He accompanies me down to the kitchen, and I grab a seat while he opens the fridge and retrieves a few breakfast staples: milk, orange juice, and creamer for coffee.
He pours one cup of coffee.
I clear my throat. “Do you have another cup?” I’ll get it myself if he doesn’t oblige.
Dante glances over his shoulder at me. “You’re pregnant.”
“I’m not dead,” I remark and slip out of the chair and stand beside him at the cabinet. I flip the cabinet door open and grab a mug from the shelf. “Pour me a cup.” It’s not a question.
“Demanding, aren’t we?” Dante smiles, but his eyes aren’t full of mirth. There’s a glimpse of darkness, but I have yet to unravel what is going on inside his head.
Will I ever?
Dante pours coffee into my mug, and I carry the hot drink back to the table to sit.
“You do know caffeine isn’t healthy for a pregnant woman?”
“Neither is being held captive, and that hasn’t stopped you from keeping me a prisoner under your roof.” I ignore his dark gaze and reach for the cream and sugar, fixing my coffee the way I like to drink it. Sweet and not the least bit bitter.
Dante puts a dollop of cream but no sugar. It still looks black to me.
He has yet to answer my remark about being his prisoner.
What’s there to say? It’s true and he knows it.
* * *
Breakfast is awkward at best. I don’t think we’ve spent nearly as much time together as we have since last night.
Maybe it’s not breakfast that’s awkward, but the fact we had sex twice last night.
I hold no regrets, but does he? Then again, why else did he buy me and bring me home? That was what he bought me for, wasn’t it? I chew my bottom lip raw as he leads me to his office.
I’m not sure what to expect or why he’s leading me to his private locked suite. Is he expecting another round to satisfy his needs?
“What are we doing?” I ask as he unlocks the frosted glass door to his office. It’s impossible to see anything until he opens the door and gestures me inside.
“I want you to see something.”
Damn, is he cryptic? I purse my lips and step inside. I’m already his prisoner. If I didn’t follow his orders, he’d probably pick my ass up and carry me inside his office.
The thought is tempting, but I don’t feel like being man-handled.
Inside his office is a dark mahogany desk and a black leather chair. Across is a seat for a guest, but it looks hardly worn. He probably doesn’t get many visitors.
The walls are a dull gray, painted over wooden boards that brighten the room, which has no windows. There’s a door inside his office, wood, and the handle has another lock.
I can’t help but wonder what secrets he hides behind that door.
Dante steps around behind his desk and unlocks the desk drawer, gliding the wood drawer open. He retrieves a tablet. He taps the screen, unlocking it and opening up whatever app he apparently wants me to see.
What could he possibly want to show me?
“You should sit down,” Dante says, and gestures to the guest chair across from his desk.
While I’d rather stand, the darkness in his gaze reappears, and I sink into the chair wordlessly.
He hits play and hands me the tablet to watch a video of my papa, Rafael, and Vance in Papa’s office. “You’re spying on my family?”