On Your Knees

Giovanni

I don't like clutter or anything messy, not anywhere in my life.

My eyes fall on that tartan again. Why have I kept it all these years? I need to talk to the maid. I don't want to have to see it every time I fucking turn around.

Sienna lowers herself into the chair nearest her and farthest from me. She hangs her head and her hair falls forward like a veil between us, but I don't miss the tear that drops.

She combs her fingers through the thick mass, sniffles and straightens her spine. She meets my gaze.

"One night," she says.

I nod.

"And I'm free and you won't hurt Ciara."

"Not a bad deal if you ask me."

"You're not the one who has to fuck you."

I chuckle at that. "You could do worse, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart."

I shrug a shoulder. I could give a fuck.

"What are you, anyway? What's your accent?" she asks.

She hears it? I wonder if others do too. I've worked hard to rid myself of it. Rid myself of the past.

"Scots."

"You're from Scotland?"

"Born in the Highlands."