Page 33 of Forgotten Vows

He nods and steps back, giving us space. I realize he's trying to be respectful in his own way, trying to make this easier somehow. But there's no way to make this easier—no way to make kidnapping and forced marriage feel like anything other than what it is, no matter how polite the jailer or how beautiful the cage.

"Come on," I say to Matteo, forcing a smile that I don't feel. "Let's finish your breakfast, and then maybe we can explore a little. Would you like that?"

He nods enthusiastically and climbs back onto the stool, attacking his pancakes with a single-minded focus. I sit beside him, watching him eat while my own stomach churns too much to even think about food. He looks so much like his father it makes my chest ache. He has my dark hair, but he has his father's features, stronger than mine, and his blue eyes.

I wonder what Lachlan sees when he looks at him, if he sees himself or me. I wonder if he remembers, like I do every time I look at my son, that night in the garden when we were young and stupid and thought love was enough to save us.

The morning passes in a strange, surreal haze as Matteo and I explore the penthouse together. The media room is enormous, with rows of plush seating and a screen that takes up an entire wall. There are shelves of movies and video games, what look like every console imaginable, although I'm no expert, and when we turn on the screen, pretty much every streaming service is available. The library has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and a near-endless variety of other books, and I have to admit that there'senough in this house just in these two rooms to keep us occupied for a long, long time.

But that's not the point. The point is that we can't leave even if we wanted to.

When we finally make it as far as visiting the gym, I can see it's clearly well-used. I try not to imagine Lachlan in here. The thought of him sweaty, muscles flexing, is a distraction I can't handle right now, and a conflict I can't reconcile.

Everywhere we go, I feel eyes on us, even though there are no guards actually following us through the rooms. But I can sense the surveillance after a lifetime with it. We're being kept track of like valuable possessions that might try to escape, and the knowledge makes my skin crawl. It makes me hyperaware of every movement, every word, every expression that might be recorded and analyzed.

By early afternoon, the sun is streaming through the windows as the morning clouds recede. Matteo is practically vibrating with energy, asking again about the pool. I hesitate, not wanting to be exposed and vulnerable in a swimsuit. I don't want to give Lachlan or his men any more access to my body than they already have.

But Matteo is looking at me with those big blue eyes, pleading without words, and I realize he hasn't had a chance to just be a kid in so long. Gio rarely allowed him to have fun with the pool or anything else that could entertain a child in the mansion. Getting to play and swim, do something normal and fun, is a true luxury to him.

"Okay," I say finally. The way his face lights up makes the decision worth it, even though my stomach is knotted with anxiety. "Let's go swimming."

I find swimsuits in my room and Matteo's. There's a one-piece for me mixed in with various bikinis, and I take it. It's still more exposing than I'd like, but it's better than being on display in a bikini, which I haven't done since I was a teenager. I haven't even put on a bathing suit since I was eighteen. Once my innocence was publicly gone, I became possible meat for hungry wolves, and I wasn't about to bait them.

It's clear Lachlan thought of everything, made sure that we have everything we might need to be comfortable in our beautiful prison. I change into the one-piece and help Matteo into his trunks, and then we make our way to the elevator that will take us to the roof.

When the doors open, I'm not prepared for what I see.

The pool at the estate was lovely, but something about this being on a rooftop overlooking the city only adds to the overall beauty of the space. The huge rectangular pool is crystal clear and sparkling in the sunlight, surrounded by comfortable loungers and potted plants, with a long bar toward the back. There's a hot tub at one end, and a stone fireplace surrounded by more comfortable chairs at the other. Beyond the glass barrier that surrounds the space, the Chicago skyline stretches out in every direction, giving the sense of being suspended above the world. It's private and secluded, designed for escape and relaxation, and for a moment I can almost forget that it's just another part of the cage.

Matteo doesn't hesitate. He doesn't pause to take in the view or appreciate the luxury; he just runs straight for the pool and jumps in with a whoop of pure delight. I can't help but smile as I watch him surface, laughing, his hair plastered to his head and water streaming down his face. He looks so happy and free, so much like the child he should have been all along, and I feel my shoulders relax slightly at the sight of it.

I sit on the side of the pool and dangle my legs in, feeling the chilly water against my sun-warmed skin, and I let myself relax into it for a moment. I don't think I've been relaxed in ten years, and I'm not there yet, but I feel a brief second of it. A tiny respite. I lean back on my hands and try to pretend that this is normal, that everything is going to be okay, even though I know it's a lie.

Gio will find us. He won't allow himself to be embarrassed like this. Whatever protection Lachlan thinks the marriage gave us, it won't be enough.

But he's not here yet. And I try to make myself enjoy this small pleasure.

Then, about an hour after we come up to the deck, while I'm sunning after reapplying sunscreen to both myself and Matteo, I feel that prickle of awareness at the back of my neck, the sense of being watched that I've learned to recognize over years of living under surveillance.

I open my eyes and turn, and there he is.

Lachlan is standing at the edge of the roof, near the elevator. Even from this distance, I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. He's wearing dark slacks and a button-down, the sleeves rolled up, and his hands in his pockets, and his expression is unreadable.

I can't help but look at the tattoos on his arms that weren't there when we were together last. He had a few, hidden under his clothing, but not covering his arms the way they seem to now. They seem to me like the physical evidence of the life he's lived without me, the things he's done, the man he's become.

Not the boy I loved. Something else entirely.

My breath catches in my throat, and I force myself to look away and pretend I don't feel Lachlan's eyes on me like a brand. But my skin is burning now, and I'm aware of every inch of exposed flesh, every curve that the swimsuit doesn't quite hide. I'm suddenly conscious of the way the water clings to me, the way the sun highlights my body. The way I must look to him from where he's standing, vulnerable and exposed.

I don't look back, but I can feel him there, watching. It makes something twist in my stomach that I don't want to examine too closely—fear and anger… and something much more complicated that I've been trying to ignore since the moment I saw him again.

After a while, when I finally glance back toward where he was standing, he's gone, but the feeling of being watched doesn't leave. I wonder if it ever will, if we're here long enough. If I'll ever be able to relax in this place, or if I'll always be aware of the cameras and the guards, and the man who thinks he owns me now.

We spend an hour in the pool, Matteo playing and splashing while I sun and then get into the water for a little while to try to quiet the anxiety that's building in my chest. When we finally get out,wrapping ourselves in the plush towels that are on a shelf near the loungers, Matteo is tired and happy, his earlier fear temporarily forgotten in the simple joy of swimming. I'm grateful for that at least, that he can still find moments of happiness despite everything.

"That was fun, Mama," he says as we ride the elevator back down, his small hand warm in mine. "Can we do it again tomorrow?"

"Maybe." I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I'm afraid to promise him anything, as I always have been, when everything is so uncertain.