Page 155 of Stalking Ginevra

GINEVRA

My days blur together in this gilded cage, a rhythm I can’t escape. Every morning before breakfast, Benito arrives for the breeding sessions. After that last time, he won’t allow me to fuck him face to face, instead, taking me on the rug or bent over the bed.

The lack of eye contact still doesn’t stop me from talking, hoping my words will reach his heart. I remind him of our past, the nights we used to spend in our treehouse as kids, lying beneath the stars, the conversations we had about the future.

He never responds. Sometimes, his hands falter, or he changes the rhythm of his strokes, and I wonder if what I’m saying to him is working.

Kimonos in every color of the rainbow hang in the wardrobe—silks so soft they glide over my skin like a whisper. Nightgowns too, delicate and sheer, wrapped in ribboned boxes like gifts. I can’t tell if they’re rewards or if Benito’s trying to make my captivity more comfortable in his own strange way.

He’s filled my golden cage with the things I love: the books I used to read before bed, boxes of Turkish delight, and even myfavorite honeysuckle perfume. But none of it matters. None of it is him.

All I want is him.

This morning, after Carla clears away the breakfast things, she returns with a pack of cards and chocolate fondue. She sets it up at the dining table by the window, and invites me over with a warm smile.

I toss aside my copy ofDracula, deciding I can read it later.

“What would you like to play today?” Carla asks.

“What’s the most popular game at the casino right now?”

“Poker,” she replies, her brown eyes sparkling. “Would you like me to teach you?”

I walk over to the dining table, my heart swelling with gratitude. Without her, I probably would have gone insane. The flame beneath the fondue pot flickers, filling the air with the scent of melted chocolate. My mouth waters and the appetite I lost at breakfast returns.

“Are you assigned to this floor, or just me?” I ask as she shuffles the cards. They’re a heavy looking deck, with gold-embossed edges, embroidered with the Casino Montesano logo.

Pausing mid-shuffle, she gazes up at me through wide eyes. Her mouth opens then closes before she presses her lips into a thin line. The silence that follows is awkward. I already know what she’s leaving unspoken.

“You don’t have to answer,” I say, forcing a weak smile. “Benito probably told you to keep me company.”

Carla glances down, her cheeks flushing. “He probably doesn’t want you feeling isolated.”

Warmth blooms in my chest. He’s keeping me here, but he hasn’t completely cut me off. A small, irrational part of me holds onto that like a lifeline. Maybe I’m not so alone after all.

I gaze at Carla, marveling at the way the light streaming through the windows turns the flyaways in her dark hair avibrant shade of umber. Outside, the sun glints off the casino fountains far below, creating dozens of tiny rainbows.

This almost feels like home.

Carla dips a strawberry into the melted chocolate, sets it on a side plate, and pushes it across the table like a peace offering.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to break the tension.

She smiles, but the expression is tight as though bringing up her connection with Benito has soured the mood.

I take a bite of the strawberry, humming my approval at the delicious mix of sweetness against the decadence of milk chocolate. “Have some.”

Carla shifts on her seat and picks at a loose thread on her sleeve. Shit. I’ve ruined everything.

I take another bite of strawberry, already forgetting about the cards. “What do you do outside of work?”

She hesitates again, but then her shoulders relax, as if she’s relieved to talk about something normal. Finally, she takes a fresh strawberry and dips it in the chocolate fondue.

“Mostly, I take care of my dad,” she says, glancing at me with a gentle smile. “He was in an accident and needs help.”

“Is he in the hospital?” I ask.

Chuckling, she shakes her head. “At home. I only make sure he eats properly, gets to his appointments. The usual stuff.”

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