CHAPTER THIRTY: WINTER
“We’regoingtodinner.”
They’re not the first words you want to hear from someone after they’ve tried to kill you.
Yet, it's the first thing Giovanni has said to me since he shoved me into the pool last week.
I look up from the book in my hands, my skin cold. Giovanni is standing in the doorway as if today is just a normal day for him. His shoulder is pressed up against the doorframe and he’s watching me closely.
He’s completely lost it.
I scowl, closing the book and standing up. His eyes immediately drop to my legs. Most of the scrapes have healed but the worst ones are still scabbed over.
His eyes follow me the entire time and it only makes me tense up further.
I’ve had a whole week to think about what he did and it hadn’t quelled my anger in the slightest, if anything, it made it worse.
How can you get over someone trying to kill you?
It’s simple, I can’t.
Nor do I want to.
I think if he checked on me or at least apologized, lying and saying it was an accident, it would knock off the smallest fraction of my anger.
But he hasn’t bothered.
After slamming the book into place, I keep my gaze on the ground as I go to move past him.
He blows out a long breath a moment before he grabs me. His touch isn’t rough but it isn’t gentle either, his fingers applying pressure to my skin.
I suck in a breath, flinching away from him.
He doesn’t release me.
“Winter, I don’t have time for you to pout today. I need for you to go to your room, pick up the dress laid out on your bed, put it on and walk your ass down the stairs.” His words are low, even, threatening.
“You’ve already forced my hand once recently, I don’t think you want to do it again.”
It’s not even close to an apology, it’s a warning that he’ll almost kill me again if he needs to, maybe really kill me the next time.
What’s worse is that the warning works. That feeling of not being able to push my way to the surface, air filling my lungs…
I don’t even want to feel it again.
I’d rather be stabbed or shot.
I nod my head sharply and he releases me. I don’t dare look back at him as I make my way to my room but I don’t miss the sigh that slips past his lips.
As if I’m the one that’s a complete psychopath.
***
I shouldn’t be so upset or surprised I decide when I sit down at the dinner table at some fancy restaurant.
I shouldn’t be shocked that Giovanni tried to kill me. The brutal fucking has been an afterthought all week, forgotten considering the severity of what he’d done next.
But none of it should have left me reeling.