Blood Orange. Drusilla Campbell
hurting me.”
“I could push you under. I could hold you under until you stopped breathing. You wouldn’t have a chance.” The steam had reddened his cheeks and brought up the wild curl in his hair. “You’re not strong enough to stop me, Dana.”
She was afraid.
“I’ve been waiting all my life for you,” he said. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me. You’re middle class to your core, Dana. You’re a taker, a user. That yellow coat says it all.”
“I’ve got to get dressed.” And get out of the palazzo and back into the hotel. She would tell the man at the desk not to let him come up. The lock on her door would keep him out.
She grabbed for the towel draped over a nearby chair and wrapped it around her. In the palazzo’s central room a triple-bar electric heater glowed near the couch. She stood in front of it and tried to dry herself without letting the towel slip. The heating element burned the back of her legs. She realized that she was barely breathing.
“Drop the towel.”
“I have to pack.”
“No. I want you to stay here, forever. I want to lock you in these rooms, feed you cheese and blood oranges and never let you out.”
“Micah, you frighten me.” His eyes drilled into her. “I can’t leave my daughter. I know what that’s like. My own mother . . .” There was no need to explain. They had talked about their lives until they knew each other’s stories as well as their own. “If I stay with you I’ll ruin her life. I can’t do that.”
Bailey needed her, and she needed Bailey. When Dana loved her, she also loved the little girl abandoned on her grandmother’s front porch. How was it possible she hadn’t understood that before?
Micah’s expression brightened. “I thought you didn’t love me.”
“I don’t know—”
“I’ve got a great idea. She can come here.”
“It wouldn’t—”
“How do you know? You haven’t even heard what I’ve got to say.” He followed her to the wardrobe where she kept her clothes. “We can make this work, Dana. I can earn plenty of money. We can move somewhere better if you want. Bailey’ll love Florence.” Dana thought of a top winding tighter and tighter. “God, wouldn’t it be great to be a kid in Florence? She’d be bilingual in no time, and we’ll send her to one of those convents—”
“David would never let it happen.” Arguing only encouraged him. She must stop talking and dress, just dress and get out.
“She can stay with us in the summer, him in the winter. Whatever.”
“You don’t know about Bailey. She has special needs.” Her voice was marbled with fear.
He stepped in close. It took all her will to keep from moving away.
“She needs you. You just said that.”
“Yes, but more. A special school . . .”
“Florence has schools,” he said angrily. “Italy isn’t Borneo.”
He had lost interest in everything but his plan. Good. He would not notice that as she dressed her hands shook. He paced around the bedroom, scheming about schools and special diets and tutors. He stopped finally and stared at her, as if surprised to see her fully dressed. She had cleared away the mess on the bed and laid out her suitcase.
“We could work this out if you wanted to. Why don’t you want to? What’s happened? You were hanging on me when I went down to the piazza this morning and now you don’t want me near you. What did he say to you? Did he threaten you?”
“He’d never do that.”
“Why not? I would.” He grabbed her wrists and drew her to him. She felt his fingers bruise her skin and heard David asking who had grabbed her and why. “I’d do whatever it took to keep you.”
“You’re hurting me.” Her pulse roared in her ears.
He looked at her and stumbled back a step, throwing off his grip. He held his hands out before him and stared at them. “I want to hurt you,” he said and began to cry. “I want to make you hurt like I do.”
Chapter 9
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