Page 13 of Savage Vows

She stands there, perfectly composed as always, holding several bags from designer shops.

Next to her is a man in a suit holding several more. “For me?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am. The boss thought you’d like fresh clothes for dinner, along with a few other things.”

I’m a little taken aback by Matteo’s thoughtfulness and the fact he managed all this so quickly. “Uhm … Thank you.”

She accepts the rest of the delivery from the security guard. Moving past me, she places the bags near the closet while I drop mine on the bed in a rustle of expensive tissue paper.

“Would you like help unpacking?”

“Thanks. That won’t be necessary.” We both know something like that isn’t in her job description.

“If there’s nothing else, Mr. Moretti has requested your presence for dinner at eight,” Chiara says, her voice carefully neutral.

Requests.As if we both don’t know it’s a command wrapped in courtesy, tied with silk ribbons of false choice.

I don’t respond, and Chiara doesn’t seem to expect me to say anything.

With a nod, she moves away, but the man who was with her takes up a position just slightly down the hallway from my room, his back to the wall. Beneath his jacket is the unmistakable bulge of a weapon—despite the fact we’re in England.

Is he here to protect me or to make sure I don’t run? I don’t have to ask the question.

The first thing I did when arriving was hurry to the window, in the hopes that my room had a balcony. But it doesn’t. It faces the back of the house, and there are thick, thorny bushes beneath me, along with a security guard. Why had I expected this to be easy?

Once Chiara leaves, I lock the door, needing even the illusion of privacy. I dump the contents of the first bag onto the bedspread. There’re several pairs of underwear tucked inside, all silky and soft. I’ve never treated myself to anything so luxurious—or expensive. Shopping isn’t my thing, and I prefer to spend my money on art supplies and visits to museums for inspiration.

The next has a couple of bras.In the right size.

Chiara must have guessed. There’s no way Matteo is already that familiar with the curves of my body.

Another contains sleepwear, a set of pajamas with shorts, the second is more loungewear, with long pants and a snuggly shirt. He even thought to include several pairs of socks.

One that’s oversize with black-with-gold script lettering is stuffed full of slacks and shirts, even a couple of sweaters.

As much as I hate to admit it, if I went on a shopping spree and wasn’t thinking about money, most of these items are things I might have chosen for myself.

Ignoring the designer clothes, I drop into a chair and turn on the television. Even though I flip through all the selections, nothing grabs my interest. I’ve never been one to spend hours bingeing shows. I’d rather be outside exploring or curled up with a sketchbook.

Twenty minutes later, in frustration, I mute the volume and toss aside the remote in favor of pacing the floor. The room itself is stunning—soaring ceilings with delicate crown molding, walls the color of a rich cream offset by rich navy accents. The bed is massive and tall and ultra-inviting with its luxury linens and a dozen fluffy pillows.

But a gilded cage is still a prison.

I decide to run a bath, and I assure myself that I’m doing this because I’m bored and not because I’m planning to join my captor for dinner.

Afterward I dry off with a thick towel and do my best to tame my long hair with my fingers. Then I find a waffle-weave robe in the closet. Unsurprisingly the garment has two stylized, interwoven blackH’s. For Hollings House. Still, the material is cozy, so much so that I may just buy myself one like it when I get back home.

I freeze.

Home.

Where is that?

I’ve never really considered my father’s overly large, sterile place in New Orleans to be my home. I’d gone to college out of state, and I’d stayed in an apartment instead of dorms. Until recently, I rented a quirky historical cottage near the French Quarter, but I allowed the lease to expire when I took off for Europe.

In the short time I spent at Elysian Hall, I started to think of that as my home, and I talked to Artemis and her former tech-genius brother, Caspian, about staying indefinitely.

Though the request had been unusual, they’d promised to consider it.

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