Anastasia went over to the kitchen. The sun gleaming from the open windows illuminated the delicate white-painted walls and gray cabinets. A small island sat in the room's center. Baskets of fruits lined its surface and woven counter stools were scattered around it.
The air was warm from the steaming pan on the gas stove; the smoke from the heat fanned the air.
Raquel moved away from the sink, dropping a bowl of washed rice grains. She spared Anastasia a quick glance, then focused back on her cooking.
She poured the rice into the steaming water on the stove, stirred a few times, covered it with a lid and walked back to the porcelain sink.
The tomatoes and green onions made a thudding sound in the sink. She rinsed them into a bowl, walked over to Anastasia and dropped it in front of her, walking off without saying a word.
Anastasia stayed still, she waited for instructions and when none came, she walked to the sink to wash her hands.
She picked up the wooden chopping board and knife that laid lazily on the counter and started chopping the veggies.
The sound of vegetables chopping. The quiet clatter of pots. Steaming and sizzling food. All beat into rhythms in the atmosphere.
"You'll only last a week," Raquel suddenly said. Her lowered tone tinged with a luxurious Spanish accent.
Anastasia raised her head abruptly, her figure silhouetted by the radiant light from the window.
Her gaze rested on Raquel, who forced a tight smile.
"Don't get too comfortable."
Raquel added, grabbing the chopped veggies.
Her measured steps and clicking heels against the floor moved to the stove, she stirred into a pan.
Anastasia looked at the island, now transformed into a land of exotic and unfamiliar delicacies. Other than the plate of poached eggs sprinkled with green onions, everything else looked foreign to her. Nothing like what she had back at home.
"He gets married every week?" she suddenly asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
Shock etched Raquel's features, the color drained, her eyes bulged with horror. She tilted her head, staring at Anastasia, as if waiting for her to burst out in hysterical laughter at the joke of it.
Her eyes traveled to Anastasia's hands resting on the counter. The sight of the double oval diamond ring seemed awareness into both of them.
Anastasia raised her eyes to meet Raquel. She looked away, sighing quietly.
"Please set the table for breakfast," Raquel said instead, grabbing a stack of plates.
"Madame," she added, a sneer creeping through the honorific word.
Anastasia trailed behind her with cutleries and teacups. She set the long wooden dining table for breakfast. Every corner of the house had large open windows that showcased the lush greenery outside, a calm ambiance.
Raquel yelled out to the living room in Spanish, their sudden quick steps indicated she invited them for breakfast.
Matteo strode in behind them, his arms flexed, he moved like he owned the room. He did.
He sat at the head of the table, his eyes locked with Anastasia, who stood by the door, watching quietly as they occupied the room.
"Sit," he ordered. His slight nod referred her to the empty chair beside him.
Her fingers gripped the hem of his shirt on her. She moved to the seat and sat with a measured slowness, an anticipation that fanned her.
Then, like a scared child, she grabbed a plate, filled it with eggs and bread.
Matteo focused on his food, savoring the soup, the pudding and salad. Anastasia watched him from the corner of her eyes as she munched quietly on the bread.
After a while, she was back in her bedroom, the bedroom.
The quietness became an appreciated refuge from the chaos outside its walls. She gazed through the spacious room, picturing Peach's white fur scattered across the room, her tiny paws stamping all over the room.
And Lori, her runway debut, was nearing. She had been anxious about it for a while and now that Anastasia wasn't there with her, she must have been more nervous.
"I need to get out of here," she mumbled under her breath.
She hurried to the drawers, pulled out each of them, searching for anything that could help her get away from the walls of Matteo Ramirez.
A phone. A key. Anything. But it was all empty.
Her fingers ran through her black wavy hair, her mind raced. She pondered how to break free from all of it.
The tramping sound of her hurried footsteps as she headed for Matteo, proved her grit to soon get out of his life.
The group of men, Matteo's men, still crowded the living room in whispered shushes, scattered around like they were playing poker.
She walked past them, heading for Matteo, who was sitting on a gray plush sofa at the rear end.
"I need my toiletries," she told them. Her voice laced with the confidence she reckoned she had lost the day her father broke the news.
"Okay," he replied blankly, silence following after.
"Did you hear me? I asked. " iI want to go get my toiletries."
He raised his fingers and snapped them. One of the men, resting on the rocking woven chair, stood up abruptly. He headed for the door, as if the single finger snap came with a book of instructions.
"No, they're personal. I want to go get them myself."
He tilted his head back, raising his eyes to meet hers, the dark brown color worn, weary from smoking.
He nodded his head to the left slightly, gesturing to her to go ahead. His gaze didn't falter.
She walked past him, still feeling the weight of his gaze fixed on her back.
Anastasia trailed behind the man, the black leather jacket he wore flapped with the rhythm of his movement.
He held the door to a wrangler jeep for her to get in. She climbed into the sleek black seat.
The driver sat in the driver's seat, waiting for them. The passenger door opened and Matteo got in, his back relaxed onto the seat.
As they drove out, the pathway unfolded lush greenery, tall trees and the picturesque stable at its far left. Its wooden brown fences and grazing horses in its pasture. The view was beautiful.
The only time Anastasia had been to the countryside was with Lori and her ex-boyfriend for a wine tasting event.
Micheal, Lori's ex-boyfriend, had invited them for a weekend at his parent's place. It was a fun weekend third wheeling with them. She learned how to ride horses and tried out different wines. But here in this countryside, she wasn't sure what awaited her. Wines? Guns?
As the car drove onto the main road, she watched from the window. The streets were almost empty, only a few people roamed the concrete walkways, lined with beautiful vintage buildings.
The car came to a halt at the facade of a grey-brown coloured building. Its walls held intricate stonework on the sides.
'La Señora' A faded gold carved onto the building's top surface.
The sound of the opening door broke Anastasia's eyes from the building's spell. She stepped out of the car, tucked her hair behind and moved her fingers to hold the shirt that still tugged at her.
She stepped into the foyer, the cool air of the serenity welcoming, a relief from the warmth outside.
Elegant chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a soft glow on the polished marble floors.
A petite lady with brown, short hair walked to welcome them, a smile plastered on her red lips.
"Welcome madame" she greeted in Spanish, stretching Anastasia's little or no knowledge beyond its limits.
Matteo's man behind responded to her, they indulged in a conversation that lost Anastasia in the tumbling of words.
"Come, I will show you to the shelves," she said in English, a warm smile curved on her lips.
Anastasia's eyes roamed around the room as the store attendant tried to engage her in a conversation, picking out different feminine supplies.
The polished marble tiles, the tall walls and high counter shelves that lined the room, all seemed to close in on her.
Her mind drifted, spinned with thoughts to escape, to flee from the cage of both men whose names she carried.
"Señora?" The attendant called, her pitch flowed with her thick Colombian accent.
"I want to use the restroom."
Anastasia replied instead. She snapped her eyes away from the store's interior and rested it on the store's attendant.
"Over there"
The attendant pointed her manicured index finger to a door to the far left of the room.
A plastic plaque with the word 'Restroom' engraved on it's surface, hung above the white door.
Anastasia forced her a small smile, anticipation enveloped her as she strode towards the door.
She pushed the door open, twisting it's brass knob.
The overhead light reflected on the round mirror resting above a ceramic bowl.
Push doors led to two stall toilets. A slim aluminium window faced the doors, casting a slice of natural light.
An idea crept in, her eyes hurriedly wandered the small room as she thought of her next move.
She grabbed the steel pedal waste bin sat at the corner beside the sink and dropped it gently beside the window's wall.
She pushed the window open, a burst of adrenaline gushed through her, eager to flee.
The aluminum frame creaked softly as she squeezed herself through its narrow gaps, a low wince escaped her lips.
Her right leg scrambled for footing outside the window before she fell into the flowering plants lined outside the walls. Scratched. Bruised. Free.
She stood up and dusted dirt off her palm as she absorbed the new surrounding.
Then, jumped out the small wooden fence not higher than three feets, it's slats evenly spaced.
With eyes that quickly scanned the place, calculating her next move, her heart raced with fear.
Her legs moved before her mind could carry the weight. She moved at a pace that resonated with her fiery determination to get away.
The few people that busied the quiet streets watched her with fascination and suspicion, their eyes darted with questions.
Nothing looked familiar to Anastasia. The buildings held words in Spanish.
The gravity of her predicament smashed her down. A realization that with a language barrier, her chances of finding help, someone who would understand her, was maddening slim.
Now far away from the store, she stopped to catch her breath. Her hands found her neck to soothe the choke that threatened to escape.
The wailing police siren broke the air she was trying to gather. She raised her head quickly to search for the noise.
A small white police car was parked across the street. Two police officers stood beside it, their eyes scanning the environment like they were looking for something.
Anastasia ran across the street, strode towards them, her legs moving at a desperate pace.
"Hello, please help me, I'm American, and I've been kidnapped," her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath.
Their expressions faltered, with a questioning gaze. They exchanged looks, confusion clouded their eyes.
One of the officers responded, his unfamiliar words slashed her hopes like a knife, cold crept into her spine.
She tucked her disheveled hair, inhaled and exhaled deeply. She mustered strength to try again in a slow, measured tone.
"Me... American...take...me...with...you" she said.
Counting her words, hoping they grasp.
Their expressions remained impassive.
A black SUV halted behind the police car; her heart sank.
The door of the driver's seat creaked open. The tall, imposing figure stepped out, his gaze pierced into her like a dagger. Matteo Ramirez.
Her legs staggered back. She contemplated running away, but she couldn't, her body stilled.
Matteo shook hands with the officers, they cuddled up in a conversation too heavy for her to understand.
After a while, the officers got into their car and drove off, leaving Anastasia in a pool of scattered hopes, reeling.
His hand grabbed hers tightly, his fingers dug into her skin as he pulled her towards the car.
She didn't resist, she couldn't. Her legs felt too tired, frustration weakened her.
He shoved her into the passenger seat and slammed the door close behind her like a cage.
Matteo got into the driver's seat, his jaw clenched with anger at her endeavor.
Her quest to escape felt like a breached contract, a deal he made with her father.
One that now rested in his throat like a lump.
He had never thought about marriage before that day Murray Carter offered him the hands of his only daughter.
He remembered the hesitation at the back of his head, but somehow Murray Carter managed to convince him.
And now she belonged to him, she was his in ways she didn't quite understand, yet.