I toss my phone on the bed, wander to the bookshelf, and pull down a notebook.
Someone wroteAurora loves Edward Cullenon the first page and glued magazine clippings ofTwilightcharacters. They also drew hearts and scribbledTeam Vampire.
Poor Aurora. She caught theTwilightbug too.
All of us thought pale, stalky men were the rage then.
I shove the notebook back onto the shelf and check the door, seeing if Emilio actually locked me in. He didn’t, thankfully.
I slowly open the door, cringing as it creaks, and tiptoe out of the room. Voices float through a closed door down the hall. I creep toward the door, pressing my ear against it, and attempt to listen to Emilio speaking on the other side.
“I don’t trust her.” He goes quiet for a moment, as if listening to someone on the other end of a call. “She means nothing to me.”
I squeeze one eye shut, like it’ll help me hear better, as he pauses again.
“I’ll visit soon. Okay?” Another pause from Emilio. “I love you too. Goodbye.”
Footsteps come closer from the other side of the door. I spin on my heel and bolt in the opposite direction toward the stairway. I’m halfway down the stairs when the door creaks open.
When I hit the landing, I turn right, in search of the kitchen. I pass through a dining room with long maroon drapes and an old table that could easily seat twenty people.
Again, something fit for kings and queens.
My shoulders slump, and I bend at the waist when I reach the chef’s kitchen with outdated appliances. I open the fridge to find bottled water, ginger ale, and a basket of strawberries and blueberries.
Weird combo, but no judgment.
I grab a water, shut the fridge, turn, and slam straight into a hard chest—so similar to how I did the night of the engagement dinner. I gasp, losing my balance, and fall back against the fridge.
Emilio stands only inches away from me, his face hard and brimming with anger. His gaze sharpens as he stares me down. My heart pounds, ready to lurch out of my chest, when he pulls a switchblade from his pocket.
He crowds me so close that I can’t move, and I shrink against the fridge when he flips open the blade and slowly glides it along my jawline. As fucking terrified as I am, I refuse to look away from him.
Don’t beg him to stop.
He adds pressure and lowers the blade to my throat. Cold steel brushes along my skin. I gulp, and his smirk says he heard it.
“Don’t eavesdrop on me again.” He nudges the blade’s tip into my throat just deep enough to break the skin.
I grip the water bottle, wishing I had something to use as a weapon so I could smash it against his face. “If you don’t want me eavesdropping, then let me go home.”
“This is your home.” He slowly drags the blade down the curve of my neck before leaning in closer, his cold breath brushing my cheek. “Get used to it.”
A shiver crawls down my spine.
“Why me, but not Dasha?” I whisper. “Why did I have to come here?”
The blade leaves my skin as he steps back and slips it back into his pocket. The water bottle falls from my fingers.
Emilio captures my face in his hand, brushing his thumb over the skin he punctured with the knife. “Because Dasha never made me feel this alive.”
My mouth drops open, unable to form words.
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before turning on his heel and charging out of the kitchen.
I double over to catch my breath, resting my hands on my knees as I draw air into my lungs.
Seconds later, the front door slams shut.
