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“We’re stuck here. For how long?”
“However long I want.”
Real panic starts rearing her ugly head, and my breathing turns ragged. “Our arrangement is over. You said it yourself.”
“I know what I said.”
“I can’t stay with you anymore.”
“You can in the same way you can have an alcoholic drink and be okay.”
“I doubt I’ll be okay after you’re done with me.”
He says nothing to comfort me or deny he won’t have a normal relationship with me.
“You know, couples meet, and then they date, and love that was once out of reach comes within reach. The dating is exciting, exhilarating even.”
“I was upfront with you. I told you I don’t date.”
“My heart didn’t hear you. For me, all that was fake between us became real. So you see, I can’t stay with you because you never made the leap, and you’re not even willing to jump in.” When Corrado simply watches me in that way he does, I push on: “Say something.”
“Do you mean that?” he asks.
“Mean what?”
“That you love me.”
I pinch my lips. Did I really say that out loud? Do I really love this unattainable man? Now, I’m the one who can’t say anything.
“Do you mean it?” he asks again.
I won’t bare any more of myself for him. “I’m leaving.”
“The door is locked.”
“Open it.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he says.
“Why not?” I expect him to tell me how he feels about me.
“Reasons.” Corrado presses his lips to my forehead and rips the duffel from my hand. He walks away.
I catch up with him and use both hands to try to take back my duffel. Strong and unfazed, he doesn’t let go. Corrado enters the garage and strides past the now-white car we drove here in and also a motorcycle that I presume belongs to Drago.
From the corner, he grabs a large canister of gasoline and carries it with the duffel back into the house. What the heck? I follow him into the bathroom, where he inverts the duffel and dumps my clothes into the tub.
Near the tub is an odd-looking red switch. He flips it, and the ceiling of the bathroom starts opening into a hollow, dark space. The noise coming from it makes me think there’s a fan in there.
“What is that?” I ask.
Corrado flings the duffel at my chest, pours gasoline on my clothes, and lights them all on fire. The flames rise high, and I back away from them with my mouth gaping. The opening starts to suck up all the smoke.
Holy crap, this looks like an incinerator of some sort, and Corrado is using it to burn my clothing. I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
Corrado jerks his head. “Throw in the rest.”
“What?”
