Taken (Dark Legacy Duet 1)

“I can’t wear this out.”

He draws my hands away and the dress drops and covers me to almost midthigh.

“Only I’ll see,” he says.

His eyes are darker, and when he looks at me like that, I want him again.

He checks his watch. “Ready?”

“Where are we going?”

“Dinner and the opera.”

“Opera?” I can’t help but smile.

“Faust. I hope you’ll like it.”

“A man sells his soul to the devil for love.”

“You know it?”

“I’ve just read the book. I’ve never been to an opera.” I feel suddenly very Midwestern.

“We’ll have to drop in at a friend’s party between dinner and the opera.”

“A party?”

“Drinks, really.” He opens the door.

“Oh.” I try to seem more confident than I feel. “Okay.”

He slides his hand under my hair and caresses my back lightly, like he likes to feel the welts he left or something. We ride down on the elevator. This time, we don’t take a taxi. The driver of a waiting sedan opens the back door when he sees us, and I climb in with Sebastian close behind.

Nighttime Verona is very different to how it looked earlier today. For one thing, I feel a little more at ease. How that makes any sense is crazy, but I glance over at Sebastian, who is listening to a message on his phone. That’s just how I feel. Like I’m not alone out there and uncertain and lost.

That’s how I felt this afternoon, I guess. And I’m very aware that tomorrow, we’ll go back to that island, to his horrible family, but I can’t think about that, not that or what it means for me. Not tomorrow or the day after or the years after.

Dinner is more relaxed than I expected it to be. As fancy as we look, Sebastian takes me to a small pizza place just outside of town.

“This is my favorite place to eat when I come here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

“That it’s not a nicer restaurant.”

I look around at the brightly lit place, at the man standing in the kitchen which is visible over the counter, at the people in jeans and T-shirts eating pizza.

“This is actually exactly my kind of place,” I say, smiling.

Sebastian walks me into the kitchen where the man rolling out dough stops to hug him, surprised at seeing him. He gives me a wink and says something to Sebastian that I don’t understand. This is probably the most relaxed I have ever seen Sebastian as he pats the old man’s back and laughs loudly.

We go out back, and I am surprised to find a small plastic table with two plastic chairs set along the river. Lanterns hang overhead, and it’s all very romantic.

Or it would be if it weren’t us.

We sit on the rickety chairs and within a few minutes, we’re eating thin slices of pizza more delicious than any I’ve ever tasted.

“You like it?” Sebastian asks me.

“I’m on my third slice, so yeah, I like it.”

He nods, drinks from the can of grape soda.

I chuckle.

“What?” he asks.

“I don’t picture you as a grape soda kind of guy.”

“You don’t know me yet.”

Yet. “I guess not.”

When we’re done, we say good-bye and thank the owners.

Twenty minutes later, we pull through the tall gates of an old mansion where soft yellow lights illuminate the large double doors of the entrance. Two men in uniforms open them for us. I can hear the soft sound of a piano from outside as well as the tinkling of glasses, the murmur of conversation.

I don’t need to see the elegantly dressed men and women who turn in our direction when we enter to know I don’t belong here.

The women are dressed like I am, but differently. They wear their dresses where suddenly, I feel like mine wears me, if that makes any sense. Their hair is elegantly done, and I’m sure I’m the only woman here who isn’t wearing any makeup. I think how much more I liked the rickety-old chairs at the pizza place.

But one look at Sebastian tells me how comfortable he is in this company. How at home.

An older couple come toward us, smiling at Sebastian. With them is a girl who’s maybe a couple of years older than me or my age but a hundred times more elegant. The women cast a glance at me, do a quick once-over, and turn their attention to Sebastian. The younger one’s gaze hovers maybe a moment longer, and I’m immediately on my guard. She’s prettier than me, without a doubt, with her dark hair in an elegant twist, false lashes accentuating her soft green eyes, and breasts jutting out, seeming as if they want to tear through the fine material of her white Grecian goddess dress.

And to top it off, they speak in Italian. At once, all three turn to me, and I hear my name.