Page 153 of Captive Ruin

“It’s fi—okay. You had work to do.”

“Yes, I did. And I’m not done with it, either.”

He said as much last night. “Will you be here long?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He waves a hand. “Well, I am, but you’ll be coming with me. I’m not leaving you again.”

“Oh.” Perhaps he’s expecting me to ask where we’ll be going, but I don’t. I’m a captive wherever I am, so it makes little difference.

I take another sip of my orange juice, looking out the window. A sparrow dances free on the balcony railing.

“Amelia…” He leans forward, reaching for my hand. I pull mine away, and he lets his fall to the table. Then he makes a fist.

I stare at it, wondering if he’ll hit me. He hasn’t… spankings are different. I mean harm me. But he promised he never would. Then again, he’s broken promises before, however inadvertently.

“What do you need?” he asks, intensity in his steel-grey eyes. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll make it happen.”

He can’t mean that. He’s probably offering to get me a new book, or something.

Still, worth a try.

“My own car? I tried to buy one, but Tony said no.”

His fist loosens, and he leans back. “I’m sorry, that was my fault, not Tony’s. I still don’t want you going out. It’s not safe, not until this… work… is resolved.”

As expected. I nod in resignation. “Then I have everything I need.” Because he won’t give me my freedom.

A long, not particularly comfortable silence ensues. He stares at me; I force down sips of my juice, keeping my eyes on the bird outside. If only he hadn’t clipped my wings… perhaps I could somehow join it in flight.

“There’s a Company dance in the city at the end of March,” he says, giving ‘company’ a subtle emphasis. “I’d like you to come with me.”

Great, socializing. That won’t be awkward at all. “Sure.”

“And then we’ll be going to Montana, to stay with Bastien.”

“Okay.”

He shifts his weight, like he’s about to stand. “I… uh… have some calls to make. Some urgent matters to resolve.”

“Go ahead.”

His jaw clenches again. “Would you—” He cuts himself off and sighs. “How many times do you want me to say sorry?”

“None.”

“Damn it, Amelia!” His fist thumps into the edge of the table with a loud bang, making me flinch. I set my glass down quickly, folding my hands in my lap, lowering my eyes.

I’m aware he’s staring at me.

“I… I would never…” He goes still, but I keep my gaze down. “I’ll see you later,” he says wearily, then stands up and walks out.

The door clicks shut behind him.

I don’t see Van Wyk again for the rest of the day, and he doesn’t come to my room at night. I assume he sleeps in his own room.

Maybe he’s angry with me. If he is, no doubt I’ll find out sooner or later. But what more can he do to me that he hasn’t already?

And so it continues, day after day. We manage to avoid each other so well that I would think he’d left, if it wasn’t that I hear him about and catch the odd glimpse of him. When I do, he looks like he wants to talk, then his expression turns guilty and he hurries away.