I turn slowly to face him. “That is insane.”
When he doesn’t answer, I walk deeper into the room, my flats whispering over the rug as I take in the details. The closet door is open, revealing rows of clothes already hanging inside—blouses, dresses, trousers, even shoes lined up neatly below. Its’ all the clothes I got in London. My stomach tightens.
I move to the windows next. The city sprawls below, dizzyingly far down. Cars stream along the streets like strings of white and red beads, toy-small from this height. The glass is spotless, turning the skyline into something almost unreal. There’s a door tucked beside the far panel leading out to a narrow balcony.
I reach for the handle.
“Birdie.”
I ignore him and turn it. Nothing. I pull harder. Still nothing because it’s locked. My teeth clench.
“Of course.”
“It’s not safe.”
I spin around. “For whom?”
“For you.”
“Everything is always for me with you.” I laugh once, low and ugly. “Do you hear how that sounds?”
“I don’t particularly care how it sounds.”
“No,” I say. “I’ve noticed.”
I turn back to the balcony door and inspect the frame more closely. There’s a slim security strip embedded in the track. Alarmed, then. Maybe magnet-sealed too. I move to the windows next. The ones that look as though they might crack open for fresh air. They don’t.
Behind me, Lorenzo says, “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Wouldn’t that be inconvenient for your plans?”
There’s a pause. Then, in a voice gone rougher than before, “Don’t do that.”
I glance back. “Do what?”
“Act like I wouldn’t care.”
I turn away before he can see how much his words strike home.
I cross the bedroom to the bathroom instead. It’s all pale stone and brushed brass, with a soaking tub by another wall of glass, a shower big enough for six people, twin sinks, and built-in cabinets already stocked with toiletries I never asked for. The medicine drawer holds unopened prenatal vitamins beside my usual products.
When I step back into the bedroom, I head straight for the door and test the lock. It opens into the hall just fine. I stare at it for a second. So he isn’t locking me in the room. Only the penthouse.
“Can I go anywhere in here?” I ask.
He studies me. “Yes.”
“The kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“The living room?”
“Yes.”
“The balcony?”
“No.”
