I settle down in my leather chair, comfort not being the main priority here, and close my eyes, letting the familiar peace of home settle around my soul.
Silence.
Pure silence, with only the birds outside disturbing my solitude. I’m home. The place that is my sanctuary away from the madness of my life.
I can breathe easier, mentally recharge, and as for my personal needs, I’m confident the woman I require is now on her way.
CHAPTER 6
TIFFANY
Iam no longer cold. The house has an even temperature and the large white space is strangely calming.
It appears that the beast likes pristine perfection. No mess, no clutter, and merely bold abstract art acting as a statement rather than pictures.
It reveals nothing about the owner of this palatial home, whose soul appears as empty as he is cold and indifferent.
I respect that side of him, admire it even, even though I can’t stand the human inside him.
He is cold, indifferent, callous even; qualities I am used to, at home with in fact.
Mrs. Harrington, though, is another thing entirely, and I am drawn to her warm smile and comforting presence.
I follow her up two flights of stairs, and as we near the top of the house, she says almost apologetically, “Mr. Ravera has allocated you the uppermost guest room.”
“As long as it’s the furthest room from his, I’ll be good with that.”
I lower my voice and whisper, “You do know that I’m here against my will, don’t you?”
The resignation in her sad smile doesn’t offer me much hope.
“I’m sorry, my dear. If you need anything at all, I am at your disposal.”
“A cab, perhaps?”
I’m half joking. I say it because it’s my intention to leave as soon as I have my bearings in this strange country.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, but I can arrange food, drink, and supplies.”
“What’s he like?”
I decide to use my time more wisely because, of course, this woman works for the beast and is probably as much a victim as I am, despite the fact that I noticed the small, almost human smile he directed her way when we arrived.
“Mr. Ravera?”
She smiles and I detect a genuine fondness for him, which surprises me.
“He is a good man wearing a villain’s cloak.”
I say nothing, and she sighs heavily. “I am speaking out of turn. You must form your own judgment of him, Miss Zaferelli. But don’t judge him too harshly. He is lost and I’m unsure if he will ever be found.”
That makes two of us then.
I smile to edge away the unease her words offer me, and she shrugs before turning the door handle to the room that I guess I’ll call home for one year.
Her guilty smile is well-deserved because my room at the convent was better than this one. I stare in dismay at the cold space; the single iron bed wrapped in a sheet and blanket with one pillow. The wooden floor is old, missing in places, and the simple wooden nightstand beside the bed holds one lamp and a Bible.
The small window is unfit for anything other than allowing a crack of fresh air inside, and the white walls are undecorated and sparse.