Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
The stone beneath it all is some kind of expensive-looking slate in varying shades of gray—not your Home Depot special, but the kind that was probably hand-selected from an exclusive quarry in Italy where they only mine during specific phases of the moon.
It’s beautiful in that untouchable way that reminds you of your place in the world. People like me don’t get patios like this. We get fire escapes if we’re lucky, or a sliver of concrete behind an apartment building where the super stores broken appliances.
The whole setup is so pristine it makes my teeth hurt. Like everything else in Giovanni’s world, it’s designed to make ordinary people feel inadequate. Mission accomplished.
“Well,” I breathe, suddenly realizing that Giovanni has been studying me as I internally monologued about the patio. “That is… a lovely space.” I smile at him, showing all my teeth. Suddenly, everything about this moment feels awkward. “I… think it looks like a nice place to have a cup of coffee.”
“Right.” He gestures to the door. “I was thinking that. I’ll go get us some from the main house.”
“You don’t have a coffee maker in your pool house?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Giovanni looks momentarily confused, as if I’ve asked why he doesn’t have a personal helicopter pad. “I... like a French press, as you well know.”
“Ohhhh, that’s right,” I repeat slowly. The memory of the coffee I drank yesterday hits like a joke. Which it was, I think. “Kopi Ludwig. Made from animal poop—for discerning tastebuds only. Mmm. Yum, I can’t wait.”
“Luwak,” he says, but he’s smiling. “Kopi Luwak. And no, I don’t drink that shit. I told you.”
“No, it’s only for guests.”
He smiles. It’s kinda big, too. “What did it taste like?”
My eyebrows go up again. “You’ve never tasted it?”
“No, it’s gross.” He starts to laugh, but then turns away, heading towards the door. Probably so I can’t watch and take notes. “I’ll be right back. We’ll eat on the patio. We didn’t have dinner yesterday.”
Or lunch, I think as my stomach grumbles furiously in agreement. But I don’t say it out loud. No need to remind him how long he kept me standing at that motorized desk in those torture devices he calls shoes.
“Put on yesterday’s white outfit. You can change into something else when we get home. We’re leaving in thirty minutes to go back to Riverview.”
Wow. There’s a lot to unpack in those three sentences. When we get ‘home’ stands out the most. But I don’t ask questions, just give him a little salute. “Sure thing, boss.”
He gives me a look that says he knows I’m mocking him but chooses to ignore it. Then he’s gone, closing the front door behind him and leaving me alone with my thoughts and yesterday’s clothes.
I get out of bed, wincing at the soreness between my legs. A physical reminder of choices I’m still not sure I should have made.
I pick up the discarded white outfit from where it landed on the floor yesterday afternoon. My mind drifting to the attic bedroom back in Giovanni’s Riverview mansion. The one with the color-coded garment bags hanging in perfect formation. White, black, pink, peach, gray, red, light green. A rainbow of control, each one containing another version of the woman Giovanni wants me to be.
Everything is so confusing now. Yesterday morning, this was just a job. A weird, boundary-crossing job with a system of demerits and rewards, but still just a job. A means to an end. Thirty-one thousand dollars and my freedom.
But now? Now there’s been poetry in wisteria tunnels and confessions in the dark. Now there’s been “Do you like me?” and my body’s betrayal when he touches me. Now there’s been his trauma and mine, laid bare like matching wounds.
It doesn’t feel like a game anymore. Games have rules you can understand, strategies you can plan. This feels like freefall.
I slip off the shirt and shorts I took from Giovanni’s closet last night and stand naked in the middle of the room, vulnerable in more ways than one. Maybe this is working? Maybe I can survive this game after all?
The white outfit feels like a costume now, a role I’m not sure I want to play anymore. But what choice do I have? Twenty-one days until homelessness. Five demerits left after points shuffling of last night.
I’m just about to step into the skirt when I hear soft footsteps behind me.
“Did you forget something—” I begin, turning around.
But it’s not Giovanni.
It’s Rico.
And I’m… naked.
His eyes crawl over every inch of my body like invasive insects.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My mind scrambles through options like I’m speed-dating catastrophes. Cover myself? No—that’s what prey does. Run? To where, exactly? The bathroom with its flimsy lock that a toddler could kick through?
“Giovanni will be back any second,” I say, my voice impressively steady for someone whose heart is trying to punch its way out of her chest. “He just went to get coffee. Feel free to wait on the patio.”