Chapter 87 -
The morning sun crept across the floor like an unwelcome guest, pushing through the gaps in the curtains with golden fingers that seemed determined to drag Nia back into the world of the living. She watched it from beneath the fortress of blankets she had constructed around herself, her eyes following the slow march of light across the expensive rug without really seeing it.
Her head still hurt. Not the sharp, stabbing pain of earlier, but a dull ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, reminding her with every throb that last night had actually happened. That she had actually walked to Leo’s room, knocked on his door, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her lips to his.
The memory made her pull the blankets tighter, creating a cocoon of darkness and shame that felt safer than facing the reality of what she had done.
“This is fine,” Nia muttered to herself, her voice muffled by the layers of fabric. “This is perfectly fine. People hide in their rooms all the time. It is a completely normal thing to do.”
Except it was not normal. Nothing about this situation was normal. Normal people did not kiss their captors. Normal people did not fall for the man who had kidnapped them and threatened their lives. Normal people had better sense than to develop feelings for someone who had made it abundantly clear that caring about him was the fastest way to get hurt.
But Nia had never been particularly good at being normal.
A knock at the door made her freeze. She held her breath, staying perfectly still beneath the blankets like a child hiding from monsters, hoping that if she just remained quiet enough, whoever was out there would assume she was still asleep and go away.
“Miss Wallace?” It was Rosa’s voice, gentle but firm. “I have brought you breakfast.”
“I am not hungry,” Nia called back without moving. Her voice came out flat, lifeless, like all the energy had been drained out of her overnight.
The door opened anyway. Of course it did. Privacy was not really a thing in this house, especially not when Rosa decided someone needed taking care of. Nia heard the soft click of the latch, the quiet whisper of hinges, the careful footsteps approaching the bed.
“I did not say you could come in,” Nia said to the darkness under her blankets.
“You did not say I could not,” Rosa replied. There was the sound of a tray being set down on the nightstand, the gentle clink of silverware against china. “And since you are still my responsibility, whether you like it or not, I am coming in.”
Nia pulled the blankets down just enough to glare at Rosa over the edge. The older woman was standing beside the bed with her hands on her hips, looking down at Nia with an expression that was equal parts concern and exasperation.
“You look like a sad burrito,” Rosa observed.
“I feel like a sad burrito,” Nia admitted. She let the blankets drop back over her face. “A sad, humiliated burrito who made terrible life choices.”
“We all make terrible life choices sometimes,” Rosa said. Nia felt the bed dip as Rosa sat down on the edge of the mattress. “That is part of being human.”
“I kissed him,” Nia said. Saying it out loud to Rosa made it real in a way that thinking it had not been. “I actually went to his room and kissed him. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking that you care about him,” Rosa said simply. “And there is nothing wrong with that.”
“There is everything wrong with that,” Nia argued. She finally pushed the blankets off her face completely, squinting against the light that now seemed painfully bright. “He is my captor. I am his prisoner. I am not supposed to care about him. I am supposed to hate him and plot my escape and definitely not develop feelings that make me do stupid things like show up at his door at two in the morning.”
Rosa reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from Nia’s face, her touch gentle and maternal. “The heart does not always follow the rules we set for it.”
“Well, it should,” Nia said stubbornly. “It should have better sense. It should know that falling for Leonardo DeSanto is the worst possible idea.”
“Should have, could have, would have,” Rosa said with a small smile. “Those words do not change what is. They only make us feel worse about things we cannot undo.”
Nia stared up at the ceiling, at that small crack in the plaster she had been studying earlier. “He pushed me away. After he kissed me back, after he held me like I mattered, he just pushed me away and called you to take me back to my room.”
“I know,” Rosa said softly.
“He said it was a mistake,” Nia continued. The words kept spilling out now that she had started, like a dam breaking. “He said I was drunk and emotional and that anything between us was wrong because of the power imbalance. He made it very clear that I am nothing more than his prisoner.”
“And do you believe that?” Rosa asked. “Do you truly believe that is all you are to him?”
Nia thought about it. About the way Leo’s hand had tangled in her hair when he kissed her. About the desperation in the way he had held her, like he was afraid she might disappear. About the fear in his eyes when he pushed her away, like he was terrified of what he was feeling.
“I do not know what to believe anymore,” Nia said quietly. “I thought I saw something real. I thought maybe underneath all his walls and his grief and his guilt, there was a man who could feel something for me. But maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.”
“Or maybe you saw exactly what was there,” Rosa said. “And it scared him so badly that he ran away from it.”
“That does not make it hurt less,” Nia pointed out.
“No,” Rosa agreed. “It does not. But it does mean that this is not about you being unworthy or unimportant. It is about him being too afraid to let himself have something good.”
Nia rolled onto her side, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I do not want to talk about this anymore.”
“Alright,” Rosa said easily. “Then we will talk about breakfast instead. I brought you eggs and toast and fresh fruit. And coffee, because you look like you need it.”
“I already had coffee,” Nia said. “Lucia brought me some earlier.”
“One cup of coffee is not enough,” Rosa declared. She stood and moved to the nightstand, picking up the tray and bringing it over to the bed. “Especially not after the night you had.”
The smell of food made Nia’s stomach turn. “I told you, I am not hungry.”
“You have not eaten since yesterday afternoon,” Rosa pointed out. She set the tray down on the bed beside Nia, refusing to be deterred. “Your body needs fuel, even if your heart is broken.”