The Ravishing

She was the only one who noticed me. Who paid attention to me. Who did anything special for me.

The need to bake weaved its way through my veins. The desire to feel at home, or whatever home was, rooted itself in my psyche.

Secure.

Settled.

Loved.

My happy memories were always with Maria, our Italian cook. Never with my mom or my father. She was the one who had been around when we were little. Filling the spaces our parents left by their lack of attention. We’d been too naïve to know that the moment a staff member showed any affection to us, they were let go.

I’d never forget that look in her eyes, the day she’d left us for good, as though Maria knew what really went on in that house and was powerless to help us. Maybe when I got free of this place, and free of home too, I’d seek her out and tell her what she’d meant to me. Tell her that when she’d left, the house had become cold and lonely all over again.

I shivered off the chill of the memory. There was no use thinking about that now. Too many staff members had passed through our doors to count. All of them eventually realized what they were dealing with—two children living beneath the roof of a tyrant.

I didn’t know this kitchen, but it wasn’t rocket science.

I made my way around the room, opening every cabinet and drawer. It didn’t take me long to find all the essentials.

There was nothing like homemade cookies to make my heart feel full. Seeing as I would take any morsel of comfort, even milk and cookies at my captor’s house.

Once I had everything I needed, I set out to get mixing. As I moved the spoon through the ingredients, I poured in every emotion. Pounded the dough until all the pent-up rage poured out of me. It felt good. It made me remember all those times I would be frustrated, and Maria would hand me ingredients and tell me to work out my issues—super cute considering I was thirteen years old.

By the end, she would instruct me to then pour love into it. I never really understood what that meant.

Maybe now it was starting to make sense. That if I couldn’t talk to Cassius, maybe, just maybe, something like this would soothe his angst. It was clear that he carried pain within him. Baking and eating had often helped me, so why not him? Why not bring a piece of his childhood back?

As I separated the dough into little round balls, I couldn’t help but think of Archie. The only person I had in this world. And he craved my baking.

The love I felt for him would never fade. We’d be reunited again soon, and I’d have so many things to tell him.

To cope, I had to nudge my little brother out of my head and focus on anything but the thought of him alone in that house. I had to focus on getting out of here and surviving this. I returned my attention to molding the dough into round balls.

Before I knew it, the cookies were in the oven, and I sat at the counter waiting.

It was strange that even with me in the kitchen, no one came in here to check on me. It made me wonder if they saw me walking in here and purposely avoided me. As if this was some sort of torture not allowing me to speak to anyone.

Isolating me.

It was obvious there was a man in security who was told to give me a wide berth and not engage. Cassius probably believed it was for the best. Maybe it was his way of breaking my spirit.

But as the smell of the best of home surrounded me, I knew he was wrong, I wouldn’t snap. He didn’t have the power to break me. If my father couldn’t, no way could this man.

I spent the time it took for the cookies to bake, sitting and staring out the large windows that overlooked the property. Musing over the maze and wondering why anyone would create such a design in their own garden. The property was big enough, but it was unusual.

And that chapel held such a fascination; it didn’t make any sense to be all locked up like that. Unless it was run down inside and dangerous, but it didn’t look like that from the outside.

I hadn’t spent much time outside, and the need to walk and explore was tempting.

I often felt like a caged bird. Needing the fresh air in the oxygen to spread my wings. This feeling had lingered for years. Even at my own home, I wasn’t allowed to wander freely. It’s a strange notion to come to the realization you’ve left one cage to find yourself in another.