Page 55 of Pretty Plaything

EVEN THOUGH IT’S BEENa few days, Alessandro still keeps me in the dungeon. He brings me food, and I have new clothes and some books to pass the time.

But he refuses to let me out.

I can’t focus much on anything except on coming up with a plan to get myself out of here.

But if I give Alessandro what he wants, he’ll keep me here. If I don’t, he’ll keep me here anyway. It’s like I can’t win with him.

How can I show him that I’m not his plaything? If he’d gotten bored of me, he would’ve let me out, so he clearly has plans for me.

But I don’t know if I can keep doing this. The sex might be nice, but it’s just sex. It’s not enough. I can’t just pretend that everything’s fine and that I’m happy to be here.

The door flies open, startling me. Alessandro is at the door, fury written all over his face. I instinctively back away as he strides toward me.

He lifts something that he’s holding in his hand.

A gasp escapes me when I recognize what it is. My journal. The one I kept hidden under the floorboard in my room.

Why the hell does he have it? Who gave it to him?

“Hey, that’s mine!” I yell, trying to snatch the journal from him, but he lifts it out of my reach.

“Do you still think that?” he asks. “Do you really think your body isn’t perfect and that you aren’t beautiful?”

I back away from him, licking my lips.

He read it.

Now that he knows my weaknesses, he’s going to use them against me. I won’t be able to pretend that I don’t care.

What is he going to say?

I hear my mother’s voice in my head.

Smile more often.

Don’t eat that.

Keep your shoulders straight. Your stomach will stick out less.

I want to block it out.

I want to yell to everyone that I’m married now. Who the hell cares if I’m not the most beautiful woman on the planet? Once my husband grows bored of me, he’ll send me away.

And maybe then, I’ll be free of all of it.

Except, there’ll always be that one person who’ll say that if I’d done more of this or that, my husband wouldn’t have felt the need to get rid of me.

“Sienna,” Alessandro says. “Look at me.”

I grind my teeth together as I lift my gaze to his.

“Go on. Tell me whatever the fuck you want to say! Everyone always does, even when I don’t ask them to!” Tears prickle the corners of my eyes, and I hate myself for it.

It shouldn’t affect me what anyone thinks about me. It’s stupid and pointless to obsess about it when there are things I can’t change.

That I don’t want to change.

Alessandro closes the distance between us, throwing my journal to the floor. His hand rests on my cheek, his eyes boring into mine.