Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,25

had always taught me to answer every question asked of me honestly, but I can’t in this case. Because I don’t know.

“This is my home,” I say because that is the only truth I know.

He nods in understanding. “But this isn’t mine.”

I criss cross my legs and settle in. I have a bit of time before I have to take Scarecrow’s cake out of the oven and start making lunch. I want to spend the time with Christopher and to continue to learn about this man.

“Tell me about your home,” I say, hoping he’ll open up to me.

He swallows hard but then smiles. “New York is about as polar opposite of this place. It’s loud, it’s busy, it’s full of life and energy and I love it. You can feel the life of others sizzle in your blood.”

“I’ve read about it.”

“Words and stories can’t give it justice. You really have to live it.”

“Do you have a big house there?” I try not to picture Christopher and me living in New York together as husband and wife, but the thoughts force their way into my imagination. The fantasy of what could…

“An apartment. There aren’t a lot of houses in the city. I grew up in a fairly large townhouse in the Upper Eastside with my mother, but square footage is usually limited when it comes to living space unless you’re really wealthy.” He looks at me and smiles again. “You’d like my place. It has a view of Central Park, and at night, the lights of the city truly are magical. I could sit and stare out the window for hours.”

“Are you wealthy?” I figure he is because of his conversation with Papa Rich when he first arrived, but I don’t know for sure.

He chuckles. “I suppose so. My family has a lot of money. But I do pretty good for myself as a photographer. I never had to work, but I wanted to. It was important for me to earn my own way. To be my own man. I love what I do. My career is very important to me. So much so, that I suppose it consumed me in all ways. I chose work over all else. Passion has a way of doing that.” He pauses and then asks, “What about you? Isn’t there some sort of career you would want to do? What did you dream of being when you were a little girl?”

Another question I don’t have the answer for.

I don’t dream of things like this.

I don’t dream at all.

Passion is a foreign thing to me. It doesn’t exist in my world.

“I like to draw. I like to read.” As soon as I say the words, I realize how small and hollow they sound.

“But no dreams of a future?”

He doesn’t seem like he’s judging me, or even has pity which is what I have felt from him since his arrival. He seems interested, and for the first time, I feel he really wants to know the person I am.

Christopher is easy to read. I think he believes he’s not, but his eyes and the way he shifts his jaw reveals all. I’ve seen his rage, his sadness, his fear, and his acceptance. I’ve also seen how he views me. He doesn’t hate me like he hates Papa Rich, but he’s sad for me. His heart breaks for me. I see it all. I feel it all. But today… right now… I feel a different emotion from him.

Curiosity.

He’s trying to figure me out. He’s trying to understand how I think and what I feel. He wants to know. Not just because of escape possibilities, but for something more.

I can feel it. Christopher is trying to see me as I have been trying to see him.

I shake my head and focus on the ground before me. “I wake up each day and live the now. Dreams can also be nightmares, so I avoid both.”

11

Christopher

Five days.

Five fucking days.

How long am I going to be expected to live in a cellar, chained to a wall? This can’t be my life now. This can’t be my normal, and yet, I’m starting to realize that my only chance of escape rests with a psychopath and his terrified daughter.

I’m fucked.

I might as well be dead.

Oh yeah… in the eyes of my family and friends, I am dead.

“Good morning,” Ember says as she walks into the cellar with a breakfast tray full of eggs, bacon and toast. Her cat is close behind her feet, and