Page 81 of When She Unravels
“He said she can come out of her room if the two of you are around us at all times.”
“As long as she stays inside the house.”
“The pool is a part of the house, isn’t it?” Martina challenges, displaying a backbone I didn’t realize she had. “It’s completely walled off.”
“That is not what your brother had in mind. You can’t go there.”
“My brother will be very upset to learn you prevented me from getting some sunshine,” Martina says.
The guards look at each other. The quiet one’s nostril’s flare with an exhale. He turns to me. “You do anything sketchy, and we’re taking you back here. One strike, and you’re out.”
“I take it you won’t be joining us for a swim?” I ask, feigning innocence.
They ignore me and wave us forward.
On the first floor, past the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows is the pool. Martina slides one of them open, and I step over the threshold, immediately feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. It’s a glorious Ibizan day.
A few loungers are scattered just ahead of us, and Martina plops down on one of them. I’m too eager to enjoy my tiny slice of freedom to stay still, so I walk up to the edge of the pool and peer down. The bottom is covered in colorful patterned tiles. Balancing on one leg, I dip my right toe into the water. It’s not cold, but cool enough to be refreshing.
I turn around at the sound of another person’s voice. Martina is talking to an older woman wearing a white uniform with an apron tied around her waist.
“Do you like rosé, or would you prefer champagne?” Martina asks me.
An incredulous laugh bubbles up my throat. I’m a prisoner here, but apparently, I get a choice of which wine I’d like to drink. “Rosé is great.”
I face the pool again and notice a gate that might be a way out of the compound, but to be honest, it doesn’t fill me with hope. The guards won’t let me get away. I’ll probably just hurt myself if I try running, and that will be the end of any future outings with Martina. Maybe I should just enjoy the rosé and try to talk to Damiano. He has to check on his sister at some point during the day, right?
“Is your brother around?” I ask Martina when the other woman leaves.
She pulls her loose summer dress over her head and tosses it to another lounger. Beneath, she’s wearing a shimmery yellow bikini. “He’s at Revolvr, but he should be back in the afternoon.”
“What time is it now?”
She glances down at her phone. “Eleven am.”
I sit down on the lounger next to her and eye the device. If I managed to steal it, who would I call for help? The only phone number I know off the top of my head is Gemma’s, and I can’t risk calling her when Papà is likely tracking all of her calls. He knows if I call anyone, it will be her.
The rosé arrives and with it, a spread of sliced fruits and veggies. Martina and I snack on the food and drink the wine, all the while talking about what TV shows we like. When we’ve thoroughly exhausted that topic, we start discussing books. She shows me the copy of Jane Eyre she brought with her. Then we move to her favorite topic of all—food. Hours fly by, and by the time we’re finished with our bottle, I’m tipsy, sweaty, and ready to go for a swim.
I dive into the pool and try to see how far I can make it without popping back out. I get about halfway. Not bad. My thoughts are sluggish from all the sun and alcohol, and the water’s not cool enough to sober me up as quickly as I hoped. I’m on my tenth lap when a soft breeze carries over a familiar voice. I whip around.
Damiano steps out of the house, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, black slacks, and his usual Italian-leather shoes. His gaze finds me immediately, and he looks at me as if I’m a clump of hair his pool boy forgot to fish out of the water the night before. I guess we’re back to him being cold. There should be nothing happening inside of me under that scrutinizing gaze, but instead, something hot and languid curls in the pit of my belly. I swim to the edge of the pool, place my palms on the deck, and lift myself out of the water. I can feel his eyes following my every move as I skip over the burning hot stones that sting the soles of my feet as I make my way to the loungers.
There’s a suited man behind Damiano that comes into my view. One good look at him is enough to make some blood rise to my cheeks. Wow, he’s attractive. Razor-sharp bone structure, thick dark brows that appear to be permanently knit together and piercing blue eyes. You make that kind of a man smile, and it’s game over—say goodbye to your heart.
I stop by Martina and grab a towel to dry myself off. She’s also a little pink in the face, and her furtive glances in the direction of the tall newcomer tell me maybe she isn’t asexual after all.
“How’s your impromptu pool day going?” Damiano asks his sister.
“Fun,” she says and gives him a smile.
His expression softens for a split second before he notices what’s on the side table.
He plucks our empty wine bottle out of the bucket filled with water. The ice melted a long time ago. “I can see that. How are you feeling? Headache coming on already?”
Martina bristles at his tone. I sense she doesn’t like that he’s treating her like a child in front of his handsome guest. “Of course not. This isn’t the first time I’ve had wine.”
His lips thin. “Not the first time, but it’s been a while.”
