Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Ana

Bath time has become my favorite thing in the world.

Even though I'm a prisoner, I feel like a princess. This past week has been strange, but it's also been amazing.

Every morning when I wake up, I find that Patrick has left me a note to say he's gone and will be home for dinner. He also reminds me that there's breakfast and lunch in the fridge.

His housekeeper has shown up three times, and each time she's here, I stay out of her way, even though she tells me I don't have to. We don't talk other than a few words here and there. Despite that, she gives me this warm, motherly vibe that makes me feel safe. Instead of getting irritated with me when I don't speak, she just keeps up a steady stream of chatter anyway as if we're having full conversations.

Every night, when Patrick comes home, we sit in near silence as we eat together. He always brings two meals to the table while I have one. Then he shares his with me. Sometimes, I feel like a raccoon, gobbling up everything in sight. He doesn't seem to mind, though. Actually, I think it pleases him. There isn't a scale in my bathroom, but I'm sure I've gained at least five pounds since I've been here.

I should want to leave. To run as far away as I can. He bought me, after all. And for some insane reason, that doesn't bother me. The thought of leaving has me in a panic.

He'll want something from me eventually, though. Men don't buy women just to let them live freely in their penthouse and expect nothing in return. I may be na?ve, but I'm not completely stupid. There's always a catch. Which is why I keep my walls high and my mouth closed as much as possible.

By the fourth day she shows up, Helen seems to have decided that's no longer working for her.

"Come on, honey. I've let you sit in silence long enough. It's time we have some girl time."

She stands in my doorway and holds up a bottle of alcohol. I look up from the book I'm reading to study her. Has she been drinking already?

"Come on. I can tell you want to. Let's go. To the living room where we can gossip like teenage girls and drink Patrick's whiskey."

When she snaps her fingers, I get moving, not wanting to upset her. She follows me out and plops on the sofa. There are already two glasses on the coffee table, one of which already has some of the gold liquid in it.

"Do you like whiskey, Ana?" she asks as she starts pouring us both a hefty amount.

"I've never had it." I've never had any kind of liquor.

She hands me one of the drinks, then picks up her own and holds it in the air. "Then we must change that, sweet girl. To a new life, yeah?"

I stare at her, unsure of what she means. Why is she holding her glass up so high?

"You're supposed to clink your glass with mine, dear. It's called a toast. It's like a prayer, but with alcohol."

That doesn't sound quite right, but who am I to argue? So I raise my drink to hers and smile as we tap them together.

"Now, we drink." She takes a huge swig, then stares at me expectantly.

Bringing mine to my nose, I sniff it and wince. I'm not sure about this. My throat burns just smelling it.

"Drink," she encourages.

Does she have an accent? Maybe it only comes out when she's drinking. I haven't noticed it before. One thing I know for sure: I'm not about to defy the woman.

I take a sip and gasp, then take another sip. Okay, it's not horrible. The warming sensation is nice.

"You're going to have to get used to drinking whiskey if you're going to be with a man in the mafia, dear."

Liquid spews from my lips, covering the coffee table in a mist of alcohol. Helen giggles and rolls her eyes.

"Don't tell me you thought he was from the men's church choir." She smirks at me, and I try to process this information.

"He's… he's in the mafia?"

Panic has me lifting the glass to my lips again for a bigger drink. The mafia is bad. They kill people.

Patrick did have a gun, and so did the men he was with. My father and his men have guns, too, though they aren't in the mob.

"Breathe, Ana. I know it's a lot, but Patrick is a good man. He would never hurt you."

I take several breaths and a couple more swigs, the burning sensation in my throat not as noticeable now. "He's really in the mafia?"

She nods. "Yes. My husband was too. He died about ten years ago."

My heart squeezes, and suddenly, I just want to hug and comfort her, but she must realize that because she quickly waves me off.

"That was a lifetime ago, dear. Besides, this is about you."

"Me?" I down the rest of the drink, and Helen's eyes go wide.

"Maybe let's hold off on your second glass for a bit."

I shrug and set it on the coffee table. "He traded me for my father's half-a-million-dollar debt."

Crap. I can't believe I said that out loud. Oh, god. Patrick is going to be so angry.

Helen pats the back of my hand. "I know he did. He told me. He said there was no way in hell he could leave you there with your asshole father."

Butterflies flutter in my tummy. "That was nice of him to say."

"Patrick doesn't like abusers. He has no tolerance for them."

"Why?" I ask without thinking.

Why wouldn't he just turn his head? Why would he give up that much money?

"Because his father was abusive to his mother. When his mother finally tried to leave, his father nearly beat her to death. So, Patrick did the same to him; only he didn't stop until the motherfucker was dead."

I stare at her, unblinking as she shrugs like she didn't just tell me something huge. Is this what girl gossip is?

"I know you don't know me very well. Yet. But I think we're going to be great friends, Ana. And as someone who has worked for Patrick for the past decade, I can tell you that he is truly a good man. Believe it or not, most of the men in the Irish mafia are good. They play fair, and don't seek out trouble. Just wait until you meet Declan and the rest of the guys' girls. They're a wild bunch, I tell ya."

Helen pours us both another glass as she talks, giving the bottle a shake to get the last couple of drops out. Then she picks up her drink and holds it up again.

"To us, because we're fucking fabulous." She giggles. "You'll have to excuse me, dear. I don't normally drink quite this much, but I had to get you talking somehow, and I've found that whiskey often does the trick."

I smile and raise mine to hers, clinking them together. We both lean back and sit in silence for a moment while sipping our drinks. I reach down and brush my fingers over my thigh, trying to figure out this fuzzy, weightless feeling. I like it. Almost like I'm floating.

"What if…" I hesitate, trying to gather the courage to ask the question. "What if he wants to have sex with me?"

She pauses and stares at me for a second. Shoot. Maybe I should have kept that to myself. I don't know what I should or shouldn't say. It always seemed like everything I said was wrong in my father's eyes.

"Do you want to have sex with him?"

I hadn't really thought of that. Of course I had thought about it happening because I've convinced myself he's going to force me sooner or later. I think that's what scares me the most. Not having the choice.

Patrick has been nothing but a gentleman this week. He hasn't gotten angry when I don't speak. He leaves me notes. He suggests I go take a bath and relax.

Not only that, but when I'm around him, I'm not scared. I guess it's strange to say I'm afraid of him, but also, at the same time, I'm not.

"I've never…"

Helen raises her eyebrows and then nods. "Then don't do it until you really want to. Patrick won't force you. I'd cut his balls off with his own kitchen knife if he did. After that, I'd call his mama, and she'd chop off his dick."

I gasp. Then I start giggling hysterically. I think Helen just became my favorite person ever.

"How did you get so strong? I feel like a scared mouse all the time."

The older woman reaches out and takes my hand. "I had the most wonderful man who made me feel safe. I was a lot like you when he and I met. Scared of the world because of how my parents raised me. Then it was like he swaddled me in his armor and made me feel so protected and loved."

I let out a deep breath and smile at her, enjoying how light and carefree I feel. "That sounds so nice."

"Don't worry, Ana. You'll know what it's like soon."