Blood for my Rose |• Crimson Rose series✔️

Chapter 21

Switzerland
Zurich

Exhaustion was weighing on her. A light frown appeared between her brows just after she had drawn them into a perfect curve, staring at who was in the mirror. Not herself, anyway. But the man that just wouldn't let her breathe in fresh oxygen and not his exhale.

"Are you just going to keep following me around?" Rose asked, forcing air out of her compressed chest as she caught a glimpse of the wall clock. It was a couple minutes before ten o'clock.

Mauricio didn't respond to her silly question, because what was she thinking? That he'd let her jump out through a window? She hadn't attempted escape, not yet at least. And that was even the deadly thing; realizing she was too composed in the hands of her captor. But for Rose, it wasn't composure at all, it was the wisdom to keep herself alert at all times.

As a matter of fact, she'd cried her eyes all afternoon until Mauricio decided to come intruding her space without knocking again. The habit was starting to provoke her, but that shouldn't have been a problem when there were other dire matters at hand.

She was dead. Gone to the world, as Mauricio had stated earlier, and would probably be forgotten soon enough. The realization was finally kicking in, after one week of total stalling in disbelief. It was seeming so real now, especially if she was really going to the whore house tonight. Though, not as whore, so it was a relief, but there was still no joy in watching other women in a more lamentable state than hers.

It was too much sadness to bear. She dragged her eyes off Mauricio's body rested on the wall, huffed and then stood up. "Well, I need to get into my dress, so will you"—her head gestured at the door—"step out for a second?"

"Not in your wildest dreams."

There was something strangely captivating about Mauricio's behavior. One minute he was acting desirable, and then the next he was a total idiot. Even so, Rose was getting a hang of both sides and trying to be tolerant, because this would be her new life for as long as her case would be so important until it was cracked, if it didn't take a dead end and turned cold.

"Having deep anxiety about failure as usual?" Mauricio asked with genuine concern as he noticed her face redden.

"You cannot even imagine." She looked at his crisp white shirt flown over his black pants, sleeve folded near his elbow and the first two buttons—from his collar—undone.

His checkered vest was hung over his shoulder. He was ready. But Rose was still staring at her lemonade dress on the rack. With hair in a wild bun and her makeup giving her face this glacial and classy look, she was left with one problem; the inability to undress in front of him.

"Don't flatter yourself, what is there that I haven't seen before," Mauricio cut in after noticing her worries, and he mentally rolled his eyes. Then he turned around and faced the wall to give her the privacy she hopelessly needed.

She quickly got into her knee-length dress and started doing the zip. Her hands could not go past the middle of her back, so she cleared her throat to call his attention. "Help me, will you?" She backed him, then, after a few seconds of silence, started feeling his fingers trail up her spine till they met her hairline.

She sucked in air, feeling locked in the dress as he reached the end of the zipper and held a small of her waist as his breath warmed her neck and tingled her skin.

Moving a step forward and beyond his reach, she spun around to face him. "Mauricio, please." Her voice was almost trembling. "I can guess what your intentions are as of now. I know that, just as your father, you are weirdly obsessed with fair-haired women and I don't judge you. But please—"