Elsa
The day hardly moves. But by the time it is evening, I have come up with about three effective ways to end Rosa’s life one of them being to poison her the moment I reach home only Marcello could let me go home just to do that at least.
There is a knock at the door. I know it is not Marcello because he never knocks.
“Come in,” I respond.
Dominico comes in but does not close the door. I wonder why he never actually enters unless he has something to deliver. He always stops at the door and delivers the message.
“Buonasera, Signorina,” he says, bowing slightly.
“Buonasera, Dominico. How are you?” I respond, getting very interested in having someone’s company around here. I think the house staff is not allowed to familiarize themselves with their master’s guests. Dominico just tries to be friendly while minding his boundaries.
“I am fine, thank you for asking,” he gives me a bright smile. I feel good for once since yesterday.
“Signore asked me to tell you to get yourself ready for dinner with him tonight. You will go in one of the cars and the driver will take you at seven,” he says.
“He is taking me out?” I can’t conceal the surprise in my voice.
“Yes, I guess so,” he responds.
A fat grin forms on my face.
“I will be taking my leave now. Have a nice time,” he says, reaching for the door.
“You too, Dominico. Thank you.”
I immediately close the book and stand on my feet. In the next minute, am in the walk-in closet. I am trying to remember the pretty designer dresses I overlooked in search of comfortable casual clothes. I settle for a knee-long black velvet dress and black heels. I pick a white Prada purse even though I literally have nothing to put in it other than a Hankie.
After the rush of picking out what to wear tonight, I sit down in the closet and begin to ask myself if this is happening.
Why is Marcello suddenly asking me out on a date? I can’t begin to say he is trying to be romantic because, well, the devil himself said he doesn’t have a heart. Maybe there is something he wants to show me something. I am not sure if I want any more surprises.
Whatever the reason maybe, I am glad to finally breathe some air from the real world and see different faces. I really to look good and make the most of it. And it has just clocked six. I hope time runs faster.
I was already in the living room feeling too ready by the time the driver came in for me. I have a swirl of excitement in my belly and I am praying hard nothing ruins this night.
It is a comfortable drive to town. I am in the backseat with an armed guard and driver in front. I keep looking out through the window though the car windows are entirely black.
At the restaurant, everyone turns to look at me supposing we were sort of royalty, because I have two men walking behind me like I am some Celebrity. I am led directly to a private room, the table covered with silver and crystal. The place is cozy and dark, with exposed brick and soft lighting, and rows of wine bottles resting along the wall.
“You look stunning, Bella,” the voice sounds from behind me. I don’t bother to turn because I know who it is. I hear footsteps, I think it’s the security walking out, and then the door closes.
I can feel him next to me, his cologne feeling my nostrils. He touches my arm, then he gets really close. He pulls me into himself until I can feel his hard body beneath his clothes.
His hand slides down to my hip, caressing slowly as he goes down to where the slit of the dress starts from.
“This is pretty high. I like it,” he murmurs into my ear and kisses me gently on the back of my bare neck. I can feel myself melting into him. My skin heats up with each contact he makes. I lean back my head so that he can have full access to my neck. He chuckles lightly and then goes ahead to kiss me once more on the neck. Fuck! My legs are shaking.
The door opens and Marcello’s hold loosens on me. Thank god or else I would soon be on my knees begging to have Marcello’s cock in my mouth. Well, I would actually want that. Not like here but anywhere. I mean I wouldn’t mind the place but I am sure it would feel good to take Marcello in my mouth.
“Signore,” he bows slightly, “Signorina. Your food will be served in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I would like to know if, Signorina, you have any food allergies,” he inquires. Marcello looks down at me, his hands still around my waist.
“No, I don’t.” I eat just about anything and everything, a trait that used to make my father laugh. A pang of homesickness washes through me, hollowing out my stomach, but I push it aside. Papà is gone now. Rosa is a traitor. My family seems nonexistent right now. I push those shady thoughts to the back of my mind. At Least I don’t want to be the reason why this dinner will end up an epic fail. I hope it goes well.
Marcello
I thought about taking Elsa out for dinner since she said she was worried she would be alienated from the real world. I also wanted to know her opinion about my restaurant.
Her eyes lit up when they brought in the food. I Have never seen her so happy about food. I always end up forcing her to eat. In fact, we have argued a couple of times about her not eating her meals.
“What do you think of this place? The food?” I ask when the waiters finish clearing the table.
“It is great. I loved the food,” she responded.
“That’s good to know,” I nod, and sip from my glass of wine. Another waiter comes in to refill our glasses, but Elsa refuses.
“I get tipsy after three glasses. I want to be sober tonight,” she says. Her eyes are already dancing with a playful glimmer.
I wave off the waiter and he excuses himself.
“Why did you bring me here tonight?” she finally asks the question.
“You like that word,” I tell her, cocking my head to the side with a coy smirk on my lips.
“Which word,” her eyebrows narrow at me.
“Why. You ask that a lot,” I respond.
She leans back in her chair and playfully swirls the wine in her glass.
“Because I always want to know. I don’t like being kept in the dark. I need explanations,” she says.
“But you should know that not all questions have to be answered. At least at a certain time. Sometimes you will have to find the answers yourself.”
“So you are not going to tell me why?” she inquires.
“No,” I reply bluntly.
“Okay. I will settle for that. At least I have enjoyed tonight. I now feel less kidnapped,” she shrugs.
“You were never kidnapped in the first place, Elsa. You are just the one who decided to think so,” I tell her.
“Well, everything in this case satisfies the term. I have been kept away from my family. No one even knows where I am, Marcello,” she says.
“Because they don’t need to know. You are better off if they didn’t.”
Our gazes lock for the moment. I think she understands me when I say that now.