I eat while staring out the windows, trying to process my new reality. Yesterday I was a captive. Today I’m a princess in a tower.
There’s a knock, followed by Lionel’s voice. “Mrs. Moretti? Would you like to tour the grounds?”
“Yes.”
He’s waiting in the hallway, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him. The bruises on his face have faded to yellow and green.
“Where would you like to start?” he asks.
“Surprise me.”
We walk through gardens that could be featured in magazines. Every flower is precisely placed, every hedge trimmed tomathematical exactness. Fountains spray water in elaborate patterns while classical music drifts from hidden speakers.
“The stables are this way,” Lionel says, leading me down a stone path.
The building appears around a bend, and I stop walking. It’s not just a stable. It’s a goddamn horse palace. White columns support a red tile roof. Brass fittings gleam on every stall door.
“How many horses?” I ask.
“Twelve. Mr. Moretti enjoys polo.”
Right.
Inside, the smell of hay and leather fills the air. Horses poke their heads over stall doors, curious about the newcomer. A beautiful mare with a white blaze down her face nickers at me.
“She’s gorgeous,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her neck.
“That’s Athena. She’s Mr. Moretti’s favorite.”
The horse nuzzles my palm, looking for treats. I find myself smiling for the first time since waking up. “I want to ride her.”
“I’d need to check with?—”
“I’m not asking, Lionel.”
He hesitates. “Yes, ma’am. But I’ll need to accompany you.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m mounted on Athena with Lionel beside me on a bay gelding. The horse responds to my touch like we’ve known each other for years. We ride through fields that stretch for miles, past a polo field with professional quality goals.
This place is ridiculous. Absolutely, completely ridiculous.
And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.
“Where’s Alaric?” I ask as we walk the horses back to the stable.
“Mr. Moretti had business in Chicago. He’ll be back for dinner.”
“He travels often?”
“When necessary. The family has interests in several cities.”
I file that information away. Knowing his schedule might be useful someday.
Back at the house, Maria intercepts me in the main hallway. “Mrs. Moretti, your gifts have arrived.”
“What gifts?”
She leads me to my room, where a dozen boxes are stacked near the windows. Expensive packaging, designer labels, ribbons.
