Some movement around me creates noise, and I flinch when a wave of excruciating pain pierces my brain.
This time, my groan sounds like that of a dying person, or at least that’s what it sounds like to me.
“I brought water for you. Open.” The person—a man, guessing by the deep voice—puts a hand under my head to hold me in a half-upright position and presses something cool against my lips.
I eagerly open my mouth.
I drink and drink until the bottle is empty. Only then does my brain register the taste, and the fact that it doesn’t taste like water. There’s definitely something mixed in it.
“What?” It’s all I can get out, my brain still fuzzy.
“It’s just painkillers, I swear.” He lowers me to the bed again—I think it’s a bed—and smooths some hair away from my forehead.
I cringe at the touch, but my body is too weak to move away.
“Get some more sleep, bellissima.”
His voice—and the way he says those words—triggers something in my brain, but the notion is gone before I can catch it, and the buzzing in my head gets too loud to think at all, pulling me back under.
The next time I’m conscious, my brain and body feel different. I’m still not a hundred percent, but I don’t feel nearly as weak or disoriented as last time. I open one eye carefully, and when nothing but a low thumping comes from my head, I open the other one as well.
I have no idea what time, or even day, it is, but there’s soft light coming from two high, narrow windows on one side of the room. A bedroom. It’s bare, except for the bed I’m lying in, a small table next to it, and an armchair a few feet away.
It’s facing my way, and the hairs at the back of my neck rise at the idea that someone might have been sitting there watching me while I slept.
While my brain feels much clearer, my thoughts sharper, my memories are still fuzzy. I remember a man talking to me, giving me some water to drink with painkillers, but that’s about it. I have no memory of how I got here or what happened before I woke up.
Or how I got shackled to the bed. I glance at my wrist and gasp since the handcuff is gone. My bladder uses that moment to scream at me, and after scanning the room again, I’m hopeful that one of the closed doors leads to a bathroom.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, relieved when I see I’m wearing my own clothes and nothing looks out of place. My hoodie jacket is over my workout shirt and my sweatpants are over my workout shorts. Why am I wearing all of these layers? My brain continues to try and put the puzzle pieces together while I make my way to what I think is the bathroom on only slightly wobbly legs.
The bathroom is tiny and almost completely empty besides the toilet, a sink, and a bathtub. I ignore the surroundings and take care of business. The walk back to the bed is steadier than before, so I continue walking to the windows, hoping to see anything familiar that could help me figure out where I am.
But before I can make it, noise is coming from outside the door, and I slip back into bed, lying down with my eyes closed.
The door creaks open, and my body instantly reacts. My chest feels tight like my lungs aren’t working properly, and my heart beats so wildly behind my ribs, I’m a little worried I might go into cardiac arrest.
Footsteps approach, stopping close to me from the sound of it.
“I know you’re awake, piccolina.”
The voice, my childhood nickname. My eyes fly open, and I stare straight into my cousin’s face. Frederico smiles at me, and I bolt upright.
Despite feeling much better, I get a little dizzy from the quick movement and steady my position with my hand on the mattress. “What the hell is going on?”
He sits in the chair—my brain in total overdrive—as another thought pops into my head.
“You’re back. That means my dad is back too.”
Frederico opens his mouth, but I’m faster as something clicks in place in my brain. “Oh, my goodness. Porca puttana.” Holy shit indeed. “I can’t believe it. Did my papà set this up? Did he tell you to bring me here?” I rush to my feet, and once the dizziness subsides, I shuffle back and forth between the bed and the bathroom. I’m still a little sluggish and unbalanced but manage to stay upright.
My cousin watches me, but he stays quiet while I do all the talking.
I throw my arms in the air. “He totally did, didn’t he? He couldn’t take it that I was out of his grasp, and he knew I really didn’t want to marry Emilio, so he sent you to do what, exactly? Keep me hostage until the wedding?”
That gets a reaction out of Frederico. He jolts in his seat, his whole body turning rigid. “You’re not going to marry Emilio.”
His jaw is so tense, I’m surprised he’s able to unlock it enough to talk.