Page 23 of The Strength Of A Woman

I ate alone at the white-linen-covered table, from a fine blue-and-white porcelain plate, with a wine decanter and a few dark red roses in a vase in front of me.

The crystal chandelier was lit despite the sun peeking through the windows and the curtains.

The food was good.

The ruby wine was thick and full of flavor.

A few rose petals fell off.

The history of this place, which had been owned by a noble family two hundred years ago, occasionally felt heavy, as if time had stood still.

I moved to this room to shake some of that feeling that I was trapped in a frame of time that wasn’t mine, and also because thinking about a particular woman felt like a sin.

I didn’t sleep at all last night, to be truthful.

No matter how many doors I shut over the idea of her, I couldn’t remove her image from my head, nor could I forget her antics.

It felt like she and I had something in common.

We both had been bruised. And both had been betrayed.

Maybe that was an even stronger shackle than the view of her I kept in my mind. Her eyes burning with life, her power blooming, her skin soft like silk.

I wondered whether she knew of men in the biblical sense. I shuddered.

Who in their right mind could think that she didn’t?

Had she had a chance to be with one?

The better question is… Did anyone in her family keep an eye on her?

They seem pretty set on using her, whichever way is more convenient to them.

I can’t imagine they’re deliberately letting her be with men. On the other hand, they allowed Bianca to do whatever she wanted.

But who could’ve had this woman?I mean Leilani Gallo.

There’s no way anyone would dare. There’s no way.

Fuck.

Even now, all I can think of is that she might soon be someone’s wife.

That she is broken.

That the man wouldn’t care.That he’d probably have her body to produce offspring. Or that he might swing to the other end of the spectrum and initiate her in the filthiest ways of having sex.

But why would her family allow a random man to touch her before marrying her away?

She had relative freedom in her house these past two years. She could’ve done it if she wanted. Yet no man would’ve been so stupid as to become a sitting target because of her.

But there were plenty of men around the house.

Inconsequential men.

The idea that she might’ve opened her legs for someone working in the house gives me a splitting headache.

Why do I care?