by Eva Charles
“Bom dia, senhora,” Victor says brightly, as I enter the kitchen. “You’re looking well.”
“Bom dia, Victor.”
“Where would you like to have your coffee? The breakfast room is normally what I’d recommend, but it’s being painted.”
“Would you mind if I had lunch in here?”
“Mind? It would be a pleasure,” he says, motioning for me to have a seat at an elegant quartz counter with a thick beveled edge.
“I’m so sorry about dinner last night.” I apologize as he places a small vase of flowers to my left. When I glance at his face, there are no dark circles under his eyes, or any other sign of missed sleep, which makes me somewhat relieved. But still. “I ruined your evening and made you work much later than necessary.”
“Nonsense.” He waves his hand, dismissing my concerns. “I enjoy a little life around here. Now that Rafael’s away studying, the house is quiet, like a mausoleum with so many lovely things to look at, but not much of a soul.”
Soulless. That sounds about right.
“On my way downstairs, I noticed that there were picnic tables and a couple of trucks outside. The staff were having lunch and seemed to be enjoying themselves.”
He tips his head to the side. “Right below the staircase on the second floor?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Victor grins and shakes his head. “As soon as the weather permits, they’re outside every day. Young fools. Although not all of them are so young,” he says, smiling wistfully. “But they’re all foolish.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Start with this,” Victor says, setting down a plate of melon slices, strawberries, and fresh cheese. “It’s light and will prepare your stomach for something heavier.”
“Thank you.” I glance at him before taking a sip of coffee. “Are you going to tell me why they’re foolish?”
“There’s no surveillance in that small area. That’s why they’re huddled together.”
My heart stops. I place the cup back on its saucer, with a small tremor in my hand. “They think there’s no surveillance, or there isn’t?” I have to know.
He shakes his head. “There isn’t. But it wasn’t an oversight, like they imagine. When the spy lived here, he set up the security system that way. In an emergency, even if the system was breached from the outside, he could escape the property undetected. When Antonio bought the house, he left it that way on purpose.”
Complex exit strategies that ensure safety are the price one pays for a glamorous life and unchecked power. “I guess when you have a lot of enemies, being able to leave under the cover of night is a good thing.”
Victor chuckles. “You’re a breath of fresh air. And just the woman Antonio needs in his life. I hope you’ll stay awhile.”
A sense of sadness creeps into my soul. Nothing to do with Antonio. I hate misleading Victor. There’s no other way.
“Powerful men have formidable enemies,” Victor continues. “But that’s not why he left the area without cameras, and unguarded. Antonio grew up surrounded by a large household staff. He played with the children—Cristiano and Lucas are still his closest friends. His mother is very dignified, like yours was—she’s always been that way. But Lydia Huntsman ran a warm, informal house. The boundaries between staff and the family were lax unless her husband was there. Antonio’s father was more formal, more exacting, unforgiving.” Victor’s voice trails away.
I suspect he didn’t have much affection for Hugo Huntsman. Not difficult to imagine.
“Antonio favors his mother,” he continues. “He has his moments, as we all do, but by and large he treats the staff as though we’re human, with human needs and dreams. When Rafael was living here, this”—he waves his arm around the room—“had the pulse of a home. Antonio insisted on it.”
Victor freshens my coffee and places the pot back on the stove. “But even now, he’s generous and fair, although he’d be upset if he knew I mentioned it. That area, outside, is where staff can have a smoke, share a kiss, or just laugh without the fear of being watched and judged. But to think that Antonio doesn’t know about the lack of surveillance is simply ridiculous.”
An area without surveillance. I could probably get there—if I’m allowed to go outside—but then what?
A phone rings, and Victor retrieves it from a countertop not far from the stove. It was there yesterday when I came into the kitchen too. It probably wouldn’t be difficult to borrow, although it’s probably password-protected. In some ways that’s a relief. I don’t want to steal from Victor.
But an unguarded location. That might be my way out of here.
After a few words with the caller, Victor hands me his phone and disappears without a word.
32
Daniela
“Hello,” I say softly.
I’m sure it’s Antonio or Cristiano. Who else would it be? But I’m polite, in case it’s someone who deserves my respect.
“Good morning.” Antonio. “I trust you slept well?”
God, he’s insufferable. “Considering your disgusting behavior last night, I’m surprised I slept at all. But so sweet of you to ask.”
“Given your impertinence, I assume Victor’s no longer in the room.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone is threatening.
“That’s correct.”
“Abel Huntsman had a stroke last night. The doctors don’t expect him to survive.”
With any luck, he’ll suffer plenty before the devil comes to claim him. I suppose I should extend some sort of condolence, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“My cousin Rafael is home from school for a day or two. He’s on his way to the house. His room is also on the top floor. It’s in a separate wing, but you might run into him. I didn’t want you to be alarmed to see a stranger up there.”
“Thank you for letting me know about Rafael. He was a young boy the last time I saw him, and I doubt I’d recognize him now.”
“He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight. I want the two of you to have some time to get reacquainted before the wedding.”
The word wedding makes me bristle. But I’m grateful not to be alone with Antonio tonight. He’ll be on better behavior if another person’s there—even if that person is named Huntsman.
“What time is dinner?”
“Eight o’clock.”
I half expect him to tell me to take a shower, but he doesn’t—at least not yet.
“Daniela?”
Here it comes. “Yes?”
“Rafael has a lot on his plate, and he doesn’t need anything more. He knows we’re getting married, but he doesn’t know the circumstances under which you’re here, and even if he did, he couldn’t help you.”
Don’t worry. I wouldn’t waste a breath expecting Rafael Huntsman to help me.
“You’d like me to play the adoring fiancée? Is that what you’re getting to?”
Antonio scoffs, and I expect a cutting retort, but there’s only quiet on the other end. I’m starting to learn that he wields both a sharp tongue and looming silence as weapons. I’m not sure which is worse.
“I don’t want any trouble tonight,” he says finally. “Since you love deals so much, I’m going to offer you one.”
Lucky me. I don’t say anything.
“Do you want to hear it?”
I’m done with him and deals—or at least I should be. “I don’t know. Do I?”
“If you can get through this evening without giving me heartburn, you can call Isabel in the morning.”
The man is full of surprises. Sometimes wonderful ones. My pulse surges, and I sit back in my seat. He’s going to let me talk to them. Don’t get too excited yet.
“Do we have a deal?” he asks, knowing full well I’d never refuse.
“Valentina will be in school in the morning. I’d like to video-chat later in the day, when I can speak to both of them. And I don’t want there to be a time limit on the call.”
“Then you
better be on your best behavior, because you want a lot of things. But I’ll agree to it, if you behave.”
You’re going to have to do better than an off-the-cuff agreement. “I want your word.”
“Why? Will you ruin the evening if I don’t make the promise?”
“You claim to be a man who honors his word.” I pause for a breath. “And if you change your mind, or if this is a game, or some sort of punishment to break me . . .” My heart twists. “I don’t think I can take another blow, Antonio. I need your word.”
He’s quiet again. Although this time the silence feels more contemplative than punishing. I just handed him another weapon to use against me, but it’s true. My psyche is fragile.
“I don’t want to break you. As infuriating as you can be, I admire your grit. Your resiliency. Your courage. The way you take a punch and throw it right back.” He pauses for a beat. “What I want is for you to come to terms with our arrangement, like I have. I want you to accept it, and maybe one day embrace it. I want you to learn to obey without every second being a struggle. Your safety depends on it.”
“My safety?” The most pressing threat to my safety is him—but he’s not the only threat. I don’t kid myself about that.
“We both know your father wouldn’t have given you to me if he didn’t believe you were in danger. No question, it might have simply been the mounting worries of a dying man. But it’s unclear, because he refused to elaborate. I don’t claim to know what was in his heart.”
“Protecting the vineyards was in his heart. Not protecting me. Don’t kid yourself.” The hurt is woven into every word—each syllable raw and aching, laying my pain bare for him to weaponize. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.
“There were other ways to protect the vineyards. He could have chosen any one of them. Your father loved you,” Antonio says, gently, his humanity bleeding through. “He made that clear at every opportunity, Daniela. Don’t ever doubt it.” His tone is tender, akin to a warm embrace.
I don’t know what moves me most. His words about my father’s love, or Antonio putting aside his stern demeanor, trying to lift my spirits.
It feels wrong to take advantage of his mood. The rare compassion should be nurtured, if it will ever be expected to grow. But I have other responsibilities, and I can’t worry about his soul. I need all my energy to fight for my own soul.
“There is something additional I’d like included in the deal.”
33
Daniela
“Don’t get too greedy, Princesa.”
There’s no bite in his tone, so I forge ahead. “I’d like to take a walk outside. Get to know the grounds a bit, and breathe some fresh air.”
“Nothing’s stopping you from going outside, as long as you stay away from the vineyards. The workers there are more likely to recognize you. Very few people know you’re here, and aside from Victor, no one knows your last name. They’ll eventually put it together, but by then it won’t matter.”
This is your problem, not mine. If I see someone I know, they might be willing to help me escape. No one’s going to risk his ire to help you. “I don’t care who knows I’m here.”
“You should care. You’re at some risk until we’re married. You may leave the house, but if you do anything to call attention to your identity, you’ll have to deal with me—and you won’t like it.”
The biggest risk to my safety is you. “Fine. But I want to take a walk without guards following me like I’m a criminal.”
He doesn’t say no immediately, but I can tell he’s not excited about the prospect of me roaming the grounds alone.
“My mother never had guards traipsing behind her in broad daylight while she was on our property. I doubt yours did either.”
“Maybe you should use a different example. It didn’t end well for your mother.”
The acid churns in my stomach.
And whose fault is that? I re-bury the thought so it doesn’t accidentally come out in a snit.
“There are military instillations that aren’t as heavily guarded as this place. How about if I walk with Paula? I’m sure she’ll report back if I commit some sin.” The last part comes out surlier than intended.
“That’s fine. But you’re asking for a lot for someone who hasn’t spread her legs for me.”
The crass comment is Antonio’s way of slapping me for my surliness, and it stings enough to make me blanch. But I cover the pain with sarcasm.
“I thought that’s what I did last night.”
“I’m quite sure that was for you, not for me. Although, next time, when you’re not being a little manipulator, maybe it will end better for you.”
Really? That’s what you think?
“My mother never said a word against my father unless they were alone. When it was just the two of them, she had carte blanche to speak her mind.”
“If you’re going to complain about last night, save your breath. You got what you asked for. I went to the house with good intentions.”
All good intentions went out the window the day you lured me across the ocean and imprisoned me.
“I’d like us to have the same understanding my parents had. Does that work for you?” I ask sweetly.
“Within reason. What is it you want to say that requires a pass?”
“The Americans have a term they like to use. I’m sure you heard it often when you studied there.”
“The Americans have a lot of terms they like to use. Which one are you referring to?”
“Asshole.” I draw the word out, being playful with my tone. But I’m not playing. I can’t allow all his behavior to go unchecked. If I knew I could escape tomorrow, I could tolerate anything. But I might be here for a long time, and I won’t let him degrade me until I’m completely destroyed.
Antonio doesn’t respond immediately, so it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. I take a sip of coffee while I wait to see if he’s angry or amused.
“You never told me, Princesa. What do you fantasize about when you stroke your pussy? Tell me.”
I have my answer. He wants to embarrass me. He expects me to call him a pig. But he’s going to get a dose of truth instead.
“For the last six years, I’ve shared a room with a little girl. I worked two jobs and picked up extra shifts when I could. There weren’t many opportunities for self-exploration, especially in the last year. I think you saw to that when you made my life harder than it needed to be. Not everyone lives in a castle with lavish amounts of privacy.”
“Pity.”
It’s an obnoxious reply, but from the tone it’s clear I took some of the wind out of his sails.
“If my lack of sexual experience doesn’t appeal to you, let me go, and find someone who enjoys your filth.”
“I think you enjoy my filth,” he murmurs. “You were aroused last night, soaking wet, and the filthier it got, the more aroused you became. What you need is permission to be a dirty, dirty girl, and a lover who knows how to coax it from you. You need a man who knows how to satisfy needs you don’t even know you have.”
I’ve had a man who knew how to satisfy my needs. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it. It’s not true, and he’ll sense it. But more important, Antonio is not above having Josh murdered.
“Don’t you have an empire to run?”
I can almost picture his smug little smile. “I do. Not now, but at some point we need to discuss the wedding.”
“You were vague when I asked yesterday, but what kind of timeline are you imagining?”
“A few weeks. A month, perhaps. But it’s more than an imagining. It’s a certainty.”
For you, maybe. I won’t be here.
34
Daniela
Armed with the information Victor gave me at lunch, I spend the better part of the afternoon planning an escape, with an occasional trip to the second-floor window to conduct reconnaissance.
I have a few euros left, and one hundred and four American doll
ars. Although it won’t take me far, it’s a lot more money than I normally carry. I also have a US government-issued ID. But no passport or phone. Cristiano confiscated them at Moniz’s office. Fortunately, he didn’t take my purse. Otherwise, I’d have no money either.
The passport is the biggest problem. I can buy a burner phone once I’m out of here, but passports are harder to come by.
I caress the antique locket hanging between my breasts, letting my fingertip trace the tiny hinge. My mother wore it near her heart, too, with a picture of her mother tucked into the left side, and a picture of me on the right.
I unclasp the solid gold charm and open it carefully. After she died, I slipped Mamai’s picture inside, over my grandmother’s.
In the last few years, when money got tight, I sold all my jewelry, and with a heavy heart, most of my mother’s. But I kept the locket, even though it would command a good price. My mother wore it all the time, and I couldn’t bear to part with it. I still can’t. Although I might not have a choice.
The knock at the door startles me, and I close the locket and tuck it inside my shirt. “Come in.”
“Do you need anything?” Paula asks from the doorway.
“I don’t. Thank you. But come sit with me for a few minutes. I could use the company.”
Paula comes inside and sits at the edge of the love seat, like a timid fawn. Poor woman. She hasn’t quite figured out how to be a personal maid, especially to someone like me, who’s informal and doesn’t need help at their beck and call.
“I saw you outside during lunch today, on the back of a truck with a young man.”
The color drains from her face—all of it.
“It’s okay. You’re not in any trouble,” I assure her. But she doesn’t relax.
I feel terrible for bringing it up, and if I had any decency, I would stop questioning her. But I don’t. I can’t. That area, without cameras and guards, might be my best hope to get out of here, and she knows about it. I have to pick her brain, even if it makes me a despicable bitch.
