Page 4 of Owned
I'm quiet for a beat, digesting the information as the plane rises into the air. The situation is just so surreal that I'm not pounding on the windows and screaming like I would have expected. It all just feels so...inevitable.
"Dad told me that he wanted me to marry Charles to make sure I would be taken care of if anything ever happened to him, and because the marriage would fully integrate us into high society. He promised Charles would be gone ninety-nine percent of the time, and that he'd set me up on an estate I'd be able to run myself, have a studio to work on my art restoration..." I know I'm babbling, but that little slice of hope, the estate of my own andthe studio, was all that had been getting me through the terrible reality of marrying Charles Beaumont. Knowing that it was a lie, that my father wasn't trying to set me up for safety and instead was using me as a pawn....that hurts more than the kidnapping. It's worse than the kidnapping.
"Your father spins a pretty little web of lies, doesn't he? He didn't want to 'set you up', he wanted to sell you. He has no more money, Elena. Not for the company, and not for you. As soon as the ink was dry on the marriage certificate, he'd have you begging your new husband to bail out the family business, and Beaumont would have likely done it, just to avoid the shame of his new wife coming from a destitute background. I'm sure all Beaumont would want in return was an heir." Adrian spat the last words in disgust.
I just stare at him, the hope that had kept me going for months shriveling up and dying inside me. "And if I'd said no to the marriage?"
Adrian's expression is grim. "Then Laurent would have found another way to use you to get what he wants. Your father is a desperate man, and desperate men do desperate things."
"Like kidnapping random women?" I snap, immediately regretting it, but Adrian only laughs, standing and walking over to the mini bar in the corner now that we were safely at cruising altitude on our way to...wherever we were going.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I am desperate. But while I plan on making sure your father suffers, it won't be like that for you. I've claimed you as mine now, and I take care of what is mine." He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a crystal glass and walked back over to me. “I appreciate what is mine, now, drink this."
"What is it?"
"Scotch. It will calm you down."
He holds it out to me. My hand is shaking so badly that I almost spill it. He doesn't comment, just waits until I've taken a sip. The liquid burns all the way down, but it does have the immediate effect of warming me from the inside out, loosening the knot of fear that's been tightening in my stomach.
"Good girl," he says, his voice a low murmur. He takes the glass from my hand and sets it on the small table between us. "You've had a long night. The bed is through there." He points to a door at the back of the cabin. "Get some sleep. We have a long flight ahead of us."
I just stare at him, my mind struggling to process everything. "But...where are we going?"
"Home," he says. I wait for more, but he stares out into the darkness, leaving me with that single, final word that tells me nothing.
He turns away, dismissing me as he sips from his own glass of scotch. It's a clear signal that our conversation is over. I get up, my legs feeling unsteady, and walk towards the bedroom. I expect him to stop me, to follow me, but he doesn't--
Until I'm almost inside the small room. Adrian must have moved silently, because I don't even hear him before I feel his large hand close around my wrist to stop me. Like he did before, he swipes his thumb over my cheek, his hand falling to rest on the back of my neck. "If you want company in there, just let me know." His voice is a low, intimate whisper against my ear, the hot breath sending goosebumps all over my body. For a moment, a truly insane thought pops into my head.
Maybe I am enjoying this…a little bit.
Instead of dignifying him with a response, I just wrench my wrist free from his grip and slam the door in his face, locking it for good measure. I lean my back against the door, my breath coming in ragged gasps. For a second, I can't tell if it's from fear or from the confusing jolt of electricity that shot through me when he touched me. The scotch is starting to work, my mind’s hazy and my limbs heavy.
I look around the cabin. It's small but luxurious, with a queen-sized bed made up with crisp, white linens and a soft-looking duvet. Kicking off my filthy heels, I thank my lucky stars that I picked the dress with the flowy skirt instead of the mermaid, and fall, exhausted, onto the mattress. I don't even bother getting under the covers, just curl into a ball on top of the duvet, the folder of evidence forgotten somewhere on the floor of the main cabin.
I'm so tired. My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. I'm afraid, obviously, but also numb. Numb at the idea that my father was basically selling me, numb knowing that his greatest enemy is taking me God-knows-where, and numb at the fact that I'm basically helpless.
Most unwelcome of all is how attracted, how drawn, I am to Adrian. I should hate him, despise him, but instead, a ridiculous part of me wants to know more.
With the image of his deep brown eyes on my mind, I fall into a dreamless slumber.
Waking up is disorienting,the jet engines still humming, daylight pushing through the curtains of the small window. I sit up on my knees and pull the fabric aside, gaping when I see where the jet is preparing to land. The view is breathtaking. A glittering expanse of turquoise water, dotted with islands and fringed with a coastline of dramatic cliffs that plunge into the sea. Whitewashed villas with terracotta roofs cling to the cliff-sides, their colorful gardens spilling over the edges like vibrant waterfalls.
We're landing somewhere impossibly beautiful, and for a heart-stopping moment, I forget that I'm a prisoner. I just stare out the window, mesmerized by the view. But then the reality of my situation crashes back down on me. This isn't a vacation. This is my new prison. A very, very beautiful prison.
The plane touches down with a soft bump, rolling smoothly along the tarmac before coming to a complete stop. I jump when the bedroom door opens without a knock. Adrian is standing there, also in the same clothes from last night, suit jacket gone and sleeves rolled up.
"Rise and shine, princess," he grins mockingly, "We're home."
"Care to tell me where 'home' is now?" I have my suspicions, but I want to hear it from him first. And I want to see if he'll give me a straight answer.
He gives me a sardonic smile. "The Amalfi Coast. Positano, to be exact." He gestures for me to follow him. "Come on. The car is waiting. Oh, and you’ll need this.” He pulls an Americanpassport from his pocket. I stare at it then up at those eyes, that sardonic smile. What am I doing? I take the passport and pinch myself hard. Yep, it still hurts, so thisisactually happening.
I have no choice but to follow him out of the jet and down the stairs. The warm, humid air hits me like a physical blow, thick with the scent of salt. A different black sedan is waiting for us, the driver ready and waiting to open the doors for us. I'm still in a daze, pulling on my mud-crusted shoes before my feet hit the tarmac, and squinting in the bright sun. I've only been awake for minutes, and I'm already being ushered into another car in a distant country.
My stomach is growling, and I'm desperate to brush my teeth and shower. Adrian seems in much better spirits than he did the night before, chatting with the driver in Italian and handing me a chilled bottle of sparkling water as we drive along the coast, headed God knows where. But when I try to ask where we're going again, he just ignores me, his eyes on the stunning scenery outside.
As we drive, the coastal road winds higher and higher, clinging to the side of the cliffs. The views are spectacular, but my stomach is in knots. I'm being taken to my prison, and no amount of beautiful scenery can change that. The car turns off the main road and onto a private, gated drive. The wrought iron gates only swing open when Adrian enters a keycode, and we continue down the driveway lined with what I think are olive trees.
