by Amy Isan
He nods with an appreciation that only a hyena could have. An appreciation for injured prey that stumbles, blind and dizzy, into its lair. That's how I feel, like I was tricked. But was I really?
Before I can try and figure out what he is grinning about, a bell is rung. It's only chimed twice, but it's as gentle as could be. I turn in my seat, twisting awkwardly against the brace holding my right hand in place. But turning isn't enough - my chair is too tall and large to see around. It's like a god damn throne.
Besides, I shouldn't even be trying. I don't want to summon that devilish grin from Giovanni again. That... handsome grin of his . No, Lily, you can't be seriously thinking like this, can you? It's the hunger, it's making you delirious and stupid.
Behind me, doors fly open. I can hear the shuffle of footsteps on the plush rug as they approach our table. Soon, a pair of waitresses appear next to me. One starts her long walk around the table. They're both dressed in white uniforms, carrying silver platters with silver domes. The metal is so polished, I can see my face distort and stretch in the one near me. The other waitress arrives next to Giovanni, and waits for some kind of signal.
Giovanni waves the two women on, and they both lower the silver platters on the table before us in unison. They must have practiced to have such good timing. With a bow from each of them, they vanish without a word.
"Please, Lily," Giovanni says, surprising me from my stupor. I look up at him and see him extending his hand toward my silver platter. "Open it."
I grasp the silver bulb on the top of the dome and lift it. It's heavier than I thought it would be, and nearly knocks my face forward as it throws me off balance. I set it down on the table, but without looking, because I'm stunned by the food. A small cornish game hen is in front of me, with the same presentation as if it was a full-sized turkey being prepared for a family. Potatoes and green beans surround it, and steam rises up to meet my nose. I inhale deeply, wanting to dig into it with my teeth and devour as much as I physically can. Giovanni chuckles a little under his breath and I look up to see if he was served the same thing. He was.
He said the food would be cut for me, but it's not. I literally will stab him if he doesn't let me just eat. I don't care if he has to walk all the way around the table to stop me from eating, I'll do it. I'm so fucking hungry, I could explode.
He picks up his knife and fork and slices into his hen. He takes a bite, chewing slowly and savoring the flavor. I stare at him, undoubtedly with a look like a dog begging for table scraps. After what feels like centuries of waiting, he swallows. "Not yet," he says. He shakes his head and keeps his eyes fixed on his food.
I can't. I can't take this kind of punishment. For what? "What did I do? What the fuck did I do?" I beg him. If I wasn't so full of vinegar, I'd be bawling my eyes out right now. He stares at me over his dinner and shakes his head, either because of my language or because I forgot the magic word. He takes another bite, and I decide fuck it. I grab my fork and dig it into the bird. I twist the silverware until a large chunk of steaming breast meat breaks off, then I shove it into my mouth, savoring the full, juicy flavor.
I close my eyes for a brief second, but open them when I hear a loud clamor of silverware hitting the floor and table. Clothes rustle and wood creaks. Giovanni's climbed onto the table and crawled toward me, with a kind of fury that I can barely comprehend. He grabs my cheeks and my throat.
"Spit it out," he commands. He releases my cheeks and opens his palm below my chin and I stare at it. Is he fucking kidding? I shake my head, but he pulls his hand up from his offer and digs his fingers into my cheeks again. His jaw is clenched and moving up and down. Like there's a boiler under the surface, ready to explode. He clenches my throat tighter, and I don't know if I could swallow it if I wanted to. He repeats his command and adds, "Remember the shackles? Think of how much worse I could make life for you here, Lily. I'd hate to do that, to damage such a precious good, but you're giving me no choice if you swallow that bite. There's no hope for you at all."
His body is hovering over my food, his knees planted right behind my plate. His hand on my throat not exerting any downward force. He lets go of my cheeks and hovers his hand in front of my mouth again, waiting with the same patience an alligator has for the antelope that's just about to fall into its stream. I finally push the piece of meat to the front of my mouth and spit it out into his awaiting hand. It is probably the most painful thing I've ever done in my life.
"Good," he says. He drops the piece of chicken on my plate and climbs off the table. He straightens out his jacket and sits back down in his seat, as if nothing happened. I keep my eyes fixed on him, not with the same kind of anger I had earlier, but a sort of horror. Who the fuck is Giovanni Azzo and what does he want with me? I slump my shoulders and stare at my food, figuring that he never intended to feed me at all. Only tease me with a taste of what I could have if I'd never fallen into his clutches. Just to fuck with my head. That's the kind of man he is.
He clears his throat after swallowing another bite. "You may eat now, Lily. But if you dare disobey me again, you'll have it much worse than a mere throttling."
I nod and lower my head so far down that my hair slips free from its bun and goes into my food. I don't care. I pick up my silverware again. He's stopped eating and his eyes are on me. For a minute, the silence is deafening, somehow echoing off the ceiling and high rafters. "Thank you, sir." I dig into my meal and feel relief for the first time in days.
"After you finish eating, I'll have you escorted to a bathroom to clean yourself up. We'll start tonight, I think."
"Start what... ah, sir?" I ask. My hunger being quelled is slowly making my anger dissipate, at least on the surface. Underneath my skin, I still can feel it bubbling. As each little pocket comes to the surface, it pops like lava and makes me shiver with a restrained heat.
"Your photo shoot. I told you I'd take you to Italy for a photo shoot, didn't I?" His voice sounds so friendly and calm, like the outburst a few minutes ago never happened. I'm sure if there were any servants around, they wouldn't have said a word either. They're all passive and stone-faced to me, but awestruck with Giovanni. Is that what he wants with me? To be praised? To be worshipped? I can fake that if it's what he needs, if it'll set me free. I nod again and take another bite.
"Yes, sir. If that's what you'd like."
He grins and his fiery eyes meet mine. I try and keep my eyes as cold as freshly doused iron.
"Good, Lily, you're already learning. Even if you are a... difficult student."
"What else will I learn, sir?"
He frowns. I've pushed it too far. I should have just stopped. "Nothing for you to worry about at the moment. It's best to focus on one subject at a time. After dinner, you'll focus on being presentable. More-so than the night at the casino." There's a twinkle in his eyes when he mentions that night, like a crack with light shining through it. I ignore it and pretend like he didn't even bring it up.
I look at my half-eaten cornish hen. Bones exposed for the whole world to see. The green beans have been devoured and the plate is a mess from having to twist my fork for every single bite. My right hand aches from resting in the ragged iron brace. "Yes, sir."
CHAPTER 4
My appetite isn't satisfied but appeased for the time. I can't stomach to eat anymore else after the scare he gave me. He takes careful bites, slicing tender pieces off the bones with his knife. He's quiet, and doesn't lift his eyes from the plate until it's completely empty. I don't know what to feel, still reeling in shock from his outburst and now his attitude.
The waitresses return and clear our plates after he sets his fork and knife down. It's like they were waiting for the quiet clatter against the metal dish. My waitress doesn't look at me as she leans over the table to clear my setting, but I catch her glancing at Giovanni. My platter and everything disappear into a bin which is taken away from me.
Giovanni makes his long walk around the table, and when he reaches me, he unshackles my
wrist. I rub it to try and ease the pain, but he snatches my arm and lifts me from my chair before I can get my feet on the floor. He drags me out of the dining hall.
We exit back into the courtyard. As we turn the corner toward another wing of the house, two servants, women, slip out of a door. He says something to them in Italian, quick and with a finesse he hasn't quite reached with English. Something about hearing that staccato brings me back to that night, but I don't want to remember it with warmth, or any kind of feeling but anger. It's surreal thinking about it now.
After a few commands are spoken to the servants, he hands me off to them. They watch him walk away, then take my arms and guide me into the room they were hidden away in. I stare over my shoulder as Giovanni paces away from us, his undoubtedly Italian leather shoes tapping the stone work as he disappears from view around a corner. It's odd, feeling relieved and sad to see someone walk away like that.
The room I'm dragged into is a kind of washroom. It has a claw-foot bathtub made of metal and deep enough to drown a horse in. The metal is shiny and gold-colored, maybe it's made of brass or bronze? Steam rises from the water that's pooled in its deep basin. Giovanni wasn't just teasing me when he said I'd get a bath, but actually being honest with me. I mean, he didn't lie about feeding me, but it isn't like that is enough to make me suddenly trust him like I did the first time we met.
The women, without saying a word, strip my dress off. Their brows are furrowed and they look agitated. I hope they will comment on my bruises or how awfully dirty I am, but they don't seem to care or notice. My face burns at the realization that they must be used to cleaning dirty and bruised women. Coupled with that thought, is the idea that Giovanni's been with a lot of women, which... makes me feel jealous? That's stupid as hell.
The two women converse with each other, and I can't follow or understand a word of it. It sounds like they're talking about me though, with their laughter breaking up the sentences and gazes at my body sealing away any doubt. After stripping me down, they guide my hand and I dip a foot into the tub. They never ask me a question and scarcely look me in the eye.
The hot water is unbelievably refreshing. I submerge myself to my shoulders and exhale deeply, pushing steam away from lips. The steam curls around the edges of the tub, and the bottom and sides of it is warm to the touch. I've only ever taken a bath in those plastic shower-tub combinations, and the sensation of having warm walls in the tub is refreshing but strange.
Just as I settle down a little, one woman pulls out a large sponge and a bar of soap. No brand names on either, and they have that look of something that was either hand-crafted, or bought at a dollar store. They lather up the soap and scrub away at me, lifting my arms and washing me all over. I don't like being this doted on, like I'm some kind of baby who can't wash herself.
One woman starts to scrub at one of my bruises, muttering something under her breath to the other. I wince and try and slap her hand away, but she just continues on anyway. God dammit, maybe they aren't used to cleaning beaten women.
"Hey! That hurts!" I try and grab her sponge, but she reels back. I'm tired of this. I fume and act like I've given up, and when she leans in to sponge me again, I steal it from her hands. "Just get out! I can do it myself!" They stand up and raise their hands in alarm and start talking rapidly, their faces growing red and one of them starts shaking her head. The only word I understand is 'Giovanni,' but I don't care. They can tattle on me, but I won't fucking be humiliated even more than I already have been. Ironically, after being alone in my bedroom, all I want is some time to myself for a little while.
After a few moments of hard looks that I think the women are trying to turn me to stone with, both of them give up. One wipes her hands on her apron and turns toward the door. The other points at me and says something that sounds harsh, but it doesn't affect me. I guess words aren't that strong when you can't understand a lick of them. Both of them storm out of the room and shut the door behind them.
The lock clicks shut on the door. It figures. At least I can relax for what little time I have before Giovanni storms in and... and does what? Doesn't let me finish getting clean? I don't think he'd do that...
Before Giovanni storms in and... has his way with me? Why does that image make the tub feel chilled? I stick my tongue out in disgust and lather up the sponge some more, before coating my arms and chest in the rich lather. Whatever kind of soap this is, it certainly is higher quality than any dollar store junk you could buy. The steam clears my nose and my head, and I feel some peace for the first time in days.
Giovanni having his way with me, like he did at the hotel? Just climbing into the tub and sliding into me? Ugh, I actually like that idea? My face burns and I dip my head into the water to cover my hair. I shut my eyes and try to not imagine him fucking me, but it's impossible.
Try as I might, I can't help it. He's got me strung around his finger, but I can't tell if it's with a noose around my neck or not. I hate, hate it.
— — —
It's been over ten minutes. Giovanni still hasn't unlocked the door and barged in to teach me a lesson. I'm done washing all the dirt and grease off my body and out of my hair, and I feel a million times better. It helps that I'm pretending that I'm in a spa, not a prison.
With my arms resting on the edges of the tub, I turn my head and stare at the door, just waiting for Giovanni to walk in. There's one window in this room, and the moon is getting low in the sky. I could have sworn it was only right after dusk when we ate, but maybe I was wrong. Not that it matters what time it really is here. On top of the hangover I had earlier, I'm probably jet-lagged to hell and back.
A click on the door's curved handle turns my focus away from the brightly lit moon. Just as I do, the door is pushed open. Giovanni is flanked by the two servants who probably can't wash a puppy properly, let alone a woman they don't give a shit about. He doesn't look angry, but he does avert his eyes after looking at my face. He looks past me and probably out the window. I keep my scowl fixed on the two women. They start rambling, surely accusing me of being a slut or a whore or something. Both of them are really starting to work up a good froth when Giovanni raises his hand and they shut up completely, like obedient dogs. He walks over to the tub, still keeping his eyes trained above mine, and he leans against the edge. Giovanni's sea-green eyes finally look at me, and he dips his finger into the soapy water and swirls it for a moment. He has an expectant look on his face, but I shouldn't have to explain myself. I'm sure he knows that the women are horrible.
I scowl at them and he follows my gaze and waves them away, saying something terse in Italian. After they leave and shut the door, he looks at me again. I dip lower into the tub and try to hide my nakedness, not that he hasn't already seen it. With my cheeks flushing red, I'm hoping he'll think it's from the heat of the bath. Was it always this humid and damp in here?
Still not saying a word to me, he stands up straight and walks around the tub to the window. He opens it inward and places a peg to keep it from falling shut. A warm breeze pulls the wet air from the room, and the scent of wildflowers and dew wafts into the room and settles like a fog.
He turns to me again and clasps his hands together. "Well, Lily, what do you have to say for yourself?"
I shake my head. "Sir, you act like I understood a single word that was being said." I rinse my soapy arm off with the sponge, before dipping it back into the hot water. "They weren't doing a very good job trying to clean me up to your high standards, sir," I add with some forced composure. Is the air still that warm or is that heat coming from Giovanni's body? I look up at him and wait for some kind of approval or punishment. What will he do? Did he plan on me misbehaving again? He leans down and my heart jumps in my chest and starts racing. I feel like if he looked hard enough, he would be able to see it pushing against my rib cage. I can't decide if my nerves are from fear or excitement. I'm on edge, but I kind of like it.
He furrows his brow and wipes his forehead. "Monica said, the m
oment she saw you, that you'd be a difficult one to handle. I ignored her," he says. I raise my eyebrows and he closes his eyes and stands up straight again, pulling his scent along with him. Monica? Who's that? His wife? My eyes widen and a smile briefly passes his lips when he notices my expression. Why am I always so obvious?
Thankfully, without a single word from me, he answers the question hanging in the air like a toaster above the water. His eyes are like magic when he smiles at me, but they still a hint of that devil inside him. "She's another servant. I think you might have seen her. She told me you were being loud and annoying the first day here."
Her. That bitch that came into my room and said he'd grow sick of me soon enough. That he'd find me unacceptable. Considering that to be my worst fear makes me a little sick. Shouldn't I be scared and not relieved? I don't get a murderous vibe from Giovanni. Then again, I didn't get a kidnapping vibe from him either.
He turns away from me and stares up through the window. The moon is so close to the horizon, it looks unreal.
"We may have taken too long eating and dealing with your problems to get a photo shoot in today anyway," he says. He starts taking off his suit jacket, and my mind stops turning. He clears his throat as he loosens his tie and slips it out from his collar. He drops it on a wooden drying rack that has a towel draped over it, I assume for me. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, I can only tell because of the gentle sound of fabric moving and how his elbows twitch as he moves down to each button. I can already see his back muscles coiling like hidden snakes ready to strike. I shudder as the water suddenly feels cold as a chill crawls up my back.
"Sir...?" I finally ask. "What are you doing?"
He glances over his shoulder and his one eye meets me. He gives me a smirk. "I need to get clean too, Lily. Flowers aren't the only things that need to be watered." His voice is suddenly like dark chocolate, slightly bitter, but still so delicious.
"Sir... don't you have your own bathroom for that?" The words feel hollow, like I'm just pretending to say them, or maybe just thinking them. Either way, he finishes unbuttoning his shirt and he takes each sleeve off carefully. When he's done, he folds it and drops it onto the drying rack. He's shirtless now, and just as sexy as he was back at the casino. I can't take my eyes off him, but I so desperately want to. This is the man who fucking forced food from my mouth. Who kidnapped me and dragged me across the world. Who left me in a darkened room, naked and bruised. I can't think he's hot, that's just... fucked up.