Page 22 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
Ms. Poitier makes it clear in a not-so-subtle way, I’m supposed to forget my past life. That includes my past possessions.
But I find myself sneaking private moments with them. In the early morning before the sun’s even finished rising and the rest of the house is quiet, I get up and pad over to the armoire in the corner. A sanity check of sorts to make sure my things are still there.
My hands glide over the glass dome of my snow globe and a sigh of relief puffs out of me. Dad gifted me this snow globe to express his love for me, and I’ll treasure it ’til I’m old and gray. Call me paranoid, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I check my suitcase or the armoire where I’ve stashed many of my things only to find them gone.
Caelian—and by extension the small staff he employs—seem determined to scrub my past existence from record.
Talk about dancing or my family isn’t allowed. The subject’s always changed, and I’m reminded that Caelian doesn’t wish for me to discuss these topics.
Where he even is, I’m not sure.
The last time I saw him was in his bed after he finished almost splitting me in two. He’s been a ghost ever since.
Days go by, and I’m left alone, only kept company by staff members like Ms. Poitier and Umberto, the butler. I’m not allowed to leave the premises, and I’m not allowed any communication with the outside world. All use of electronic devices is heavily monitored to the point I’m not even provided aremotewhen I watch TV.
When I ask where Caelian has gone and when he’ll be back, I’m told that information isn’t mine to know.
“He’s my husband,” I say, blinking in puzzlement. “Shouldn’t I get to know where he is and when to expect him?”
Ms. Poitier reaches out to stroke my dark hair and brush it off my shoulders. “Dear, it’s not for you to know. He’ll be back soon. That’s as much as I’m allowed to say.”
The constant close watch is frustrating, but part of me is grateful for the break from any more time in Caelian’s bedroom.
All the Epsom salt baths in the world can’t take away the memory of what happened on our wedding night. The soreness between my thighs subsides and I’m able to walk without an ache again. The bruises from his crushing grip begin to fade…
Visceral aspects of the moment do not, like the smell of his warm breath and the feel of his weight on me.
My vagina clenches at the memory of what it was like to have the thick, veiny monster he calls a penis inside me. If I barely survived the first time, what will it be like when he returns?
I wander the barren halls of Caelian’s mansion as though they’ll provide me an answer.
For such a large and sprawling property, he only has less than a dozen in his employ. More than enough to keep me in line, but so few that the place feels abandoned. A moody, dark air persists no matter what room of the house I find myself in.
When I attempt to go visit Caelian—more so out of curiosity over his whereabouts—I’m met with a prompt rejection by one of the security guards.
“Mr. Ziccardi is unavailable right now,” the guard says, his voice monotone and his expression lifeless. He prods me away from Caelian’s bedroom door with a rough hand.
I stumble at the harsh push. “No need to put your hands on me! I’m his wife. I’m just wanting to—”
“Mr. Ziccardi is unavailable right now,” he recites again. “Any attempt to access his private chambers will be met with force.”
I reluctantly turn away and give up. For the afternoon anyway.
When being held captive indoors, it’s easy to lose track of the days. As I return to my room and glance out the window at gold dusk coloring the sky, I make sure to take a mental inventory of the time. Tonight will mark three days since I’ve seen him.
I shouldn’t care. The man’s a brute who stole my virginity and tore me up. He kidnapped me and forced me into a marriage I couldn’t want less.
Yet, as I curl up in the armchair by the window, my thoughts are on him, wondering if this will be what our marriage is like. Him gone most days and nights. Me held against my will at his home ’til he decides on a whim he’s ready toplaywith me again.
The least he could do is allow for me to dance. If I could simply spend my days at the dance company, practicing for the show, fulfilling my lead role asPrincipessa… then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.
There’s a gentle knock on the door.
Ms. Poitier eases it open and pokes her head inside. “Honey, I have a surprise for you.”
My legs drop from the seat of the armchair and I stand up. “Caelian’s summoning me?”
“No,” she simpers, stepping into the room. “This is apleasantsurprise. As in, one you’d enjoy. I have your mother on the phone.”