Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“We’ll see about that,” I whisper under my breath.
Challenging Vincent isn’t ideal, however, it’s my only recourse. I refuse to let him own me.
For the rest of the night, I remained in my room, despite the unlocked door. The penthouse is accessible to me, but I’m confined within it. I spend hours staring out the window at the city below instead. This isn’t a vacation; I’m trapped, and leaving this room is pointless. My meals come and go. A housekeeper brings them and when she opens the door, I can see Marco standing guard just outside the hall. When she comes back a few hours later to clear my dishes, the food remains untouched. And so, it goes throughout the next day until my stomach is growling audibly and feels like it’s eating itself from the inside out.
Vincent hasn’t been back. It surprises me at first because I figured he’d be barging in, threatening some sort of awful punishment if I didn’t eat. But I’m quickly learning that he’s much more cool-headed and calculating than I first thought. He’s patiently waiting me out. Little does he know my resolve is much stronger than my hunger.
When it gets late, I crawl into bed and try to think about things other than how hungry I am. Remembering my solo, I recall the sense of freedom I experienced on stage, which was soon taken away. I think about Madame Durant, and I can practically see her fretting over my whereabouts by now. And the more I think about how much my whole life has changed since the other night, the more I have to fight back tears. I wish I had never gone backstage, that I had never seen what I did.
I stare out at the glittering city with glossy eyes and a grumbling gut. When the bedroom door opens, I sit up quickly, wondering who is coming into my room this late at night and what they want with me.
Vincent stands there, silent and striking in the dim light of the room. In his hands, he holds another tray of food. It looks out of place for him to be holding something other than the knife that he used to kill a man. I don’t think devils normally deliver room service.
“I brought you something to eat,” he says with no inkling of emotion. His bringing me food near midnight suggests annoyance, but his voice doesn’t betray it.
“No, thank you,” I say as I lie back down and pretend to close my eyes. “I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are.”
Despite my refusal, he sets the tray down and walks over to sit at the edge of my bed. I slide over, not to make room for him but to inch away from the man who I know is capable of doing terrible, violent things to people.
“Besides, if you don’t eat, then you can’t dance,” he says. His voice sounds strained, but not angry. “That is your passion, is it not?”
“Yes, it is. If I had the energy to dance, I still don’t have a place to do so. Also, my ballet slippers are missing from my dance bag.”
A look of concern crosses his face, then quickly turns into a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring them to you. Would that make you happy?” Without a chance to respond, Vincent reaches down and gently moves a strand of hair from my face. It’s unexpected, as is the gentleness of his touch, and I stiffen as his fingers tuck the tendril behind my ear. A shiver goes down my spine, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or temptation or both.
“What’s this?” he asks as the light coming in from the window reveals the tiny tattoo behind my right ear. “A bird in flight—does it mean something?”
I don’t know why I feel so drawn to answering him, but before I can stop myself, my mouth is open, and words are coming out. “It’s a symbol of a promise that I made to myself, a promise that I would never be caged again.”
“I see.” His words are slow and deliberate. His blue eyes cut right into me as I look up at him.
I shouldn’t feel this strange, intoxicating wonder about him. The tension in the air sticks in my throat, and I sit back up again to free my breath.
Vincent doesn’t move to give me any more room. He stays right where he is, with his thigh practically flush with mine. He reaches over and picks something up from the tray, a deep green olive that he rolls between his fingers as he shows it to me.
“This is one of the best olives you’ll ever taste in your life,” he says as he looks at it. “Imported straight from Italy, infused with the finest oil, and stuffed with a perfectly portioned pine nut. Granted, it’s probably not the most nutrient dense piece of food, but we’ll start small with the more delicious things first.”