32
Nicole
“What?” I swear my eyes bug out of my head, and I jump from my seat on the bench outside in the garden.
Did he seriously just propose?
“That was the worst proposal in the history of proposals,” I say.
And since when did he speak with Papa about marrying me? Does he know I’m pregnant?
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan any of this, in case you haven’t noticed.” Dante is quick with a comeback.
I fold my arms across my chest. “You don’t want to marry me.” There are a dozen reasons I can think that this is a terrible idea. Does he want me to reel them off?
“I don’t want my child not knowing his father, and I’m pretty sure the first opportunity you get, you’re going to split.”
I laugh under my breath. Does he believe a ring is going to change that or a bunch of vows and a piece of paper?
“No. I won’t marry you. I’ll never marry you.” He’s crazy if he thinks I want to be here, with him, forever. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your prisoner, Dante.”
His jaw is tight, and his lips are in a firm line as he stares at me. “You’re treated like a princess. Not like a prisoner. Do you want to see my basement where I hold men who steal from me?”
My mouth goes dry.
“Is that what this is about? Your stupid truck I stole.” I can’t believe he hasn’t let that go. I didn’t know who he was or I wouldn’t have risked pissing him off.
“No, it’s about the fact I bought you from your father.”
Did I hear him correctly? “What?” I ask.
No.
I couldn’t have heard what he said. Or rather, he didn’t mean it like it came out.
Shaking my head, I take a step back, the edge of my feet against the wood planks containing the vegetables behind me.
“You’re lying.” Whatever he intends to say, I don’t believe him. I can’t believe him. Because otherwise, it would mean the absolute worst thing imaginable, that my father was behind my abduction.
That can’t be true.
Papa wouldn’t have me kidnapped, abducted, humiliated, and sold.
“No,” I say, shaking my head in dismay.
It’s the only word I can say. The only word that I keep chanting over and over again because I don’t want to believe it.
I can’t believe it.
“I swore to him I wouldn’t tell you,” Dante seethes. He stands and paces on the pavers, his feet stomping over the bricks, each thud clunky and heavy with his weight and anger pouring out of him.
“I can’t, Dante, I just, I can’t—” I say and rush for the door to the kitchen.
I can’t hear his excuses.
I don’t want to hear it, to believe it. None of it can be true because if it is, I don’t know where I fit into this world anymore.
He doesn’t chase me.