Page 14 of Owned By her Enemy
He thinks I’m overreacting. I am, and I don’t care. “I thought I made myself clear: no disrespect to mywife.”
“Yes, boss.” He audibly swallows.
“We’re allied with Tottenham now,” I say mildly as I watch Lotte. She bounces off the rocks onto the sand, strolling towards me. “Ensure no one forgets again.”
“Yes—”
I hang up.
“Having a nice beach day?” Rapunzel has told me that she hasn’t been to the seaside for years. That she misses it.
She nods, but there’s a reservation. “My mum used to take me to the beach, and we’d hang out. Just the two of us. And Antonio, too. Our bodyguard.”
Bodyguard? Does she not know that he was her mother’s lover?
I can’t share this with her. Obviously. Lotte smiles a little wistfully. “But I wish I could do a video. You know. For my silly little social media channel.”
6
LOTTE
I’m having the best day with my enemy. The perfect day, and I know it’s pathetic, but I want to share it with the people who have lifted me up through the loneliest times. Especially because I usually speak with ListeningToHer every day, I feel bad that they might be worried when I’m enjoying myself.
I try to act careless as I scuff my feet in the sand.
“It’s not silly.” He takes out a phone from his pocket.
“Sure you don’t think it’s silly,” I scoff. “That’s why you taunted me with it at the restaurant.”
I left my phone and a bag of possessions in the car that brought me to the church—it’s not like my wedding dress had pockets—and that was the last time I saw it. I doubt I ever will again, given my husband’s security obsession.
“I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” He holds out the phone.
What? That’s not his phone, or mine. I notice he doesn’t answer my barb about the restaurant. But even so, my eyes go wide. A new phone for me? “Is it tracked?”
He shrugs. “You know I’ve been listening—keeping an eye on,” he corrects himself, “everything that happens online at Tottenham Tower.”
Listening?
But he’s giving me a phone. It’s not like he wasn’t aware of my secret account. He neither confirms nor denies whether the phone is bugged, I notice. I’m not certain what that means, but I take the device from his proffered hand.
“What else did you hear?” I mutter, opening the phone. It has my favourite apps, all logged in already.
“Enough that I think you’re better off out of there,” he replies. “But I didn’t know you were a prisoner.”
“I wasn’t a prisoner,” I protest half-heartedly, trying to be a good, loyal daughter. Family is all, I remind myself. But it’s a lie.
I called myself Rapunzel. When I tried to leave, my father locked me in my bedroom for a week, and he’s cuffed me around the back of the head enough times when it looked like I was trying to speak privately with someone in a Tottenham Tower bar or shop that I know to duck out of the way.
“My father was protecting me from Edmonton. Fromyou.” See? I am loyal.
“Worked out well,” Nik replies dryly.
I glare at him. Yeah. He just has to rub it in that we lost. I focus on the phone. He’s given it to me; I’m going to speak to my friends. Online friends, but eh, I take companionship and praise where I can.
Opening the camera, I point it towards myself at the full stretch of my arm, trying to find the right angle. Normally I use a phone mount on a table, and film myself in my bedroom against a plain cold blue wall. I’m struggling a bit without my setup. Virtual backgrounds are convenient, if not as good as reality.
“You want me to film you?” he offers casually.
