I crossed to my dresser and flung off the box’s lid. Inside lay a pair of silken panties, black with pictures of strawberries all over them. They looked almost innocent with that unique pattern until I lifted them to discover they too were crotchless. Beneath was another note.
Strawberries to match your glistening strawberry lips, farfalla. Both sets. Just wait to see what I can do with each, not to mention the real fruit.
I read over the words again, unsure of why he’d said, “both sets.” Then when it dawned on me that he meant both sets oflips, I felt my face heat, probably going just as red as he’d described. My nipples instantly beaded as the space between my legs grew damp. Damn him! Controlling me with nothing more than some handwritten words on a scrap of paper. And yet unbidden, a voice inside of me offered a counterpoint.
You know you like it.
As I crawled back into bed, I sighed, knowing it was true.
The next evening brought a matching strawberry bra with a detail I’d never seen on such a piece of clothing before. The space for each nipple had been cut out, not raggedly as an amateur might do with a pair of scissors, but professionally. The garment had been made that way. Purposely. And by now, I knew the reason why.
The subsequent night when Philippa brought my dinner, I saw that she wasn’t carrying any gifts, and I felt a glut of relief. Maybe he’d chosen to offer me a reprieve. But then, she revealed what I’d be dining on that night.
“Strawberries fromSignoreRomeo,” she said. “He told me not to wrap them this time.”
So Philippa had been doing his dirty work. Wrapping and boxing up the gifts. Possibly going out and buying them as well. That meant my maid knew every debauched thing he’d sent to me since I’d been brought here. I tore my gaze from her, mortified.
The seventh night the gift felt different. Denser and heavier yet not very big. I opened it and gasped, finding a picture of my parents on their wedding day. They too had been brokered into an arranged marriage, but they’d grown to truly love one another over the years. I knew my father would’ve done almost anything for my mother, and she would’ve done the same for him. As horrendous as witnessing them dying on the same day had been for me, at least neither had to stay behind and be widowed for the other.
Still, seeing them so young and full of promise took my breath away. I fell to weeping as my sorrow for them strangled me as acutely as it had right after it’d happened. I clasped the frame to my chest as I slumped on my mattress crying for what I’d lost, for what my siblings had lost, and what my parents had lost, too. They would never meet any of their grandchildren, never know what other joys might’ve lit up their lives had they survived. Had the Cavettis not mown them down.
I bawled so loudly that I didn’t hear anyone come in until I felt a hand on my shoulder, twisting me around.
Romeo.
He wore an inscrutable expression as he scrutinized me. “How did you like your last gift,farfalla?”
A spire of fury rocketed through my system, bringing me swiftly to my feet.
“How dare you?” I demanded. “You did this intentionally to hurt me, to make me suffer. You are mean and vile and cruel, Romeo Cavetti. And someday, thanks to me, you’ll feel just as awful as I do.” As a last act of defiance, I threw the frame at his head with every ounce of my strength.
He caught it mere inches from his face, his eyes going cold and stormy. Abruptly I comprehended that baiting this man was tantamount to courting death, and I took a step backward. Unfortunately, there was nowhere for me to go, and he seized me by my wrists, throwing me down on the bed. Tearing off his necktie, he bound my left wrist to one of the posts on the four-poster frame, then used a zip tie to secure the right one.
Unbuttoning my blouse, he began to take it off but I bucked, making his job far more difficult. From his pocket he removed something I couldn’t see, then after placing the object no more than an inch from my eyes, flicked it open. Only then did he back up so the item would come into focus. It was a switchblade.
“Youwillstop fighting me, Lucia, or I will use this knife to gut you.”
I froze, having no doubt that he would run me through without compunction. Tears remained on my face, but I was no longer weeping. My anger had abandoned me, and all I knew was terror. I quit resisting him, and he made quick work of the rest of my clothing, leaving me utterly bare. He took each of my ankles and tied them to the remaining two posts, leaving me forcibly spread eagle on the bed. He took the switchblade and drew the edge of it along my cheekbone, making me lie absolutely motionless.
“There’s a good girl,” Romeo whispered, his features more serene now that he had me where he wanted me. He poked his chin out at the knife. It wasn’t the same one he’d used for the blood pact. It was newer. Fancier. “Isn’t this lovely? My father gave it to me. It has a pearl inlaid handle and the blade is made of stainless steel. It won’t rust. Even if I leave it out in the rain. Even if it’s covered in blood.”
I trembled in fear. I couldn’t help it.
“Do you see now why you must always obey me? It is a wife’s duty, and you are still to be mine.”
I quit breathing.
“The thing about knife play is the inherent hazardousness of it.” He tilted his head almost thoughtfully and brought the blade close to my eyelashes. “With next to no effort, I could blind you.” He lowered it to my nose. “Maim you.” It descended to my neck near my jugular. “Slice your throat.”
“Or,” he continued, dragging the handle along the fullness of my breast. “I can give you pleasure.” The handle descended toward my core, the blunt end tracing the delicate tissues of my center and making me shudder, though whether from fright or sexual excitement, I couldn’t have said.
“Do you understand now how important it is for you to cooperate with me? To please me?”
I nodded.
“Say it. And say my name.”
“Yes, I understand, Romeo,” I wheezed out.
