“I do give a shit. That’s half the reason why it was so important to show up for this session.”
“What’s the other half of the reason?”
I meet his gaze, unflinching. “It’s either that, or I sit here and go crazy.” I mean, why mask the truth? There are no illusions between us anymore. I’ll be damned if I’m going to spare his feelings by trying to sugarcoat things. “How do you do this? How do you just walk around the house and go on with your life while holding me prisoner?”
Without missing a beat, he answers, “You get used to it.”
Dumbfounded, I stare at him with my jaw hanging open. What the fuck? “What does that even mean? I’m supposed to get used to this? Or are you used to having prisoners? Oh god, am I not the only one you have done this to?”
“You think too much into the shit I say.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, we’ve never held anyone else prisoner, and no, I’ve never forced my cock down someone else’s throat… unless they asked for it, of course.”
“You are unbelievable.” Every time I think there might be a tiny bit of a good person in there, he crushes that thought like an anvil would crush a daisy.
“Anyway, I’ll be taking this back now.” He gets up, snatching his laptop away from me and any hope of my reaching the outside world along with it. It isn’t easy to hold back my emotions, but I manage it.
Before he can leave the room, I murmur, “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. It meant a lot.”
“Don’t thank me,” he mutters as he closes the door. “You don’t know what is planned for you tonight.”
* * *
At seven o’clock on the dot, the lock clicks. It’s showtime.
Nix opens the door. “Come on. Dinner is ready.” I stand up, shaking, almost wishing we didn’t have to go through the farce of sitting down and having a meal together. Like we’re some kind of normal family. I’ve never exactly been part of one, but I know this isn’t it.
Instead of leading the way, Nix walks beside me on the stairs. “Listen,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing in the food if you’re worried about that. But if I were you, I would have a glass of wine with dinner.”
“Why is that?”
“It’ll help relax you a little. It will take the edge off. And I know what you’re thinking,” he adds when I snort. “There is nothing in the wine, either. The bottle is unopened. You can watch me open it when we get to the dining room.”
I don’t give a shit about the wine right now. There’s only one thing I care about. “Colt told me there are plans for tonight. Is your father going to join in this time, or will he just watch like before?” I need to know what I’m in for since the obsessing I’ve done since this afternoon hasn’t helped much.
“He won’t touch you himself.” That’s all he has time to say before we enter the dining room.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered in.” James is every inch the gracious host as I take a seat. He reminds me so much of the way he was when I first arrived, practically falling over himself to make sure I have everything I want. It isn’t like I didn’t already know that was merely a lie to mask his true personality, but seeing it now drives the point home. Nothing about this was ever real. Meanwhile, my mother is having the time of her life at a spa, sipping drinks on a beach when she isn’t getting massages and facials and whatever else people do at places like that.
At least the food looks good, even if I don’t have much of an appetite. Something tells me he won’t like it if I don’t eat, though, so I make a point of taking some roast chicken, potatoes and vegetables. Nix uncorks a bottle of white wine and rounds the table to pour some in my glass. Our eyes meet for a single moment, and he pauses like he’s waiting for me to pick up the glass. I don’t. I won’t. He clicks his tongue, turning away before shaking his head like he can’t believe me. Vice versa. I can’t believe him, either.
All through this, Colt hasn’t said a word, pushing food around on his plate. Not exactly a comfortable situation on the whole. Not that I expect it to be any better.
“So Leni. I’ve been wondering.” James gestures toward me with his fork. “Now that you aren’t in gymnastics anymore, has it left a hole in your life?”
“A hole?” It’s almost a normal question. I’m surprised.
“You know what I mean. You spent so much of your life laser-focused on one thing, and now it’s gone.”
“It was a lot to adjust to,” I admit in a soft voice, picking at the chicken while I speak. It’s good. What a shame I don’t feel like eating it.
“I imagine it was quite a blow, your injury.”
“Yes, it was. And it was a lot for Mom to handle, too.” I don’t know why I feel like I should bring her up. Maybe as a reminder of his wife, the woman he married, the woman whose daughter he’s now holding captive.
He doesn’t seem to notice, or else he doesn’t care. “Do you miss it? Gymnastics, I mean.”