I dot the serum on my forehead and cheeks, rubbing it in slow circles. I can’t deny how smooth my skin feels. Opening the day cream, I dip my finger in it and rub it into my cheeks and down my neck.
There is an array of makeup, but I have no desire to pretty myself up for my kidnapper. Closing the drawer with my hip, I turn and jump, surprised to see Stone leaning against the doorframe.
“Should I add stalker to the list of your crimes? I suppose it’s not as bad as rapist and killer.”
His jaw clenches the slightest fraction of an inch. “You’ve now had more than the twenty-four hours I was willing to give. Is it going to be me or Lorenzo?”
So much for a little post-panic-attack sympathy. “You’re not giving me much of a choice.”
“I gave you two.”
“And if I pick my father?”
I study his face, searching for a tic, for another clench of his jaw, for a tightening of his fists. Nothing. His name suits him. His face and body language are as solid and unmoving as stone.
“Then I’ll have my men drop you and your mother off at his doorstep.”
My heart stops beating and lodges itself in my throat. He took the low road, bringing my mother into this. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’ve never pretended not to be.”
“Why do you need to marry me?”
“Would you rather marry Antonio Rossi?”
Again, I pale. Antonio is just as bad as my father, only creepier. I don’t doubt my father will hurt me, kill me even, for taking my mother away, but Antonio makes my skin crawl. My father’s punishment to me is to give me over to Antonio. Although that has been his plan since I was sixteen.
I detest him, and my father knows it, but he’s insisted Antonio is the right man for me.
“I’d rather have my freedom. Marry who I want. Someone I love. Or at least like.”
Stone reaches into the inside pocket of his suit coat and pulls out his phone. “I’ll call my driver.”
“Wait.” I lurch forward and cover his phone with my hand. “Don’t.”
A sign of life appears on his face. Well, in his brow. No other muscle moves except the lifting of his brow.
“How can I trust my mother is really safe?”
“I don’t lie,” he says with such conviction that I can’t help but believe him. No, I can’t, I won’t believe him. He is just as ruthless as my father, and the lies flow off his tongue as easily as wine from a grape.
“You kidnap me and keep me locked in an ivory tower and I’m supposed to believe you?” I snort and push past him into the room and head to the balcony. I need the fresh air, to be far from him and his subtle cologne.
Before I cross the threshold to the balcony, his strong hand seizes my arm and yanks me back. “Come,” he demands, practically dragging me across the room and out the door.
I follow him through a maze of hallways, trying to take in my surroundings, to memorize the doors and rooms for my escape, but they’re all a blur. We hurry down a grand curved staircase made from marble, and I only have a moment to notice the elaborate iron chandelier that hangs in the center of the foyer that is bigger than my entire apartment back in San Diego.
The marble tile is cool under my bare feet, the only sound coming from the light click of the soles of his shoes on the stone. We pass two doorways, take a final turn to the left, and he finally lets me go with a shove into the room.
I stumble but don’t fall. Curling my toes into the soft carpet, I scan the room. Dark paneled walls, tall bookshelves, and a wall of windows overlook his vineyard. To the right sits an elaborate desk of dark wood. An antique, no doubt.
Stone picks up a laptop, one of three computers on his desk, types something, then takes out his phone and taps out a message. He drums his fingers on the keyboard again, then picks it up, carrying it over to me.
“Sit,” he barks, pushing me into one of the leather chairs, and places the computer on my lap.
“Not a word about your location or me. Or you’ll be having a reunion with Daddy before your next meal.”
With that, he turns and leaves the room, leaving me alone with the computer.