When he stands the matches fall out of his pocket onto the floor. The sound is almost noiseless, eaten up by the crackling of the stoked fire. I stare at the matches, memorizing where they are. He walks toward me.
"Clear the dishes. Put them in the sink. It's a lot of work washing dishes in the wilderness, so we’ll pile them up until we need to wash them."
I do what he says without a word, taking the dishes and stacking them in a little sink. I wonder what the whole production is to wash dishes if there's no hot water. I guess we'll have to… boil water or something? It doesn't really matter that doing anything will take ten times as long as it would if we were in a modern place, because what else will we do with our time anyway?
He's sitting in a rocker by the fire when I'm done.
"It's hard to imagine people do this for fun," I say to him honestly. "What's the appeal?"
He shrugs. “Some people like being away from modern conveniences. They find them distracting. Some people find it cathartic being in the woods, with the earthy smells and stars overhead. There are lots of reasons people like to unplug.”
"I get it, but at the same time, is it really worth having to wipe your ass with leaves? To wonder if a bear is going to come into your cabin? To have to boil water to wash your dishes? I mean, can't you just, like, go sit out in your backyard and leave your cell phone inside?"
The corner of his lips quirks up. "You could. But that would probably get you punished, wouldn't it?"
I look away, unwilling to face the truth. Yes, some people could disconnect and go sit in their backyards, but if I did it, I'd be fucked. Maybe there is a certain advantage to being alone in the woods.
"Tell me about your brothers," he says, leaning back in his chair with a cup of water. He takes a sip every now and then as I tell him everything I know. The eldest, Nicolo, died a few years ago, right around the time Orlando was imprisoned and Dario met him.
Ricco is the only one married with a child, and he’s close to my Aunt Tosca. Timeo’s done well for himself with investments, the most book-learned among my brothers. Sergio is a fair but hard-ass Don.
I shrug. “I don't really know them that well, we've never lived together for a long period of time."
He strokes his chin thoughtfully. "It feels as if that was intentional. Like your father didn't want your brothers to get close to you.”
“Yeah. I wondered why he did that. I wondered if it was a ‘divide and conquer’ kinda thing. I noticed it was… different with the Rossis.”
“Very much so. The brothers and sisters are all very close, and if it came to a choice between his father or his sisters, Romeo has and would choose his sisters, every time. But that isn't the case with your brothers. Keeping you separated from your brothers, your father insured their allegiance to him.”
Though he’s contemplative, there’s a certain heat to his words, a possession to his touch that unnerves me when he touches me.
I can't let myself think of him as anything more than my warden. But it's hard for me to think that way when I witnessed the way he's touched me, his responses to me, the way he commands. I’m not immune, no matter how hard I try.
When he commands my body responds like a tuning fork, vibrating and humming. And there's a small part of me, which I can’t deny, that wants to feel so much more.
I yawn, exhausted, but don’t want to go to bed yet. This day has felt like a week in and of itself. He feels the same it seems, as he sits in the rocking chair in front of the flames.
I look around at the limited seating arrangements near us. There's a love seat, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna sit there because if he decides he's going to join me we’ll have to get all cozy. Nope. There's a little stool, but that wouldn't be comfortable for very long without back support, and it's so far away from the fire I wouldn't feel the warmth.
I feel his eyes on me. Cautiously, I look toward him, my heartbeat racing. Dario looks at me with a predatory gaze that makes the little hairs on my arms stand up. He looks at me as if he wants to devour me… It would be a lie to say I don't like that.
"Come here, Vivia.” When he says come here like that…
He pats his knee. He wants me to sit on his… lap? I don't know about that. I'm thin and fit, but that rocking chair looks like it's straining under his weight never mind with two of us sitting on it. Still, he gave me a command, and I'm expected to obey. I walk to him, shuffling my feet.
But he doesn't drag me onto his lap. He gestures to a footstool in front of the rocker. Interesting.
"Sit here, please." He parts his knees and puts the footstool between his legs. He wants me to sit by his feet?
Why the hell does that appeal to me?
I shouldn’t want to. I should feel insulted or demeaned, but instead, I feel… I’m not sure how to describe it. Small in a good way, not belittled but more like I’m… taking one step closer to intimacy with him.
Weird.
I swallow my rising nerves, and nod. I already feel half naked wearing these clothes with no underwear, but the way his eyes take me in, I feel even less clothed than before. I’m vividly aware of what little separates us from each other.
I slide myself onto the footstool, and he quickly adjust his legs. To my surprise, this is very comfortable. I lean against him. His strong, sturdy legs provide good back support. The flickering flames generate a radiating warmth, so I'm not cold anymore. And while I sit at his feet, he starts doing something I'm not prepared for. He threads his fingers through my hair, combing the strands almost methodically. I fight against the urge to close my eyes and relish in this feeling. It's soothing, and luxurious, and I’m tired.