Page 8 of We're Not Strangers Anymore

“What’s the designer for?” I ask, cutting off my own thoughts. If I don’t they’ll torture me.

“You don’t have clothes here. She’s taking measurements and putting a wardrobe together for you.”

He says it so casually but normal people don’t have designers getting their clothes.

“I can just give her my sizes can’t I?”

He lets out a small laugh. “You will, but most of what you’ll have will be handmade by her. Her clothes are top quality.”

Most of my outfits cost ten dollars, I couldn’t give a shit less what kind of quality his designer has when I’m basically a prisoner. He probably thinks I’m going to swoon over all of his money because he sees I’m broke but I don’t put my value into shit like that.

He strides over to me, cutting my hands free with a tactical knife. I take the opportunity and attempt to slap him but he catches my hand.

“Don’t make being here harder on yourself, Rowan,” He says calmly, gripping my wrist. “I can tie your hands back together if you’d like.”

I pull my hand back and clasp it into the other one, nodding to him. He exits without another word. My guess is, he wouldn’tleave my hands untied if there was a way for me to escape. I’d hate to let my pride get in the way if there’s not even a chance of me leaving this place.

Rowan

Exiting the large glass door of the slate tile shower, I wrap a thick, black, plush towel around myself, the material soft against my wet skin. Who knew even a towel could make you feel poor? I step out of the bathroom and into the large bedroom when I’m met with a designer in full swing, studying patterns and comparing fabrics. She looks to be in her early forties', blonde with a tight, low bun and a sleek, black pantsuit.

She turns and notices me standing by the bathroom door. “Hi! It’s lovely to meet you, Rowan. I’m Deirdra.”

I wave at her silently as she strides toward me. “I don’t even need to get measurements, you’re almost the size of the mannequin.” She laughs. “Why don’t you let me show you around instead.”

I honestly feel relieved at her offer. Getting to know the house– or mansion I should say– will give me a better idea of how to escape, or at least find things to do to pass the time.

“That would be great, actually.” I say with a smile.

“Come on, let’s start with the upstairs.” She returns a smile.

As we move from room to room, Deirdra chats about the design choices and the work that went into decorating the mansion. I nod and try to hold the conversation with her, given the fact that I love design work. But my mind is elsewhere. I can’t help but to think about how I’ll escape this nightmare. If I even can or when. Everything is just a blur right now.

“You’re handling this remarkably well,” Deirdra says suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I give her a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”

“Being thrust into a new life, new home. It’s a lot.”

I shrug. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

She stops and looks at me, her eyes softening. “No, but you shouldn’t have to go through it alone. If you ever need someone to talk to or to help navigate all of this, I’m here.”

The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. For a moment I consider talking about this thing with Grayson, but then I remember where I am and who I’m dealing with. Trusting anyone in this house would just be pure desperation coming from a place of having no friends or family.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We finish the tour, ending with the library. It’s a massive room big enough to be its own building. It has large windows, flooding the entire place with sunlight. In the back corner there is a large chaise lounge draped with a white fur throw blanket with a mahogany end table sitting next to it. Above sits a hanging potted fern. The corner looks cozy, but feminine for it being a mob boss’s home.

Deirdra hesitates at the entrance of the library. “I know this isn’t easy. But give it time. You might find things aren’t as bad as they seem. You might even like it here.”

I force a smile. “I appreciate it, Deirdra. But I have a hard time believing that will ever happen.”

She half nods. “I disagree. He had an entire library built just because he discovered you like to read. Imagine what he’d do if you tried to enjoy being here.”

I turn to face her. “He built this for me?”

“You know, once upon a time this family saved me,” she says, ignoring my question. ”They’re good people. Give them a chance.”

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