I have no idea where to look, though. I don’t want to go to his bedroom, and I don’t know why he would go back there anyway; he was already up for the day and dressed in his perfect goddamn suit and tie.
Maria is the next person I see, and I stop her. “Do you know where Mateo is?”
I’ve rarely interacted with her outside of the kitchen, but Maria studies my face, then advises, “Why don’t you go to your room for a bit, have a rest.”
“Do you know where Mateo is?”
“You seem angry. Best to go to your room.”
“Oh, my God,” I say, giving up and walking away from her.
After storming through half the house, I come to the largest wing—the master suite. I stand at the center of three separate halls, all leading to rooms of his.
Common sense leaps out at me, telling me to turn back. He’s not up here, and even if he is… I don’t want to go in.
But I’m too fucking angry to listen.
I want to set him on fire.
I need to know he did it. It had to be him, but I need to know.
This wasn’t part of Vince’s tour though, so I don’t even know which hall to walk down. One is the bedroom, one is probably a sitting room… maybe the third is an enormous bathroom? I don’t know.
I go left.
It’s a sitting room, and there’s no one inside. My heart beats faster—I’m not sure if with relief at not finding him, or if it’s because one door down means only two to go.
I go with the middle door next, since I approach it first.
It’s a bedroom, but clearly not used, and possibly for children? There are a few boxes scattered around, one of them with a pink sparkly sweater on top.
Frowning, I back out of that one.
I’m just about to try the third door when I feel him. Not physically, not touching me, but he’s near enough I can feel his presence.
Then he speaks, his voice husky with expectation. “Looking for me?”
Suddenly my body trembles and I feel it all down my spine. My stomach pitches as I slowly turn around and see him standing there at the opening of the hall, where I was just a couple of minutes ago.
My words suddenly dry up and to my absolute horror, tears well in my eyes.
Mateo walks toward me, a predatory glint in his eyes.
I’m supposed to be the one confronting him, but it suddenly hits me as he moves closer, faster, not apologetic, not retreating, not remorseful, but… stalking me.
I chased my rapist to his bedroom.
Launching away from the wall, I go to move past him but he catches me by the arm, his grip rough, not light like it normally is.
“Get your hands off me,” I say, my voice shaking through every syllable.
“Oh, but you like my hands on you,” he says, a wicked smile grazing his lips.
“No, I don’t,” I say, feeling as if he just slapped me.
“Sure you do,” he says, using his body to move me backward. “You liked my hands when they were playing your pussy like a fiddle, making you scream with pleasure. You liked my mouth, when I was devouring you like my favorite dessert. You certainly seemed to enjoy my cock, when I was fucking you in Vince’s bed.”
A noiseless sob escapes me as my back hits the wall, and he presses his body against mine.
“You like me a lot more than you let on, don’t you, Mia?”
I struggle to get my arm away from him, but he’s holding it too tight. I raise my other hand to hit him, but his reflexes are too fast and he catches me, pushing both arms over my head and pinning me against the wall.
I can only shake my head, trying for words that won’t come, gasping for breath when my chest feels like it’s about to cave in.
He doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed. He looks straight into my eyes with no trouble—and they’re dancing with something. Amusement?
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
He tilts his head as if considering it, then shrugs.
My words are finally coming back. “You raped me.”
“You were pretty willing,” he tells me.
“I thought you were someone else!”
“Yeah.” Making a face that would seem to indicate ‘this is awkward’ he inhales through his teeth. “I probably wouldn’t go with that. I feel like Vince wouldn’t be terribly pleased that you couldn’t tell when you were having sex with him, and when you were having sex with me.”
“I didn’t have sex with you,” I say, jerking my arms, rabid at his wording. “That wasn’t sex. You manipulated me. You tricked me. You snuck into my boyfriend’s bed in the dead of night when I was asleep, for fuck’s sake. Why would I think it was anyone but him?”