She’s definitely pretty, with black hair and dark eyes, her slender body a sharp contrast to mine. The clothes in the closet fit perfectly except for the bust. Some of them are tight, including the tank top I’m wearing now. Giovanni used to like my body, but he’s changed in many ways.
I’m the one too scared to push for answers, to find out if he’s been with her. “There’s a party tonight,” I say instead. “Does he have parties often?”
“This will be the first one,” she says, sounding relieved that I changed the topic. I’m not sure whether he told her she could speak to me or not, but she has to stay until Romero returns and unlocks the door.
“Oh.” My father had parties regularly. I watched a few of them between the balcony rails, wearing my nightgown. Before my father found out and started locking me in my room. Only my sister was required to attend, wearing Versace and Gucci, the first daughter, the real one.
My gaze sweeps to the glittering dress where I hung it on the closet door. Even from here I can see the fine stitching and needlework with the gold pieces. I have no doubt that it’s a designer gown, that it’s expensive, but that says more about Giovanni’s status than it does about mine.
“Do you…” Maria pauses, looking uncertain. “Do you want me to do your hair? I practice with my sister sometimes. I can put it up for you.”
“Oh, that would be really nice.” I tell myself I only care because it gives me more time to get close to Maria, to get information from her. Not because I want to look pretty for Giovanni.
She gives me a small smile. “I can do it after lunch.”
“Thank you.”
Worry passes over her eyes. “He does not… Mr. Costas. He does not want you hurt. He’s said that you’re under his protection. He’s a good man.”
Anyone who touches you will die. I’ll kill them myself.
That’s possessiveness, not necessarily protection. He could hurt me. He probably will.
My doubt must show on my face, because Maria continues. “He does not…” In her pause I see her struggle for the words. I wonder if it’s a language barrier. Her accent is slight but discernable. “He does not hurt women.”
The tone in her voice reminds me of the girls who dance at the Grand, girls who were hurt by men too many times. My heart cracks against that hurt, even for this stranger, even for this woman who’s helping keep me here. “Who hurt you, Maria?”
Fear floods her eyes, and her lips press together. “I can’t help you.”
I’ve lost her again, and I’m desperate. “Please. This isn’t for me. It’s for my sister. She’s worried about me.” And if Maria knows what it’s like to be hurt by men, she’ll also understand my sister’s fear. After what Honor has been through, she’ll think the worst. “You don’t have to tell her where I am. If you just—”
“No,” she says, hardening her voice. “I owe Mr. Costas my life. I will do nothing to harm him.”
“Even if he hurts me?” My voice cracks. I didn’t mean to say that. Didn’t mean to beg for help, at least not to escape. I keep trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter if he forces me to have sex. He’s already keeping me here. It’s just one more thing.
But that’s a lie. It would break something inside me, something that could never be repaired. Not just for a man to force himself on me, but for Giovanni to do it.
Her nostrils flare. “He wouldn’t.”
God. I need to get myself together. It feels like I’m breaking apart, looking at this woman who would defend Giovanni, even against himself. He’s already said what he’s going to do to me. I need to find some way to accept it. And she isn’t the answer I need.
“Thanks,” I say, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll just do my own hair.”
I hate that she looks hurt, but I just couldn’t. It would be too creepy for her to dress me up, make me pretty just so Giovanni can rape me. Too wrong.
She nods stiffly as the sound of a growling dog comes through the door. Then it’s open, and she leaves without another word, brushing past Romero on her way out. He barely spares her a glance, frowning at the dog as he unhooks the leash.
My gaze focuses on him. I thought Maria was my best chance for help, but I was wrong. She’s sympathetic toward me, yes. And way too loyal to Giovanni. Romero, on the other hand, is stuck doing dog-walking duty. He must have fucked something up to be given such a crappy task.
“Romero,” I say, questioning.
He looks up in surprise. He hadn’t thought I would remember him. The sound he makes is more of a grunt than a word, but I take it as encouragement.
“You worked for my father.” I need to feel him out, find out if he’s as fanatically loyal to Giovanni as Maria is. And judging from the zealous flash in his eyes at the mention of my father, I’m guessing not.
“Your father was a good man,” he says gruffly.
No, he was a horrible man. “I miss him,” I lie, because I’m running out of time. Tonight is the engagement party. I’m guessing the wedding will be soon after. There’s no need to waste time on propriety when the bride is being forced. “I didn’t want to leave before, but now I do.”