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“Ethan! Does your friend not realize how rude he is? How his words...”
I stopped listening to Nonna when a tap rattled the door. Business meeting number two was about to begin, and I couldn’t wait for it to fucking end.
Feebee
God...that hurt. That hurt a lot.
Could I not be wanted because I couldn’t move half of my body?
Earlier today, I wouldn’t have said Mercer felt that way, not after he gifted me a little more freedom and these art supplies.
But when Trix called Ethan, failing to get ahold of Mercer on her prehistoric-looking cell to see what time they would be home for dinner, my stolen heart broke again.
My afternoon was ruined.
And it was a nice afternoon.
After Trouble had left, Trix awaited her turn on the stairlift, following me up to my room. She had helped me with my hair and painted my nails, and I enjoyed the pampering. She had been up here for hours, leaving once to take care of meal prep. She had returned quickly after another ride up, taking a seat at my wooden dresser, watching with bright eyes as my paintbrush glided across the canvas.
Mercer had put art supplies in a drawer for me, something to pass the time. To kill the boredom that wanted me dead. Trix was fascinated, her head resting on her hand as she watched me work, only moving to make that call.
Damiano probably didn’t know, or care, that I had heard the awful comments he made while Trix’s loudspeaker was activated, and I’d heard no retaliation of anger from Mercer, which really hurt.
Yes, he couldn’t speak. But that keypad was practically glued to his fucking hand.
He should have defended me.
He would have defended me...if he actually wanted to.
Who the fuck knew what he wanted.
Black paint landed in the center of my canvas in the center of the beating heart I painted...cracking it.
A tear landed there, too.
Damiano was right. Mercer didn’t dip his dick into my heart, but he had dipped his silence into my chest and crushed my heart.
And I captured all that pain with my painting in the shades of pink, red, and black…and real-life tears.
Chapter 19
Mercer
Icouldn’t understand why Feebee wasn’t sitting at the table. Why she had pleaded with Nonna to let her eat in her room. She had heard the call, Nonna told me so. She wasn’t eating with us, either. They’d both heard all Damiano had said, and it had upset Feebee and pissed off Nonna. I didn’t even object when they set up Feebee’s dresser, preening it up as a cramped dining table of their own.
Feebee didn’t look hungry when I delivered dinner and drinks. All those nasty words floating around in her head pulled down her features, and when her head dipped before me, I noticed another fucking bald spot.
An elegant glass kissed my lips and a swig of Campari washed down my unappealing pasta. I looked through a wall of windows from the quiet dining room out to the field. No Trouble in sight, but the dug-up plants told me he had been here today.
“It will be okay.” Ethan’s mouth was full...and he was fucking talking...and it turned me fucking sick. “She’s not mad, just—”
My electronic voice cut him off. “It won’t be okay.” I continued typing. “It isn’t okay. I have a kidnapped girl living in my spare room.”
“Better that than Nonno’s cell.” Ethan laughed, his mouth finally empty, thank fuck.
“She shouldn’t be here. What the fuck was I thinking? She’s not Chandelle. I shouldn’t have taken her. It was a stupid idea that bit me in the fucking ass because I shouldn’t feel the way I do.”
“True. True. True. She should be at home with her family.”
