Not once did he smile.
And he obviously wasn’t going to.
He had deep brown hair that looked black without the sun hitting it directly. Green eyes smoldered with vibrant intensity. His jawline was chiseled like the bone had been molded from marble. His face had been cleanly shaven, but it was obvious he could grow facial hair overnight. A large Adam’s apple protruded from his throat. Instead of looking like the designer who belonged behind the camera, he looked like he should be the focal point of everyone’s attention.
He was damn gorgeous.
There were a few other interviews with the models, all gushing about the designer they worshiped like a god. Maybe they were being genuine, or maybe they were just kissing his ass to get a better spotlight. The show was taking place in Milan. Then the camera turned back to Lacey Lockwood.
“Conway Barsetti is always looking for the perfect woman to show off his art. I was sitting in a coffee shop when I was approached. My life changed forever in that moment, and I couldn’t thank him enough for giving me this opportunity.” The camera turned back to Conway, showing him shaking hands with a few other men in suits.
As I sat there pissing away whatever money I had left on a good drink, I watched this beautiful man living the dream. Rich, admired, and a level of beautiful that could only be described as stupid, he had everything. Women were plentiful, and money wasn’t an issue. He could order as many drinks in that bar as he wanted.
I’d never been jealous like this before.
I was never rich, but I’d always had everything I needed. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, family, and an education. If you ask me, that was living the American dream. Then suddenly, it was all taken away.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
I stared at the screen a while longer, watching the images change as they showed more aspects of Conway Barsetti’s life. It showed his Italian villa in Verona, surrounded by vineyards and gorgeous land. It showed him posing outside a building in Milan, a bicycle leaned up directly beside him. Every image was more beautiful than the last, and not just because he was in it.
It was a beautiful place.
I’d never been to Italy. I’d never been outside the US. I’d been too busy being broke and going to school to afford such a lavish trip.
But now, I had nothing. Just enough money to buy a plane ticket.
Knuckles threatened to hurt me even more if I ran. In three days, I would officially be his possession. Calling the cops wasn’t an option because he’d kill every friend I had. But the idea of letting that man have me made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t going to wait around until he caught me off guard and wrapped his hand around my neck. I wasn’t going to let someone turn me into a slave. I wasn’t going to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.
“Conway Barsetti’s team just announced they’ll have a special one-time opportunity for women to audition for a spot on the runway. The auditions will be held in Milan…” The reporter’s voice trailed away once I tuned her out.
I left some cash on the table and grabbed my bag from the floor. Knuckles might be watching me that very moment, but I wasn’t going to sit around until he appeared out of the darkness. I was going to run like hell until he caught me.
And I’d never stop.
2
Sapphire
Even with only a few bucks in my pocket, Italy was a beautiful place.
The most gorgeous place I’d ever seen.
The small towns were surrounded by vineyards, flowers, and marketplaces full of fresh produce along with homemade cheeses. Wine was more plentiful than water, and strangers had no problem sharing with someone they didn’t even know. Not having money to pay for food wasn’t an issue because everyone was so generous.
If I were in America, I’d look like a beggar on the street.
I took the bus to the neighboring towns around Milan and explored them. It was easy to be a tourist when the most beautiful sights were all free. I slept under the stars because it was warm, and I showered in public restrooms. It wasn’t my finest hour, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either.
It was still better than being a slave.
At first, I looked over my shoulder every other minute, expecting to see that horrific man watching me. But three days had come and gone, and he obviously knew I was no longer in New York City. After a quick search, he would find the manifest of the plane I was on. There was no doubt in my mind he’d tracked me to Italy. But since I was only using cash and not checking in to hotels, there was no way to trace me.