Chapter 9

NINE

Sabella

Before I know it, a week has passed. The only news I have from my husband are the bits and pieces Heidi shares with me when she delivers my meals.

He arrived in Marseille.

He's safely in Paris.

He's returning via the south of France.

He's asking about you.

She's trying to put Angelo in my good books by pretending he cares about me, and I don't have the heart to tell her it's pointless. She can't reconcile something that can't be fixed. My husband doesn't give a damn about how long my hours in the confines of my bedroom are or how close I am to going out of my mind. He has no idea what it feels like to be locked in the same space for days on end. If he did, he'd never do it to another human being, not even to his most despised enemy—me.

So, when Heidi announces it's time to return to my confinement on the other side of the property, I'm more than relieved. I'm ecstatic to get out of this room.

She takes care of my laundry and packing before walking me to the car. It's a sunny afternoon. I'm pathetically giddy about leaving the house. Going outside has never felt like such a privilege. The expanse around me is a precious gift. The endless stretch of mountains, sea, and land is just a different kind of imprisonment, but on the other side of the property, I can move around freely.

When we arrive at the new house, I get out of the car and take in the surroundings. The difference leaves me gobsmacked. The yard is clear of the junk. New pots replace the broken ones, and the discarded plants are transplanted. Shrubs and herbs dot the dove-grey gravel that covers the mud. The different greens of thyme, rosemary, and lavender compliment the blueish green leaves of an olive tree that stands in the center.

"How did this happen so fast?" I ask Heidi, gaping as I look around.

"I knew you'd like it." She closes the car door with a grin before getting my bag from the trunk. "Mr. Russo knows a landscaper."

"I bet he does," I say under my breath as we make our way on the brand-new path to the veranda. I'm sure he knows lots of people who jump when he clicks his fingers.

"We're lucky the weather permitted for the plants to be planted. Normally, this high up, we have frost at this time of the year. It must be the climate change."

I'm not going to thank the climate change for making a new garden in winter possible, no matter how beautiful it is.

The door opens before we reach it. A tall, slender man with unruly rose-gold curls matching the copper color of his short-trimmed beard steps out. I pause, taking in his skinny dress pants and tweed jacket. As per the latest high fashion, the pants are tailored to end just above his ankles. The moccasins he wears without socks remind me so much of Colin that an untimely pang of longing stabs into my heart.

"Mrs. Russo," he says, holding out his arms as he skips down the steps. "Welcome." He swings a hand in my direction when he reaches me. "Fabien Pelletier at your service."

I shake his proffered hand. "Are you the landscaper?"

He looks around as if noticing the garden for the first time. "Oh, no." He laughs and then shivers as if landscaping horrifies him. "I'm Mr. Russo's personal shopper. I was tasked with fitting out your new house." He leans closer and adds with a conspiratorial wink, "I dare say you're a far more beautiful gem than this stunning piece of property, definitely Mr. Russo's most precious jewel."

Hmm. I'm sure Angelo will disagree.

"Come." He hooks his arm around mine and guides me up the steps. "Let me show you around your new domain." He emphasizes the statement with a flick of his hand. "You're going to love it, darling."

Heidi makes big eyes from where she's walking on the other side of Mr. Pelletier before shooting me a smile.

Mr. Pelletier leads me through the door and extends an arm. "Ta-da! What do you think?"

My mouth drops open. The house is handsomely furnished and decorated in neutral colors with touches of gold. The sofas and blinds are white, forming a contrast with the long-hair caramel-colored rug. Vases filled with white flower arrangements stand on the coffee table and mantlepiece. A beautiful watercolor landscape hangs above the fireplace. A fire that burns with a soft crackle adds warmth and coziness to the interior. While the furniture is in good taste, the focus is on practicality and comfort. I have to admit, Mr. Pelletier has a talent for decorating.

On top of the fact that everything looks brand-new, the house is also squeaky clean. The windows are spotless, and the floors are polished to a shine. The walls were either repainted or scrubbed. I'm leaning toward the latter because the odor of fresh paint is absent. Instead, a smell of lavender hangs in the air.

"Well?" Mr. Pelletier prompts when I don't say anything. "Do you like it?"

Heidi goes upstairs with my bag without looking twice at the new environment. She must've already seen the changes.

"Come," he says, waving me closer.

He checks that I'm following before walking with long, crab-like steps to the kitchen where he opens a cupboard with a flourish of his hand. "If it's not to your taste, we can change anything you want. I can get different colors or styles."

Rows of dove-gray mugs and plates line the shelves. The crockery looks handcrafted. Mom would love it.

He continues to fling open cupboards, exposing crystal wine glasses, silver cutlery, and gourmet groceries. Modern appliances are arranged on the counters under cable lights that hang from the ceiling. A bottle of champagne and two flutes stand on the island counter.

He giggles. "You're making me nervous when you don't say anything."

"Oh." I tear my gaze away from the new eye-level oven and double door fridge and freezer. "It's beautiful. It's just a bit overwhelming."

He slams one palm over his heart and the other on the counter next to him, supporting his weight as if he's about to faint. "Oh thank God. You have no idea how relieved I am. For a moment there, I thought you hated it."

"You did a fantastic job, Mr. Pelletier."

"Why, thank you." He straightens and smiles with a tilted head. "I'm always at your service. But please, call me Fabien." He makes a face. "Mr. Pelletier is so…" He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling as he seemingly searches for the right word. Finally, he settles on, "Brusque," with a wiggle of his shoulders.

His dramatic airs make me smile. He twirls around the room, closing the cupboards as he goes. With his tall legs and elegant movements, he gives the impression that he's waltzing instead of walking.

He grabs the champagne and loosens the cork. "It deserves a celebration, don't you think?" Pouring two glasses, he continues, "Mr. Russo said no alcohol because…" he lowers his voice and continues with exaggerated shock, "…you're trying for a baby, but I thought what the hell. A housewarming isn't a housewarming without a glass of champagne."

The mention of the baby makes me tense.

He carries the glasses to me and pushes one in my hand. "I say you deserve it." He winks. "I won't tell if you won't." After clinking his glass against mine, he tips it back and takes a generous sip. "Congratulations, Mrs. Russo. Here's to your new home. May you always toast with French champagne." He smacks his lips. "God, this stuff is good."

I can't help but laugh. I already like him.

"Hmm." He holds up a finger. "Before I forget…" He takes a business card from his pocket and hands it to me. "Here's my number. Call me if anything needs changing or replacement or if you think about something you'd like to add." He leans closer and says from the corner of his mouth, "Such as a new wardrobe. I took the liberty of going through yours, and shame on you, girl. Whatever are you going to wear?"

"My clothes haven't arrived from South Africa yet but thank you. I'll keep your kind offer in mind."

He points a finger at me. "You do that." He downs what's left in his glass and puts the flute on the counter. "Especially if you need something formal for a gala dinner or a ball. Believe me, darling, the women who move in these high-class circles can be bitches. They're going to pull apart what you wear right down to the brand of your…" he twirls a finger in the direction of my lower body, "…string."

I grin. "I'll remember that."

"Well, then." He rubs his hands. "I better get going if I want to get back to Bastia before dark."

"Is that where you're from?"

"Noooo. Dear God. I'm from Paris." He pronounces it as Pa–ree. "I'm sleeping over in Bastia tonight before catching a flight home."

Starved for company, I say on impulse, "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

His smile is sweet. "That's kind of you, but I have a date." He wags his eyebrows. "Definitely next time." Finger-waving, he says, "Toodeloo. Be good. And enjoy."

"Thanks, I will."

"Bye, Heidi, darling," he calls up the stairs as he makes his way to the door. "I'll see myself out."

Heidi comes down the stairs just as the door closes behind him. "Quite a character, that one. I have no idea where Mr. Russo found him. They have nothing in common." She pauses. "Well, except for good taste."

"This is a huge change." I turn in a circle, taking everything in. "Why did Mr. Russo go to such expenses?"

"Why," she exclaims, "because you're his wife of course."

I sigh inwardly, wishing I could change that fact. Change my circumstances. But one thing is for sure. I'd rather be on this isolated part of the island than locked in a room in my husband's house.

"Here," Heidi says, taking my hand and putting a bunch of keys on my palm. "These are for all the doors."

I close my fingers around them. "Thank you."

"I'll check in as often as I can so that you don't get too lonely."

"Thank you, Heidi," I say with a quiver in my voice, hugging her with the keys and the glass in my hands.

"Now, now." She pats my back and pulls away. "Don't get emotional. You'll upset yourself, and that won't do. I'm only a thirty-minute drive away." She irons out her skirt with her palms. "I suppose I should let you settle in. I unpacked your bag. Everything is in the closet in the main bedroom. Do you need me for anything else?"

"You've already done more than enough."

"There's fresh food for at least a week." She averts her gaze. "Mr. Russo will be home tomorrow. I'll be back as soon as he lets me."

"Of course. I appreciate that."

She blows out a drawn-out sigh. "Well, then. At least here you can go around freely." Nodding to herself, she walks to the door. On the threshold, she stops. "You don't have to worry, Sabella. You'll be safe here. You can sleep soundly."

My reply is weak. "Okay."

The door closes on her smile. I stand on the spot, listening to the car door being shut before the engine starts up. The tires crunch on the gravel, and then the sound of the engine slowly fades.

Wanting to lock myself in has nothing to do with the child who'd snuck into the house. The poor little person with his dirt-streaked face only reminded me how easy it was to simply walk through the door.

I wanted keys because I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, but I didn't tell my husband that. If someone is watching me, he would've ordered it.

When silence wraps around me, I take a moment to process everything. Angelo's generosity surprises me. I expected to be sent back to a fumigated but empty house. My husband has no reason to be kind or considerate to me. Sometimes, his behavior baffles me. In one moment, he drags me into a cellar and makes me believe he's going to kill me before banishing me to an abandoned house. In the next, he gets his personal shopper to furnish the place.

Remembering his sinister promise, I rush upstairs. The old mattress in the main bedroom is gone. A king-sized bed stands in its place. I dash to the bathroom and yank open the cupboard. My hand trembles when I take out my toilet bag. I zip it open and go through the contents with anxious impatience, only relaxing when I find my birth control pills.

I bite my lip as I look around for a hiding place. Using an elastic, I stretch it around the front of the cupboard drawer, making sure that the drawer still closes. Then I slip the packet of pills through the elastic on the bottom of the drawer. There. My pills are safe from Angelo. He'll never find them there.

Pushing away all thoughts of my husband, I finish my tour of the house. Every bedroom is fitted with furniture. The bathrooms are stocked with towels and luxury toiletries. I suppose Fabien didn't know no guest will ever set foot in here.

When I end up back in the main room after having done the full round, I go through the closet to find my clothes neatly folded on the shelves. The recipe books Heidi loaned me are stacked on a small bookshelf next to a writing desk.

I select the one with the dessert recipes and carry it downstairs. I'm eager to try my idea. Fortunately, Fabien stocked the food cupboards with a wide range of basic products. When I've stacked all the ingredients on the counter, I switch on the oven to warm and get to work.

Baking isn't as easy as it looks on paper. Despite the fact that I followed every step to the T, my cake comes out skew. I let it cool on the windowsill in front of the open window, lock the doors, and go upstairs to have a shower.

An hour later, when I return to tackle the frosting, the windowsill is empty, the cake gone.