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The car crept to a crawl before he parked it.
“Finally home,” Giancarlo said.
Home for him is a new prison cell for me. I took in a deep breath before following him out of the car. He didn’t even glance back at me to ensure I was there as he took the three steps into his home.
“Lock the door behind you,” Giancarlo said.
I did as I was told and stopped at the door. Was I supposed to take my shoes off? Did I strip now that we were at his house? The auction house did a flash course on what was expected of any human being sold there, but I was unsure what my next step should be.
Giancarlo turned back to me. “Why the hell are you just standing there?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Do you even know how to wipe your own ass?”
“Yes,” I said.What a stupid question to ask.
“Then use your common sense. Shit, why the hell do you have a brain if you’re not going to use it?” He walked deeper into the house. The further away he got, the less I could understand him.
I glanced at the door, removed my shoes, and placed them aside before following the sounds to a kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and black gold fixings made my eyes widen as I took it all in.
“Hungry?” Giancarlo asked.
My stomach clenched on air. I tried to think about the last time I had more than the bare minimum of food. I came up blank.
“Yes, please.”
Giancarlo nodded and removed his suit jacket. His white button-up hugged his muscular frame showcasing all the muscles there. He moved around the kitchen, and I was left there, standing like an idiot. I glanced around and grabbed the stool at the island.
I sat down, resting my hands in my lap. The appeal of the kitchen dimmed a little. Instead, I found myself watching Giancarlo as he moved like a seasoned chef. He turned the radio up as some fast-paced song came on. He rapped every word, dancing around as he cooked.
What kind of strange monster is he?
There was no doubt in my mind about what kind of person Giancarlo was. No one bought another human being and smiled the way he did. Yet when he was cooking, he looked and felt different. Fear wasn’t rolling in my stomach, threatening to turn it over. I was confused.
The most tantalizing aroma filled the kitchen, and my mouth watered. My stomach took the perfect time to growl just as the song came to an end, and the kitchen was plunged into momentary silence.
Giancarlo chuckled. “It’s coming. Can’t rush a masterpiece.”
My arm was already on the counter. My sleeve pushed up, waiting for the sting of pain that would surely come from me showing any kind of need. It was what always happened if I pissed off my father. When nothing happened, I slowly pulled my arm back.
Isn’t he angry?
Giancarlo moved toward me. My back went stiff as the smile crept back on my face.
“Open your mouth.”
I obeyed without question, and he popped something hot into my mouth.
“Close your mouth,” Giancarlo ordered.
I snapped it shut and, on instinct, started to chew. A groan slipped free before I even knew it.
“Right, I know what the hell I’m doing.” Giancarlo made his way back to the stove.
I licked my lips greedily while tasting the food. I wanted more. I couldn’t fathom what else he needed to do to the dish.
It wasn’t long before Giancarlo plated the food and headed toward the table. I scrambled out of my seat and moved closer, panting at the chance to eat more. He took a seat, and I stayed standing.
