Page 35 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“Okay.”

“Great.”

When we got to my dorm, he kissed me goodnight. This time it was more than a peck on the lips, a good kiss that under normal circumstances would have left me hungry for more, but I couldn’t help comparing it to the one outside the restroom.

I was definitely in way over my head.

CHAPTER 17

INTERLUDE

Unwanted visitor

FOR THE NEXT three weeks, things settled into a predictable routine. I spent most of my evenings in the Contessa’s room satisfying her sexual whims while my days were whiled away in the lazy boredom of a kept man. On the mornings when I was too weak to rise from my bed, Rosetta would bring me my meals and linger to keep me company. I never knew who carried me back to my room after the Contessa had her way with me or how Rosetta knew when I was unable to care for myself, but she always seemed to anticipate my needs.

As much as I couldn’t escape my sexual attraction to my captor, I also couldn’t deny my growing feelings for her maid. I looked forward to Rosetta’s visits when I was weakened and missed them when I wasn’t. On those days I would rise and go downstairs alone for my comestrio, often taking my meals in the company of Tomasso, to whom I refused to speak unless absolutely necessary. I would sometimes catch a glimpse of Rosetta in the kitchen and we would exchange furtive looks, but our time alone was confined to a few stolen moments here or there or the all-too-brief visits she would arrange to my room in the evenings before the Contessa summoned me.

It was during her evening visit on this day that I noticed she seemed on edge. She had brought me water and towels for my toiletry and had begun to pace while I washed.

“What’s bothering you tonight?” I asked, wondering if perhaps someone had suspected our growing relationship.

She wrung her hands and shook her head, muttering too low for me to hear. I crossed the room and took her hands in mine, forcing her to stop and look at me. “Rosetta, you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

Her expression was miserable when she looked at me. “I wish you didn’t have to go to her tonight.”

I smiled at her. “If it’s any consolation, I would much rather stay here with you.” I touched my finger to her chin and raised her face, leaning in to place a quick kiss on her lips. I knew she was uncomfortable with even this small show of affection, afraid word of it would somehow get back to her mistress, but I was careful never to treat her any differently in public.

“You don’t understand. She has a visitor.”

“A visitor? And who is this person who has you so distraught?”

“His name is Christopher, an Englishman, and he is…”

“What?”

She pulled away from me and began pacing and wringing her hands again. “He is worse than her.”

Worse than her? “You mean he’s like her?”

She stopped pacing and nodded, and I felt something inside me cringe. Another one like her? How many were there, and how did they come to be as they were?

“Why is he here?”

“They are old friends.”

“Has he come here before?”

She nodded again. “The staff…we try to stay out of his way when he’s here. He likes to play games with us.”

“And by games you mean…?” What exactly, I wondered.

“He is cruel,” she spat. “More so than even her. The last time he was here he tortured and killed one of the kitchen maids for his own amusement.”

I felt a surge of protective instinct rise in me. “Has he threatened you?”

“Not yet, but I do my best to stay out of his way.”

“Where is he now?”

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