Then why the anger?
It doesn’t take us long to arrive at The Castle, and I’ve managed to convince myself that him being troubled is all in my mind. But this doesn’t feel like the sort of erotic expectation I get before he punishes me. This feels like something else.
A car I haven’t seen before sits in the driveway. I don’t think much about it because people are always visiting The Castle. It’s a large house, with many occupants, and the Rossi family is wealthy and popular. This could be the President of the United States for all I know. Doubtful, but still.
I’ve checked in with Elise, and I know her father and the rest of her family are still in Italy. Still…it wouldn’t take much for the ruse to be up. I’ve maybe grown complacent knowing that he cares for me, told myself that even if he did find out who I am, he’ll forgive it.
But maybe I’m lying to myself.
So I don’t ask him who’s here. He opens the car door, gets out, and then reaches for my hand. The chilly wind kicks up as I step outside of the car.
“Looks like she might’ve arrived early. I was saving that as a surprise for you.”
Surprise? Trepidation builds in my belly. I don’t know if any surprises are good right now.
“I’d like to take you on another tour of The Castle, this one showing you many more rooms we haven’t seen before,” he says. There’s a knife-edged tone to his voice, sharp and alarming to me. He’s angry.
Is he angry at me?
Does he know I’m not Elise?
“As far as our guests, we don’t have any. I think Rosa may have come home. Santo said that she might. And as much as I miss her, I’m not in the mood to visit tonight. I’d like to show you around The Castle, and then take you upstairs. We’ll meet Rosa in the morning.”
Oh no. Oh no oh no. Rosa will know I’m not Elise. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe I should tell him everything…
“This right here is the entryway.” His voice is a little aloof, detached, refined. It’s as if he’s giving a tour of The Castle to a stranger. I reach for his hand, but he doesn’t take it. Instead he takes my elbow roughly and helps me up the stairs so I don’t stumble, then releases me when we get to the top.
Something is gravely wrong. Has Rosa already seen me? Does she know that I’m not Elise?
When we enter the front door, I hear laughter from the other room. Voices rise and fall, and glasses clink together. The family’s rejoicing that Rosa’s come home. Rosa, Elise’s friend. I don’t know how I ever thought I’d get away with this, that I’d escape his wrath.
Thankfully, the noise of the family chatting and eating fades into the background as he takes my hand in his much larger, rougher one, and escorts me out of the foyer. There’s a sort of gleam in his eye I don’t miss.
“Everything alright?”
“Mm,” he says distractedly. “We usually eat in the dining room, but last night we convened in the Great Hall.”
“The room with the huge ceilings and flags?”
He nods. “Beyond the Hall is a courtyard. It’s a family favorite in the warmer months because of the indoor pool.”
What? No way. “You have an indoor pool?”
He nods again, still distracted, as if he’s mulling something over. I imagine there are lots of things on his mind.
“I’ll show you that later. Right now, I want to show you the back of the house.”
Taking my hand, he shows me everything. I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time when I see the magnificent home, and at the back of my mind I wonder where we’re going next. His steps are quicker than I’m used to, and I find myself walking faster to keep up with him.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond. “This is the pantry,” he says, gesturing to a large room that looks like a small office, laden with every food item one could imagine. “Next to the kitchen and behind here is the war room where my father used to work.”
“You haven’t told me much about your father,” I say softly. The war room looks like a study, lined with shelves and books and a heavy desk.
“My father was not a good man,” he says softly, running his hand thoughtfully along the doorframe as he gazes inside the room.
“No?”
Shaking his head, he clears his throat. “He hated me because I didn’t like doing my job. I didn’t like hurting people.”
I wonder if he really means that in the past tense.
I come closer and sidle up next to him, my side flush against his. “You sure like hurting people now,” I tease.
He actually chuckles a bit at that. “Maybe you.”