Page 8 of Cinderella and the Daddy

He doesn't look up from his plate. "No."

I sigh. “And how long am I stuck here?”

“As long as it takes.”

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

I lean back in my chair, studying his face in the candlelight. He really is a handsome man. Square jaw. High cheekbones. Pretty eyes.

"I need clothes. I can't wear these forever." I gesture to my grease-stained jeans and tank top.

"That will be arranged."

Panic seeps into my voice as I plead, “His name is Mac. He's at my apartment, and there's no one to take care of him. I. Need. My. Dog.”

"No."

"No?" My voice cracks. "He'll die. I will be your hostage, but not without my dog.”

"I said no."

I stand so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. "You can't just leave him there! He's all I have! He's—" My voice breaks completely. "He's the only thing that's ever been just mine. He’s my family."

For the first time since we sat down, Luka looks directly at me. Really looks. I see something flicker there. Not sympathy exactly, but... recognition, maybe.

"Please." The word tastes sour. I don't beg. Ever. But this is Mac. "I won't give you a hard time. I won't fight you or try to escape or cause problems. Just... please, don't let him suffer because of whatever Charles did."

Finally, he nods once, sharp and decisive.

"Fine. He’ll get the dog."

The relief hits me so hard I have to sit back down. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." He goes back to his steak. "You just agreed to behave. I'll hold you to that."

“Thank you.”

"You're not a prisoner. But you're mine. Do you understand?"

The words send a chill down my spine. Not fear exactly, but something else.

I’ve been claimed.

“There will be clothes in your room when you return,” he says.

“My clothes?”

“Yes.”

An hour later, he has one of his guards escort me to my room. He closes the door behind him, but I don’t hear the lock.

I walk to the door and try it.

To my surprise, it opens.

There’s a guard a few feet away.