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#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 133

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She glanced at the food in front of her on the table—rosemary chicken, her favorite—then glared across the great expanse of table at him. Had it not been for the ever-pouring rain, she would have already left Barton Manor—on foot since he would not allow her to use the phone to call a car. He said she was not a prisoner; she was free to come and go as she pleased, which meant the hedge at the end of the garden, and with someone watching her. She had not made it that far, the raining stopping her at the stone railing on the back lanai.

“Something wrong with your food, my dear?” he asked, eyebrows raised in concern. “I’ve requested all your favorites.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she said defiantly, pushing the plate away from her—it slid easily on the polished table. “Let alone what my favorites are.” She stood and shouted, “I need to get out of here!”

“Harold will drive you anywhere you’d like to go.” He smiled, loving her impetuous actions. His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

“I want my own car.”

“We’ve discussed this before.” He sat down his fork, then dapped his mouth with a cloth napkin pulled from his lap. “It is not safe. I wouldn’t want anyone to harm my fiancĂ©.”

Fiancé, she thought, shaking her head. The idea made no sense. She stepped into the hallway, lightning flashed, making the arched windows glow.

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