  “I’m not a princess and I’m not jealous.”

  He brushes past me, disturbing the air. I wish I found the subtle scent of his aftershave intrusive. Offensive even.

  He walks directly to the door and removes the chair without a word. “You like the room?”

  “I did until just now.”

  “Well, soon you’ll be sleeping in my bed, so you won’t be in it for long.” He checks his watch. “Millie will be preparing breakfast. You can go downstairs to eat. Swim if you like. Lounge around. It’s what you’re used to, isn’t it?”