House rules
802 Words
Chapter Three
House Rules
Sleep never came.
Isabella lay awake staring at the intricately carved ceiling above the enormous bed, wondering how a mattress could be so soft while she felt so miserable. Every time she closed her eyes she saw her father's trembling hands signing the contract. By sunrise she had given up on sleeping altogether.
She pushed back the duvet and wandered to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Morning sunlight spilled over the perfectly manicured gardens below. Gardeners trimmed hedges with careful precision while security guards patrolled the grounds in pairs. Even from the second floor she could tell escaping wouldn't be as simple as climbing over a fence.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Miss Rossi?" Maria called from outside. "May I come in?"
"Yes."
Maria entered carrying a tray of breakfast along with several shopping bags. She placed everything neatly on a small table before smiling warmly.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I asked the kitchen to prepare a little of everything."
"I'm not hungry."
"You should eat anyway."
Maria opened one of the bags and began laying folded clothes across the bed.
"The Boss asked me to bring these."
Isabella frowned.
"I didn't ask him to buy me anything."
"He insisted."
The clothes were expensive. Cashmere sweaters, silk blouses, tailored trousers, elegant dresses, and shoes that probably cost more than she earned in several months at the diner.
"I'm not wearing them."
Maria chuckled softly.
"You'll change your mind once you see your own clothes."
Confused, Isabella looked toward the wardrobe.
The suitcase she had brought from home had already been unpacked. Her old clothes, faded from years of washing, looked painfully out of place beside the luxury garments.
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
Everything about this house reminded her that she no longer belonged to her old life.
"I'll leave you to get ready," Maria said gently. "Breakfast will get cold."
After the older woman left, Isabella carried one of the outfits into the adjoining bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror for several minutes before finally changing into a pair of cream trousers and a simple fitted blouse. The fabric felt softer than anything she had ever worn.
She hated that she liked it.
Once she finished brushing her damp hair, she stepped back into the bedroom.
The door opened at the same moment.
Dante stopped just inside the doorway.
For a brief second, neither of them spoke.
He had clearly expected the room to be empty. Isabella had clearly expected him to knock.
"I apologize," he said immediately, taking a step back toward the hallway. "I was told you had already come downstairs."
"You could've knocked."
"You're right."
The simple apology caught her off guard.
He didn't try to justify himself.
He simply waited outside while she walked over and folded her arms.
"You can come in now."
He entered again, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"I came to explain the rules."
She leaned against the fireplace.
"I wasn't aware this place had rules."
"It has several."
He spoke as though he were discussing the weather.
"You may go anywhere inside the house except my office. The west wing is occupied by my mother, so you'll respect her privacy as she will respect yours. If you wish to leave the grounds, you tell me first. You will have a driver whenever you need one. Security accompanies you outside the estate."
"So I'm a prisoner."
"No."
She laughed.
"The locked gates say otherwise."
"They're there to keep threats out."
"And me in."
His silence answered the accusation.
She sighed dramatically.
"What if I decide to climb over the wall?"
"You won't."
"And how exactly do you know that?"
"Because you've already seen the guards."
She rolled her eyes.
"I don't like you."
"I know."
"I don't think you understand. I don't just dislike you. I plan on making your life as difficult as possible."
To her surprise, the faintest hint of amusement crossed his face.
"I expected nothing less."
Before she could respond, another voice drifted into the room.
"Dante?"
An elegant woman in her early sixties appeared in the doorway. Her silver hair was neatly styled, and she carried herself with effortless grace.
She smiled kindly at Isabella.
"So this must be Isabella."
Dante nodded once.
"Mother."
The older woman crossed the room before Isabella could react and gently took her hands.
"My name is Sofia. I've been waiting to meet you."
Isabella blinked.
"You... have?"
Sofia smiled warmly.
"I imagine you're frightened. I would be too. But while you're under this roof, you'll be treated as family."
Isabella glanced toward Dante.
He looked away first.
For the first time since arriving at the mansion, she saw something unexpected.
His mother wasn't afraid of him.
And somehow...
Neither was she.
- Writer
