I blink, excitement bubbling up despite the lingering awkwardness. "Where?"
He smiles faintly. "You'll see."
I hurry upstairs, heart racing. A trip off the property? After days cooped up here, the thought of fresh air, new sights—it's thrilling. I change back into my jeans and t-shirt, splash water on my face, and run a brush through my hair.
Goldie stays on the bed. I'll be back soon and don’t want to risk losing him wherever it is we’re headed.
Downstairs, Viktor is waiting by the front door, coat on, keys in hand…
“Come,” he says, a hint of warmth in his voice but that edge still there, ever present.
He escorts me outside, his hand light on my lower back—a protective touch that sends a small shiver through me. The morning air is crisp, dew still clinging to the grass. Parked at the side of the house is a sleek Volvo estate car—silver, unassuming, the kind of vehicle that blends into traffic without drawing asecond glance. Perfectly casual, and exactly the kind of vehicle you would expect to see out and about doing some errands.
Viktor opens the passenger door for me, waits until I'm buckled in, then slides into the driver's seat.
We pull out smoothly, the gates opening automatically as we approach.
The woods give way to a winding road, trees flashing by. Curiosity finally overflows…
"Okay, where are we going?" I ask, a slither of determination in my voice. I want answers and Viktor needs to give them.
Viktor glances over, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Nearby village. Picking up art supplies."
I squeal with joy, the sound bursting out before I can stop it. "Really? Oh my God, thank you!"
He chuckles, low and warm. "Behave, and you can have a free run on it.”
I settle back, grinning out the window.
Art supplies. Freedom, even if just for a morning…
The Volvo glides into the village like it belongs there, quiet and unremarkable, just another family car among the handful of parked vehicles lining the main street.
The place is small—stone cottages with flower boxes in the windows, a bakery with steam fogging the glass, a post office that looks like it hasn’t changed in fifty years. It’s quiet but notempty… a few locals walk dogs, an older couple chats outside the greengrocer, a delivery van parked near the cozy looking pub. It’s busy enough that we blend in, but not so crowded that every glance feels like scrutiny.
Perfect.
Viktor parks in a side lane, kills the engine, and turns to me. “Stay close. No running. No scenes.”
I nod, already buzzing with anticipation. “I promise, D….”
I don’t quite say Daddy, but there’s a shared moment between us that means we both know I was thinking it. I blush, but Viktor doesn’t make me suffer and simply carries on as normal.
He gets out first, comes around to open my door—old-fashioned, gentlemanly, and definitely far from the kind of too cool for school Daddies I’ve met in the city—and offers his hand. I take it without thinking.
Viktor’s palm is warm and steady. As we cross the street together, fingers laced, a rush of warmth spreads through my chest, soft and fuzzy, like stepping into sunlight after being cold for too long. I glance up at him and feel something settle inside me. For this moment, walking hand in hand through a sleepy village, he doesn’t feel like my captor. He feels like… he’smine.
Pull yourself together.
This can’t be real.
Can it?
We reach the art supply store, a narrow shopfront with a faded green awning and a bell that tinkles when we push the door open. The smell hits me immediately… fresh paper, turpentine,wood shavings, clay. Heaven. My heart lifts so fast I almost laugh out loud.
Viktor releases my hand and nods toward the aisles. “Pick out what you need. Everything and anything. No limits. But I’ll be expecting to see some great work at the end of it so choose wisely.”
I jump once on my toes, then throw my arms around his neck in a quick and impulsive hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
