Is that from apprehension or anticipation?
“You don’t need to look so dejected,” Tristano says to me, his harsh tone yanking me from my jumbled thoughts. “I won’t be sleeping tonight, so you needn’t worry about sharing the space with me.”
I release a breath and then halt it mid-stream when his glower intensifies. It’s clear that nothing I do or say will keep Tristano from releasing his anger toward me. Although unfair, there’s nothing I can do except quickly get to the solitude on the other side of the bedroom door.
However, I won’t lock it, because when I did that at the hotel he was far from pleased.
Beni opens his mouth as though to say something but then presses his lips together. His gaze darts between me and Tristano, and I give him a small shrug, trying to tell him that I’m just going to accept the situation and not worry about it.
It’s a partial truth because I’m going to go along with Tristano’s decision, but I’m totally going to worry about it. Not because I’m scared of being around Tristano. It’s that I don’t trust myself around him. He confuses me, makes me question my instincts, and until I organize my thoughts, I need to stay away from him.
“Have a good night then, boss,” Beni says, still eyeing Tristano warily. Then he shifts to face me. “Have a good night too, okay, Violet?”
The note of concern touches my heart.I’ll be fine.
He nods, but I’m not sure if he believes me. However, Beni heads to the living room, leaving me alone with Tristano. He opens the door to the bedroom and tilts his head, indicating I should enter. I’m quick to walk, while doing my best not to scurry past him like frightened prey.
Once I’m inside my gaze hones in on the massive four-poster bed, the sheer white curtains pulled back to enable me a view of the ivory bedding and decorative pillows. I’m positive that Tristano, Beni, and I could all sleep in it without touching each other. Not the best image, yet it’s better than imagining me and Tristano alone.
Maybe not better, but definitely safer.
I move further into the room and approach the bed once I notice the bundle of clothing off to the side. It’s definitely intended for a woman, if the purple flowers along the neckline are any indication. I lift the garment and hold it up to inspect it. The nightgown is made of silk, something finer and more expensive than I’ve ever owned.
“Are you going to wear that?”
With a scream building in my throat, I swing around to face Tristano while clutching the nightie to my chest as though it’s a shield.
“My apologies,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
It’s more like he exorcised my soul from my body but whatever.
I shrug at him, my heart still pounding crazily.
“You know I don’t consider that a response.”
It takes me a moment to recall his demand that I speak or mouth every word to him. I can’t understand why he’s so concerned about my communication. My theory is Tristano enjoys domineering over others. He’s certainly bossy enough.
No, I mouth. Then I reach behind me and blindly place the nightgown on the bed. Feeling exposed and not having something to do with my hands, I fold my arms and wait. For what? I have no clue, yet his body language indicates he’s in no hurry to let me go to sleep.
“Lying to me is never a good idea,ribelle.” He leans against the wall opposite of me and crosses his arms. That’s way more intimidating when he does it. “I saw the way your eyes lit up when you first looked at the garment, so I know you want to wear it.”
I bite my inner cheek, unsure of what to do next. He’s right, but it doesn’t matter since he’s not going to see me in it. I hope my lack of response will encourage him to drop the subject.
It doesn’t.
“Put it on,” he says.
He peruses my body, starting with my face and working his way down the length of me, only to slowly drag his gaze back up until we’re staring at one another. After the intense scrutiny his eyes are much brighter when they find mine. My lungs compress as though a vacuum has formed inside, sucking all the air from my chest. I stare at Tristano with my mouth agape and my eyes wide.
“I’m not going to repeat myself,” he says, “but what I will say is it’ll be my pleasure to assist, if you can’t manage on your own in a timely manner.”
Seconds pass and finally the meaning of his words penetrates the fog of incredulity floating in my brain. I snatch up the nightie and all but run to the adjoining bathroom, intending to lock the door and never come out.
Childish, sure. But I’m technically not a legal adult.
Until tomorrow.
Violetta
