I sit there for a long moment, staring at the closed door and trying to figure out what just happened.
Then I shove my chair back and practically run to test if he was serious.
The door is unlocked.
Week two of captivity begins with freedom I didn’t expect to have.
I take advantage of itimmediatelyand shamelessly explore every inch of the estate that I’m allowed to access.
The gardens are massive with carefully manicured lawns and flower beds, stone pathways that wind through rose gardens and around a fountain that looks fabulously expensive.
There are guards everywhere, always watching and following at a discreet distance, but at least I can breathe fresh air.
At least I can feel sunlight on my face.
The library is my favorite discovery.
It’s enormous, two stories tall with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and one of those sliding ladders that I’ve only ever seen in movies.
I had great fun throwing myself against it and shouting “Whee!” as I slid along the shelves.
There are reading nooks with plush chairs, windows that overlook the gardens, and more books than I could read in a lifetime.
Real books too, not just the pretentious Italian literature Leo tried to force on me.
There are romance novels hidden in the back corner, contemporary fiction, mystery novels, even some young adult fantasy that makes me nostalgic for high school.
I take advantage of the dining room too, eating meals at the massive mahogany table instead of in my bedroom.
It feels more human and normal, even with armed guards stationed at the doors.
But I’m not letting this freedom make me complacent.
I’m still mapping the property, memorizing guard rotations and shift changes, and noting which doors are locked and which aren’t.
I’m watching for any possible weakness in Leo’s security and I’m drawing it all—detailed layouts of the estate, guard positions, patrol routes—on papers that I hide under a loose tile I discovered in the bathroom floor.
The bathroom is my only real privacy.
I figured out where the cameras in the bedroom are within the first two days. I’m not an idiot.
Dad always taught me to be on alert and it wasn’t hard to find the cameras.
One in the corner by the door, one by the window, carefully positioned to monitor without being obvious.
But there are no cameras in the bathroom.
There can’t be, for legal reasons or privacy laws or something.
So that’s where I keep my escape plans and drawings, everything Leo can’t know about.
I know he’s watching me in the bedroom. I know he sees me reading and sketching and pacing.
But he doesn’t see everything.
He doesn’t know what I’m planning.
Leo joins me for dinner most nights, which I didn’t expect and don’t entirely know how to feel about.