“But he took you there without soldiers?”
“I don’t want to get him in trouble, Stefan.”
He gets up, shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, and I think how just moments ago, I had my hands in that hair, was gripping handfuls of it and pulling him to me.
“Did he tell you not to tell me?”
This question, it’s the one I don’t want to answer.
“Gabriela?”
I nod. “He was just doing something nice.”
His jaw tightens and when he resumes his seat, I see the effort it takes him to keep his voice controlled and calm, even though I know calm is about the farthest thing from what he is.
“Rafa isn’t nice, Gabriela. Don’t you know that yet?”
“I do know that, Stefan, but I also know he’s here when you’re not. When you just lock me up here. I don’t know why you brought me if it was only to lock me away on my own.”
He looks confused for a moment, then one side of his mouth curves upward and he snorts.
“What do you think this is exactly?”
I don’t answer him. This is Stefan the jerk. This is a whole other side of Stefan to the man who carried me out of that well and it hurts to hear him now. To hear him like this after everything.
He leans back and the look on his face, that, too, hurts. Twists something inside me.
“Do you make up stories? Make yourself the princess in the tower? Locked away by the beast?”
I feel so small and I have nothing to say.
“Maybe you are that. And I admit I’m more beast than prince. But you don’t really fantasize that I’ll be a doting husband, do you? That we’ll play house? Please tell me you’re not falling in love with me, Gabriela.”
My face burns and I look away. I hug my arms to myself.
No. Never. Never that.
I hate him.
I hate Stefan Sabbioni.
I just need to remember that. To channel that hate. Use it like a weapon, like he does.
Who are you? A voice in my head asks sharply.
This is where my upbringing comes in handy. This part I can do. I’m not so out of my element now. I can hate with the best of them.
“You asked me a question. I answered it. That’s all.” My tone is flat, forceful almost.
He rubs his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. You did.” He retrieves my dress, returns to me. “Arms up,” he says.
“I can dress myself.”
“Arms up.”
“I’m not a fucking doll.”
He grips my jaw and pulls me up so I’m half sitting, half standing. “Watch your fucking mouth. Arms. Up.”
“So you can say what you like, but I have to watch my mouth?”
“Maybe I need to spank you again. For real, this time.” He hardens his grip but I take it. I grit my teeth and take it. “Do you want that, Gabriela? Tell me. Do you want to feel what it will feel like when I spank you for real? Because what I’ve done up until now is child’s play.”
“Let go.” I say, feeling the stupid fall of tears.
He shakes his head. “Tears don’t move me. Have you not figured that out yet?”
“Just let me go.” My voice breaks and I sniffle back a sob. I hate him. I hate him so much.
“Then raise your arms so I can dress you.”
My arms shake as I do it, and he releases my jaw and slips the dress over my head.
“Stand up.”
I look up at him, and all I can think is how alone I am. How completely alone. Why does it feel worse now than it did before? I’ve always been alone. Why does it hurt so much now?
“Why didn’t you just leave me in that well? You should have.”
At that he pauses, and I swear that for one split second, I see that other Stefan. The one who came for me, who climbed into that well to carry me out. The one who swore he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me again.
I want that Stefan. I need him. And that is the worst part of this.
I turn away when more tears fall. I don’t wipe my eyes fast enough though because one drops to my knee and I know he sees. I feel so small, so incredibly, stupidly small, that I just sit there and keep wiping at these stupid never-ending tears. And here I thought I was so strong.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get up.”
I stand up, using my wrists to wipe my eyes.
He leans in toward me, wraps his big arms around me and I hate myself for wanting to lean in to him. For thinking that he means to hold me. I hate myself for wanting that. For wanting him to fucking hold me.
Because all he does is zip the dress before he steps backward.
He only did what he did to get me to talk. But I don’t understand. The spanking, I can see that. Hurt me to make me talk. That’s what the mafia does, right? But why the rest? Why tell me he can be gentle? Why did he lay me back on that ottoman and do what he did? Why did he hold me afterwards?
I shake my head, dislodge those thoughts.
He doesn’t care about me. That is all I need to remember. I’m sure he’s got women lined up to fuck, Clara at the front of that line. What use would he have for an inexperienced virgin who happens to be his enemy’s daughter?
“Why did you do that?” I ask
“What?”
“What you just did.”
He grins. “Eat your pussy?” I hate that I feel my face burn. “I should take my belt to your ass for running away in the first place, you know that?”
“Why don’t you? You’d like that, right? I felt how hard you were when you spanked me. Is that what gets you off? Hurting women? Overpowering them to hurt them?”
He steps closer, the look on his face base, degrading. “Don’t forget you got wet when I spanked you.”
How can he turn everything around on me? Am I that easy a target?
I spin to go, but he catches my arm.
“I want to go to my room, Stefan.”
“One more question.”
I don’t have a choice, so I wait for it.
“Who put the marks on your back?”
“You already know that too.”
“Say it.”
“I hate you.”
“Say it.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear it.”
“My father did! My father. All right? Happy?”
He pauses like he’s really considering that question. “Not really, no.” He doesn’t release me.
“Let me go. Please, Stefan, just let me go. I want to go.”
“Away from me.”
I nod. It’s what I want, right?
It takes him a moment, but when he releases me, I bend to pick up my panties.
He steps on them, blocking me from taking them.
“I’ll keep those,” he says.
It takes me a moment, but I leave them and straighten. “Whatever, pervert.” I walk to the door. I’m twisting the doorknob when he calls out my name.
“Gabriela.”
I stop. I don’t look back. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Because what the hell just happened in here?
“Tomorrow is Alex’s memorial service. I thought you’d want to go.”
At that, I turn. Does he mean to take me?
“Do you?” he asks.
I nod, but I’m cautious. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I would do anything to go.