I shove the coats aside. Elise jumps, startled, as if I just woke her. She sits on a tiny stool that barely accommodates her. Her eyes blink blearily, and she balls her fists and rubs them in the sockets, like a child just waking from a nap.
Ah. She tried to hide, but fell fast asleep. The coat room’s still connected to the Great Hall, so the tracker showed her still in the room. The Castle’s not a good place to track anyone—too many tunnels, turrets, and hidden passageways.
I won’t make that mistake again.
The anger I feel at finding her, at the nerve she has in hiding in the first place, fades a little when I see how vulnerable and small she is.
Only a little.
“There you are.”
I watch as color rises in her cheeks, and she gives me a little shrug. “Here I am.”
Her arm’s angry and red where I’ve embedded the tracker. Did she try to get it out? She’d need more than sharp fingernails to do that.
I crouch in front of her so we’re eye to eye, my forearms resting on my knees. She doesn’t move but sits perfectly still. “I hope you were comfortable in here, sweetheart.”
Her brows draw together, though she tries to look brave. She juts her chin out, but can’t hide the way her voice wobbles.
“I-I was. Why?”
I rest my hand on her thigh. I’ve barely touched the woman except to drag her to her imprisonment. I haven’t punished her, not yet. That will change now.
“Because you won’t be comfortable for long.”
I stand and don’t even give her the chance to stand for herself. I reach for her. My hands fit around her waist. It’s the most physical contact I’ve had with her. She’s slight and warm, soft in all the right places, but I don’t dwell on that. It’s important she know exactly who she’s dealing with.
I won’t go soft like my brothers have. I fucking won’t.
I lift her off of the stool and plunk her down in front of me. If she’s afraid, she hides it well.
She’ll learn.
“Hold my hand, Elise,” I say quietly. I won’t cause a scene. Not here, not now. “And come with me.”
CHAPTER 4
Elise
I didn’t mean to hide that long.
The sun’s set outside the windows as we walk to the stairway.
The Castle’s huge, but I’ve only seen a part of it. As prisoner, I’ve never gotten the tour, and can only mentally sketch the layout of the parts of The Castle I haven’t been in from what Angelina’s told me. I have a blueprint of it in my mind, though, from what I’ve gathered. That’s how I knew the coat room was here.
I know I’m in trouble. I know I damn near asked for this. And even though I didn’t plan on getting in trouble, I did want to rattle him a little. Remind him that he isn’t omnipotent like he thinks he is.
But I decided I would handle whatever he did to me for the sake of showing him he doesn’t own me.
I wonder, though, if my plan was faulty. The imbalance of power between the two of us is nearly laughable.
As we walk hand in hand, staff parts and nearly hides, walking as far away from us as they can get. Two stern, uniformed guards wait for his signal, and when he nods—a sharp jerk of his head—they flee as well.
If I could, would I?
Or would I rather face the tempest and know what I’m dealing with?
We don’t walk toward the Great Hall but to the front of the house, and I stifle a sigh of relief. I’ve spent time in the cold, dark dungeon, just like a medieval torture chamber, that’s still fully functional and reserved for what one might call special occasions. Angelina’s visited there herself and told me it’s at the back of The Castle, so we’d have to walk toward the courtyard and kitchen.
Tavi hides his anger well, but I know by the way his nostrils flare and his grip on my hand that he’s furious. I’m not surprised.
From the coat room, we walk toward the lobby and reception room and the large, ornate main entrance where Tosca greets her guests. Here, in the main entry hall, there’s a spiral staircase that takes us to the second floor.
Each of the men in the inner circle of The Family has private chambers on the second floor. Though they all have homes elsewhere as well—Boston, Tuscany, and a few other places—all call The Castle their home.
I’ve never been to his private chambers.
I’m going to be married to this man. We’re going to take vows in four weeks. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him, and I’ve never even seen the inside of his room.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
It’s no surprise, though. We don’t have a relationship. I’m only a check mark on a list of to-dos for him—no more, no less.