Page 24 of Blissful Devotion

I send up a silent prayer to anyone who will listen as I climb into the bed, eyes fixed on the door as if my watching will keep others out.

If only it were that simple.

The bed is annoyingly comfortable; the pillow and blankets cool on my overheated skin, and I can’t help but melt into it. I fight for as long as I can, all the worst cases playing in my mind: Vince dead, someone coming into the room to do god knows what while I sleep…

But it’s a losing battle as my eyes get heavy and I fall into unconsciousness.

One moment, I’m dreaming of little feet running through the house on Christmas morning, and the next, I’m violently ripped from it and tossed back into my nightmare.

It takes me a second to remember what’s happening and where I am as early morning brain fog sets in, but a quick glance around the room and I remember everything.

“It would appear your little alarm wasn’t very useful.” I whip my head to the left to find Lorenzo standing beside my bed. I have all of two seconds to look at him before he yanks the curtains open and blinds me.

Looking away, my eyes land on the things I’d piled up in front of the door that clearly didn’t do any good, but they do make Lorenzo’s words make sense.

“I brought you breakfast.”

I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and find him still standing beside the bed, hands in his pockets, the picture of ease.

He nods toward a tray on the bedside table; I glance at it long enough to see an orange before I look away again, pulling the blanket higher.

I wouldn’t say I’m cowering per se, but I would love it if he could see as little of me as possible.

He doesn’t go away, doesn’t even budge, and honestly, I’m not surprised.

Lorenzo doesn’t strike me as a man who is used to being told no or not getting his way.

“I’m not hungry.”

For a long moment, he’s quiet before he tsks loudly, pulling my gaze back to him as he shakes his head.

“You slept for more than twelve hours,” he tells me, as if that’s supposed to mean something.

Apparently, it does to my stomach, and it takes that tiny piece of information for it to feel as though I’m suddenly starving.

Wonderful.

“I don’t like French toast.” It's another lie. I love French toast, but my voice doesn’t waver even if it is only a whisper, so I’ll take it.

“Katherine.” My full name from his lips makes my blood run cold. “If you're going to lie, at least try to sound convincing.” I hear him move, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

How does he know my name?

He moves to the end of the bed, stepping into my line of sight. The look on his face tells me he’s enjoying this.

“I had my boys look into you. I know all about you now. Katherine Elizabeth Williams, 26, went to Deering High School and graduated from Bowdoin College with a Bachelor’s Degree in Early Childhood Education. You like gnocchi, pizza, strawberry lemonade, Manhattans, romance books, and ice cream…” He trails off, raising a brow as if daring me to argue with him on any of that.

I can’t, of course; it’s all true.

He stalks back around the side of the bed, and this time I can’t look away. This cat-and-mouse game with Lorenzo is dangerous, and leaving myself open to him will only put me in more danger. He grips my chin forcibly, turning my head until our noses nearly touch.

It’s so strange to look into his eyes, at his face, and see so much of them. But where they are warm and loving, he is cold and cruel.

“I also know that my brother hired you to be a nanny for my niece, but that you're also sleeping with my nephew.” He squeezes harder, and I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes. “And that you happen to have a baby in that pretty little belly.”

His words steal the air from my lungs, making everything he’d seen before now seem like nothing.

“Do as I say, and neither of you has anything to worry about.”