I set my book aside, studying him carefully. In the two days since he'd given me my phone—since I'd confirmed what I'd already known, that no one was looking for me—our relationship had settled into something I still couldn't quite define. Not captor and captive, not quite lovers, but something in between. A strange domesticity tinged with the ever-present knowledge that I remained here by his choice, not mine.
"Why?" I asked, suspicious of this sudden offering.
He shrugged, the gesture too casual to be genuine. "You've been restless. Pacing. Playing the same Debussy piece for three days straight."
I hadn't realized he'd noticed. "And you think a trip to town will help?"
"I think a change of scenery might be beneficial." He moved to the window, looking out at the manicured grounds that had become both my sanctuary and my prison. "For both of us."
There it was—the hint that this wasn't purely for my benefit. Nothing with Rafe ever was.
"What's the catch?" I asked, setting aside the pretense that this was a normal conversation between normal people.
He turned back to me, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Practical as always. The 'catch' is that you'll be accompanied by Marco and Anthony. You'll stay within their sight at all times. You'll return by four o'clock. And you'll wear this."
He pulled something from his pocket—a delicate gold bracelet with a small charm dangling from it.
"A tracking device?" I guessed, not bothering to hide my bitterness.
"Yes." No apologies, no excuses. Just honesty, as always. "A precaution."
I should have been offended. Should have refused on principle. But the thought of leaving these walls, of seeing something beyond the estate's boundaries, of breathing air that wasn't filtered through the lens of captivity—it was too tempting to reject out of pride.
"Alright," I said, standing and holding out my wrist. "Put it on."
He crossed to me, his fingers warm against my skin as he fastened the bracelet. It was beautiful, I had to admit—the kind of thing I might have chosen for myself in another life. The tracking device was disguised as a small heart-shaped charm, innocuous to anyone who didn't know better.
"It suits you," he said, his fingers lingering on my wrist a moment longer than necessary.
"Does it?" I pulled my hand away, not wanting to acknowledge the small thrill his touch still sent through me. "When do we leave?"
"Whenever you're ready. Marco is waiting with the car."
I nodded, already mentally cataloging what I needed—my jacket, my shoes, the small amount of cash Rafe had begun providing me with for "incidentals" around the estate. It wasn't much, but it was another small freedom in a life increasingly defined by what freedoms I was granted rather than what was taken away.
"I'll be ready in ten minutes," I said, moving past him toward the door.
His hand caught mine as I passed, stopping me. "Grace."
I looked up at him, at the intensity in his dark eyes, at the tension in his jaw that betrayed his unease with this concession.
"Be careful," he said, his voice lower than before. "Stay with Marco and Anthony. Don't?—"
"Try to escape?" I finished for him, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "We both know there's nowhere for me to go."
Pain flickered across his features—not physical, but emotional. A reaction to the truth we both acknowledged but rarely spoke aloud.
"That's not what I was going to say," he replied quietly. "I was going to say don't forget that there are people in this world who would use you to get to me. To my family. People who wouldn't be as... considerate... as I've been."
The warning sent a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the library. It was easy to forget, in the bubble of the estate, that Rafe Conti was not just my captor but a powerful man in a dangerous world. That his enemies might see me as leverage, just as he had once seen me as leverage against my own family.
"I'll be careful," I promised, the words more sincere than I'd intended.
He nodded, releasing my hand. "I'll see you at four."
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a sleek black SUV with tinted windows, Marco driving and Anthony in the passenger seat. Both men were armed—I could see the subtle bulge of shoulder holsters beneath their jackets—and both wore the expressionless mask of professional security.
"Where to first, Ms. O'Sullivan?" Marco asked, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror.
