Page 22 of Stolen Queen

"Then explain it to me because right now, all I see is you keeping me here against my will."

“Sneaking out of your room, putting yourself in danger… Did you think there wouldn't be consequences?"

His words sting, and I feel my cheeks flush with indignation. "That's not fair. I was just trying to live a little, not to be kidnapped by my father’s enemies.”

He arches a brow. “Is that what we are now? Your father’s enemies? That makes my saving you all the more problematic, Princess.”

I don’t like how he calls me Princess. It has a tone that says I’m a spoiled brat.

“And how do you expect to return home? You’ve been out for a while. Your father must know you’re gone. How will you explain yourself? You’re in as much trouble as I am.”

“Your troubles aren’t my problem.” But he’s right. How do I sneak back home? How do I explain my absence? I could blame Matteo. There's something about that idea that doesn't feel right.

Matteo's eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a humorless laugh. "Not your problem? Grow up, Ava. You're the one who created this situation. You can't just wash your hands of it because you don't like the consequences."

He does think I’m a spoiled brat. Part of me wants to scream at him, to defend myself against his harsh judgment. But another part knows there’s some truth in his words.

He gives me a derisive glare. “You’re safe here, but right now, you’re under my protection… and my rules. Eat something, and I’ll be back later." He stalks to the door, exiting the room. The door shuts. The latch locks in place.

I sink to the bed as my mind reels. I think of that statement about being careful what you wish for. I wanted adventure, a taste of freedom. In the end, I've traded one prison for another. I’m at the mercy of a man who both terrifies and fascinates me.

Matteo Moretti.

Even now, scared out of my wits, a part of me feels drawn to him. Why? He's my captor, keeping me here against my will.

I rise, going to the window, wondering if I can open it for fresh air, or perhaps to escape. I pull back the curtains and realize I must be in a penthouse as I can barely make out the cars and people below.

I study the cityscape. I'm still in Chicago, I think. Downtown, maybe. So close to home, yet impossibly far away.

I sigh as I begin to accept my new reality. I'm no longer under my father's thumb, no longer facing an arranged marriage to avile man. But I’m not free. What is Matteo planning to do with me? Sell me? Ransom me? Keep me locked up?

I’m discovering that sometimes, the unknown is scarier than the known.

8

MATTEO

Well, that didn’t go as planned. Not that I had any expectations. A fantasy, maybe. One in which Ava would be so grateful that I saved her from death and her asshole father that she’d throw herself in my arms again. I knew that was unlikely, but I hadn’t guessed she’d be ungrateful and act like I was the asshole.

Then again, she does have a bump on the head and she’s in a strange place with a man she barely knows. Perhaps I need to be more understanding. Maybe after some food and rest, she’ll be more reasonable. She’ll see that I’ve helped her, but in doing so, I’ve put us both in a precarious situation. One I'm not sure how to get out of.

I lean against the wall outside her door, closing my eyes. The image of her moving away from me, eyes wide with fear, haunts me. She looked so small, so vulnerable. And yet, even in her terror, that fire I admire burned bright as she prepared to beat me with a crystal vase.

Still, I'm protecting her, giving her a safe place away from that bastard father of hers. My jaw clenches as I remember thebruise on her cheek from her father's hand. What I'd do to chop it off and make him eat it.

But that's not how Ava sees it. She sees me as the very thing I'm trying to save her from, another man controlling her life, deciding her fate.

Fuck. How do I fix this? How do I make her understand that I'm not the villain here? That I only want to keep her safe?

I lean my forehead against the door, listening. I think I hear the clink of a utensil on the plate, and I’m relieved she’s eating. But then I hear the unmistakable sound of crying. It cuts through me like a knife, twisting in my gut. My fingers itch to turn the knob, to rush in to make her see the situation, make her see that I’m trying to be her hero. But what could I possibly say? Sorry I kidnapped you, but it was for your own good? Yeah, that'll go over well.

How did I end up here? One minute, I'm catching her unconscious body, and the next, I'm the bad guy. But what was I supposed to do, leave her there for her father to find? Let that bastard ship her off to New York to marry some fuckwad creep three times her age?

I close my eyes, remembering the way she looked on that balcony, ready to risk everything for a taste of freedom. That fire, that spirit. I can’t let it be snuffed out. But clearly, I'm not igniting it, either.

The sounds from her room quiet down. Is she calming down or planning her next move? I strain my ears, trying to gauge her state of mind.

Silence.

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