Page 28 of Scorned Obsession

Seven

Bianca

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the sound of rustling paper. I pried open my eyes. Pistachio-colored walls discombobulated me a bit until I remembered where I was and how I got here. I jumped out of the bed and padded to the windows. Barred windows. A tree reached that second level of the house, and a squirrel perched on a branch, holding a nut, stared at me.

“Are you making a ruckus or what?” I mumbled. “What time is it?”

The squirrel seemed to get out of his frozen state and scampered away. Fine. I was not Snow White who had a talent for charming woodland animals. I turned around and eyed the closed door. Sandro said it wasn’t locked from the outside, but I didn’t feel like confronting him at the moment.

I looked around the room for something that could tell me the time. Nothing.

My brain needed more sleep, but my stomach was now making it known that it was hungry.

I spied the silver cuff peeking out from under the pillow. At one point in the night, my memories slipped straight into a dream. I pushed it under the pillow, and climbed on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling.

Where did my dream cut off before the squirrel woke me up?

Oh, my mother. When Sandro asked her what I might want for my birthday, she told him about the silver cuff at the Brooklyn shop Mom patronized. I inherited her love for costume jewelry. Mom never frowned at my friendship with Sandro, unlike the men in the family. Maybe because when I found Sandro hiding behind a staircase, bleeding from his mouth and nose because his father hit him, I went to Mom and she patched him up.

Sandro had begrudgingly accepted help, but he called me an interfering little shit.

I scoffed.Well, this little shit grew up and you’re married to me, asshole.I glanced at the door again, wracking my brain on whether he informed me I was supposed to stay put until he came and got me.

My stomach gurgled again.

A hangry De Lucci waited for no one.

After a long hot shower where I swore I’d scalded every inch of skin, I cleared the fogged-up mirror and checked my reflection again. The bags under my eyes were still there, but my eyes weren’t red anymore. I put on sweats and slip-on shoes.

I gripped the door handle and tested it. The lock on my side disengaged, and it opened. Huh, Sandro wasn’t lying. He wasn’t too worried about me climbing out the window because of the bars.

My first step out of the room made a loud creaking noise. Fucker. Obviously, he’d hear me if I left this way. I stared at the door opposite my room and listened. I didn’t hear any movement. What the hell time was it?

Was this some kind of test? Some kind of sensory deprivation? The rest of the floor wasn’t as creaky, and I wondered if the floorboard outside my room was the only one deliberately set that way. I continued down the hallway toward the stairs. Stairs that led straight to the foyer and outside. To freedom. But really, I remembered the long-ass driveway from last night and I was sure we weren’t in Manhattan. I had no money. No phone.

And… I sniffed the air. Bacon. My stomach grumbled some more, but my feet were following the lead of my nose and skipped down the steps. I cast one last longing look at the entrance and then followed the direction of the aroma into the kitchen.

A woman stood with her back to me and was clearly responsible for the delicious smell. She had dark hair cut in a bob and was wearing a peach-colored shell dress. Strings of an apron were tied behind her neck and its ruffled edges appeared at her sides. The first thought that came to my mind wasthank God she has an apronbecause that wasn’t a dress meant for cooking in.

A heap of grocery bags was strewn over the counters and floor. How long were we staying here?

“Good morning.”

She whipped around, spatula raised. “Oh, you’re awake.” She was at the ceremony yesterday—I refused to call it a wedding. She appeared older than me. But it was really hard to tell with her flawless skin. Her smile, at least, looked genuine. Still, I considered her part of the family who condoned this forced marriage and held me and Renz hostage.

I gave her a tight smile, letting her know what I thought about the situation hadn’t changed.

Her eyes lowered briefly. “Let me get this bacon out of the pan before we have a grease fire.”

“Where’s Sandro?”

While she expertly transferred the sizzling bacon to a paper-lined plate, she said, “He’s in the study with Tommy.” She lowered everything on the counter beside the stove and approached me. “Where are my manners? I’m Divina, Tommy’s wife.”

She stopped a foot from me. Her smile froze at my refusal to act like what was happening here was normal. She turned away. “Well, as I was saying, Sandro is with Tommy.” She smiled again as if recovering from my earlier rudeness. “I see the clothes fit you?”

“You picked them out?”

“Yes, I did. And the groceries. Sandro gave me a list, but I added my own.”

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