Only if you live…
I stood, pacing the floor, waiting for the sounds of screaming or even a gunshot. There was nothing of the sort.
Until the door opened and a single man walked in five minutes later. I shrank back, fearful of what Michael would say, or even what he’d do.
He walked in as quietly as he’d left, retrieving his drink and moving toward the bar. I waited as patiently as possible as he filled his glass, taking his time to plop one ice cube after another into the liquid. I was unnerved, swallowing bile that continued to form in my throat.
“What did you do?” I barely whispered.
“I simply told him that his behavior was unacceptable and that it wouldn’t happen again,” he said without looking at me.
“You didn’t kill him? Please tell me you didn’t kill that man.”
He turned, every action so intentional. “Contrary to what you might think, I’m not a murderer, Francesca, at least any longer. However, your offer of being punished has been accepted. Quite frankly, your generosity is something Rocco should acknowledge. I daresay you saved him from extensive pain.”
“Are you trying to frighten me, Michael? You’re not very good at playing a martyr. The yin and yang of your personality is exhausting.”
“Hmmm… Perhaps you’re right. However, a punishment must fit the crime. Regulations were created for a reason, including protection. You can’t continually break the rules. I won’t allow that. Not in my house. Not in my life. That has nothing to do with being a martyr.”
God, how I wanted to believe him that he was no murderer. I also wanted to remind him that this house didn’t belong to him. What was the point? I held my arms, fighting the umpteenth cold chill. He was obviously upset about something. Should I bother caring? Asking? “Fine. Punish me. Pull out your belt. I don’t care.”
“In time.”
“Why do you do that? Why?” I laughed softly. “What happened today? Please tell me. I know something bothered you terribly.” I was certain he wouldn’t share a damn thing. I wasn’t his equal.
A sigh left his mouth before he rubbed his forehead. It seemed he’d aged in these last few hours, a toll taken on his resilience. “Another attack on my father. The asshole almost succeeded.”
“Jesus. What happened?”
“Someone posing as a doctor attempted to poison him. I need to have my father moved when he’s stable enough. Maybe I should say if he becomes stable enough.”
“That’s horrible. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
The tenderness in which he looked at me brought back all the dazzling sensations from before. This was the Michael I could fall in love with.
Then as usual, he ruined it by being… himself.
No comment.
No action.
Barely any breathing.
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
“There’s nothing to say and nothing you can do. You’re in danger.”
I huffed. “So you’re going to keep me prisoner here while you go storming through the city hunting this mysterious killer?”
“That’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
“Fine. Brood and sulk all you want but I’m going to take a shower. I feel so dirty all of a sudden.” I moved toward the door, stopping short when I heard a slight rustling noise. “Is that allowed, or would you like to handcuff me first? I mean my goodness, you treat me like a child. No clothing. No shoes. I suppose given the fact I ran away that you’re going to chain me to the bed every time you leave.”
Exhaling, he took another sip of his drink, waving the glass as an answer.
“I almost asked you to join me in taking a shower. How ridiculous is that?”
His gorgeous, cold eyes stared right through me.
“You know, Michael, when you actually talk to me, share portions of your life, I feel almost special. As if you give a shit about something. Then you shut down and I feel sick inside. I’m going to stop trying.” Or caring. I was stupid for doing so in the first place.
But how could I? I had actually fallen hard for the dangerous and exhausting man, but I was no man’s object of affection. Not again.
I raced toward the stairs, taking them two at a time, fighting tears that I shouldn’t be shedding in the first place. He didn’t deserve my sadness. Not really.
I decided to use his room. His shower. This was his house. Right? I was so damn angry, furious with him for treating me like some damn child.
I glanced into the mirror before turning on the water. A white dress. He’d selected the color on purpose. Now the simple frock was smattered with dirt. I tore it off, snickering as I heard some of the seams pull from the force I’d used. What did I care? Not my dress.
The reflection highlighted my tired eyes, haunted by the recent events, but the glow on my skin was the most startling. Maybe Michael was right. He’d opened up my world, smashing through the glass house I’d fashioned for myself.
I wasn’t a good girl.
I craved the darkness.
And Michael had seen through my act.
Laughing, I scratched at the mirror, making several faces. I knew in my gut that I needed to have a conversation with my father. He would tell me what the hell was going on.