Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I pull the bikini bottoms on and lace up the sides. Then, I slide my arms into the spaghetti straps and fasten it in the back. I feel nearly naked, but I’m craving the touch of the sun on my skin. I need this so I can let go of some of the anxiety I’m carrying around. There’s nothing I can do for Brandon from here, and hiding away in this bedroom isn’t going to help anyone.
I step out into the hall, looking both left and right to see if I’m alone. I don’t see any of the maids or any of Francisco’s men. Even my bodyguard is missing, and for that, I’m grateful. Of course, they’re all probably in the villa somewhere, maybe in the living room or sleeping in their own quarters. I’m under no illusion that I’ll be able to sneak out and make it to the American embassy when I don’t even know where in Italy I am, but that’s not my preferred destination anyway.
I hurry down the hall, retracing my steps, trying to remember how to get outside to the pool. I find the patio doors just beyond the living room. Sliding them open takes a little bit of force, but as soon as I manage to do it, the world opens up in front of me.
The air is sweeter here than it is back home. I don’t know if that’s because I’m used to living in the city, and this villa is far enough away not to attract any smog or congestion. Or maybe it’s because Italy itself is sweeter than America. It doesn’t matter. The sun is shining, and the birds are chirping.
The pool itself looks inviting, and I drop the towel I’ve brought with me on one of the lounge chairs. I walk to the other side of the pool where stairs lead down into the shallow end. The water is colder than I’m expecting, but it feels so good as it collects around my toes.
I step in deeper, and the water swirls around my ankles. I shiver as it crosses my calves and eventually opens up to swallow my thighs. By the time I’m waist-deep, standing on the shallow end of the pool, I feel refreshed. I remember being a kid and swimming at the Y. Brandon and I would make a game out of who could go under first.
I hold my breath and plunge beneath the surface. The world stops, and I’m suspended halfway above the floor. I float for as long as I can hold my breath, wishing that the water could wash away all my troubles. When it doesn’t, I decide that a few laps are in order.
I carefully stretch each arm forward and back, remembering my strokes from when I was younger. The more I swim, the faster I can go, until I’m back and forth from one wall to the next in under thirty seconds.
I’ve warmed up considerably, and I feel like now is a good time to take a break. The exercise got my heart pumping, and I feel ten thousand times better than I did last night. I almost manage to forget that my brother is still missing and my husband-to-be is still a monster. An attractive monster to be sure, maybe even an attractive, thoughtful monster, but still a monster.
I half wish that he could see me as I emerge from the pool, dripping and glistening in the sun. I sneak a glance over at the patio, but it’s empty. No one’s watching. With a sigh, I walk around to the lounge chair and sit down.
The sun is in my eyes, and I realize what that hat was for. Whoever gave it to me knew all about the brilliance of the morning light. I could sneak back inside to grab it, but I don’t want to leave wet footprints everywhere. So I just close my eyes and relax, letting my worries drain away.
After a few minutes, maybe ten or twenty, I decide I want a drink. It’s early in the morning, but who cares? I’m not on vacation. I’m a captive here. If I want to drink, then that’s my business.
I get up to investigate the bar I saw earlier. It’s an ornate wooden cabinet with a shiny mirrored top. It’s located beneath the eaves of the villa to protect it from the weather. I wonder if it’s going to be locked, but to my delight, it opens right up.
There are at least a dozen liquor bottles lined up, along with some of the more popular cocktail mixes. Francisco thought of everything. I select a glass and mix myself a martini, even discovering a jar of olives and a package of toothpicks.
It’s fancier than I’m used to, but it feels right. I take my drink back to my seat and sip while I watch the silent water. The only thing wrong with this picture is Brandon’s situation. If only I knew he was safe, I could let myself relax fully.