The Next Morning
The cell door clicks open. I expect to see Kian standing in the doorway, blocking the light with his tall frame. But instead, Aisling walks in.
Ignoring the disappointment pooling in my gut, I get to my feet unsteadily.
“Good morning, Miss Renata.”
“Renata is fine,” I tell her instantly.
“As you wish,” she says with a smile. “I’ve come to take you back up to your room.”
“My room?”
“Master Kian says it is no longer necessary for you to be confined to the cell,” she explains. “You have freedom of the house now.”
I blink at her. “Say that again.”
“You’re free to go where you want,” she says. “Just so long as it’s within the confines of the mansion. It’s a big mansion, though.”
“He’s really releasing me from here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She raises her eyebrows. “You’d have to ask him, Renata.”
“Right… Well, okay then.”
“Shall I walk you back to your room?”
“Yes, please.”
We head out of the cell together. It takes me awhile to adjust to the blinding light that hits me from all angles the moment we leave the basement. We walk into my room and Aisling shuts the door behind us.
“How about a shower?” she offers.
I can’t stop the sigh from escaping my lips. “Nothing sounds better.”
“I’ll prepare—”
“I can shower by myself, thank you,” I tell her firmly. “But I would like you to stay. Maybe you can show me around the house when I’m done?”
She looks happy with that proposition. “I’d like that, Renata.”
I give her a parting nod and step into the bathroom. After almost two days in a cell in the basement, everything feels doubly luxurious. I bypass the massive tub and head straight into the shower.
I end up in there longer than I’d planned, soaking up the hot water and trying to ignore the maelstrom of thoughts in my head. But I can’t bring myself to be sorry when I emerge twenty minutes later, feeling clean and vibrant.
I towel myself off, blow-dry my hair, and slip on the fluffy white robe hanging on the wall next to the door. When I walk back into the room, Aisling is standing by the window, gazing out at the ocean below.
“Master Kian had a selection of clothes brought up for you,” she tells me, walking straight to the wardrobe and opening it up for me.
I expect a few choices. Maybe a pair of pants and a couple of t-shirts. But what I have is a full-scale wardrobe. Pants, jeans, skirts, dresses. T-shirts for casual wear and a variety of different blouses that range from business chic to just downright expensive.
I look down and notice there are at least a dozen pairs of shoes staring back at me. I bypass the heels and bend down to pick up the shiny pair of Nikes in the corner.
“He brought all these for me?” I ask, incredulous.