Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Soundproof rooms,” Cristiano explained the disparity in volume. “One of the best investments I’ve made in the house. The party can rage on while I—we—sleep. Or we can rage on while they dine.”
His tone was teasing, but I doubted he’d meant it as a joke. He dipped his hand to my lower back and guided me down a small, dark passageway. We stepped through the doorway to the top of a staircase, as if entering a basement, and stopped at a half wall overlooking a subterranean dining hall. Distressed wood beams formed an X on the high ceiling, and candlelight sconces made shadows on white walls. Three long, sturdy picnic tables centered the room, where people ate from a restaurant-style buffet.
At one end of a community-style table, a group of women sat interspersed between children with plates of frosted cake. Their long skirts and dresses resembled what the women of my town had worn to church that morning. They sneaked bites of dessert from the children and laughed across the table from each other.
Cristiano urged me forward by my lower back, and though my hands were only figuratively tied, it still felt like walking the plank. “This is your home now,” he said, removing his hand. “These are your people.”
How did they get into this situation?
“They’re just celebrating Easter.”
I glanced back at him, not realizing I’d spoken aloud. “Easter?” I asked. “Here?”
“It’s not as if we’ve left the country. We still have holidays here.”
But anything beyond basic survival would be a luxury for people being held and worked against their will. And they were, weren’t they? The alternative was that they lived in the Badlands willingly. As one of Cristiano’s victims, I just didn’t see how that could be.
“Do you think people in distress eat cake?” he asked as if reading my mind.
Maybe, if it was the best they could make of a bad situation.
My heart fell. I should’ve been with my father, sitting down for an Easter feast now, or on a plane back to my friends and my life in California. Instead, I was surrounded by the lost and forgotten.
My gaze caught on an older man who glanced up and made eye contact. He lowered his beer mug to the table with a frown, and people fell silent in sections as they noticed us. The music stopped. Wide eyes stared. The number of women and children both surprised and saddened me. Mothers drew their children to their sides. Men stood straighter. They feared Cristiano, but their eyes were trained on me. Did they fear me too? Or was their fear for me?
“I can’t be a part of this,” I whispered.
“But you are.”
“Why?” The intensity of their glares made me want to move behind Cristiano, which was ridiculous. He was who I wanted to hide from. “Why parade me around like this?” I asked under my breath. “You don’t need me.”
“You will learn all the things I need, and soon, I hope. But as of today, you don’t know enough to say what I need.” He kept his distance but spoke only for me. “Tonight, you’ll meet your people, and they’ll see they have nothing to fear.”
“Fear?” I asked. “Me?”
A portly man raised a frothy ale and shouted, “Are the rumors true, patrón?”
Despite looking as if he’d just come from the fields, the man must’ve been one of Cristiano’s inner circle to address him with such an informal term of respect.
“Sí,” Cristiano said, moving away from me. “I’ve formed an alliance that will benefit both parties.”
An excited murmur moved through the crowd. The man banged the bottom of his mug on the table so loudly, I stepped back and hit Cristiano’s body. He grabbed my shoulders and released them as if the lace had burned him.
Other men slammed their mugs and beer foamed over, dripping onto the tables as they offered celebratory shouts. “¡Epa!”
“It should be a prosperous year—” Cristiano started.
“Who cares about business,” another said. “Who’s the girl?”
Cristiano chuckled as if sharing an inside joke. “In order to make the deal, I’ve taken a wife.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him, but he kept his distant eyes on the crowd as if I weren’t there at all.
Though a few men and women smiled, and the children were mostly awed, some of the enthusiasm left the room.
“My bride will stay here with us out of convenience,” he said, adding under his breath, “unwilling though she may be.”
Cristiano started down the stairs, leaving me standing there alone. Up until then, he hadn’t been so dismissive. He hadn’t been dismissive at all. Not once since he’d turned up at my father’s costume party. Even as I’d been forced down the aisle to him, he’d watched me with curious, hungry eyes. In the car, he’d shown interest and a modicum of warmth as he’d asked after the state of my feet.