by Penelope Sky
“Gilbert?”
He turned back around, his hands behind his back, standing tall, straight, and proud. His nose was slightly upturned, like I was still beneath him even though he was the butler. “Yes, Melanie?”
“I’d like to see Fender.” We’d arrived that morning, and I hadn’t heard from him. I imagined he had been served the exact same dinner just minutes before mine.
“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “He’s very busy with work. Can’t be disturbed.”
I felt like I was still in the camp, only able to see him when he wanted to see me. “Could you tell him I’d like to see him?”
“I can pass along the message, but as I said, he’s very busy. You can expect to hear from him tomorrow.” He gave a slight bow before he took his leave. “Place your tray outside the door when you’re finished.”
He departed and left me alone.
I was in a palace now, surrounded by luxury and gourmet food, but it felt the same as the camp.
Like nothing had changed except the one thing I didn’t want to change.
Seeing my sister.
The next morning, I had barely finished my breakfast when Gilbert stepped through the open door. “Put everything in the closet. Makeup in the bathroom.”
I left the living room to see what the commotion was.
A dozen people, all finely dressed, entered my bedroom, carrying designer clothes and heels, placing them in my empty walk-in closet. Another group of people entered my bathroom, setting up makeup stations and an array of skin care products.
One woman walked up to me, carrying a couple makeup brushes in her hands. Her eyes absorbed my face, like she was dolling me up without even touching me. “Let’s take a seat. I’m going to teach you how to do your makeup.”
“Oh…I already know how—”
“No, she doesn’t,” Gilbert interjected. “Please show her.”
I was placed in the chair in front of my vanity in the bathroom while the makeup artist placed all of her supplies in front of her. “Always put a primer on your skin. It’s sunscreen, and the number one enemy of your skin is sun exposure.” She talked me through everything, from concealer and then powder, the brushes to use when blending eye shadow, how to create the perfect lip liner around the mouth to give my lips a fuller appearance. It took her an hour to explain everything to me, to go through each step.
I recognized all the brands of makeup on my vanity, all items I could never afford in a million years. I used to get my makeup at any walk-in retailer because I didn’t wear a ton of it in the first place. Now I was getting a personal tutorial from a woman who knew what she was doing, judging by how beautiful she looked.
Another girl did my hair, curling my strands into spirals before brushing it out, adding more product to give it that bounce and shine. Over the course of an hour, my appearance was transformed until I could barely recognize myself. I’d been looking at my plain face at the camp for so long, my eyes washed out without eyeliner or mascara, my lips blending into my cheeks because they were cold and lifeless.
“What do you think?” She smiled at me in the mirror, like she knew she’d created a masterpiece.
“I…I barely recognize myself.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Gilbert said as he walked by, holding a pink dress in his hands.
“But yeah, it’s lovely.” I’d never felt prettier, never felt cleaner, never felt…more privileged. I looked like those models on social media, on the cover of magazines at doctor’s offices. People had always said I was the pretty sister, but I never saw the difference between us the way other people did. But with my makeup like this, I really did look far more beautiful than I ever had.
“Put this on.” Gilbert held up the dress behind me.
“Am I going somewhere?” That looked like a dress for a special occasion.
Gilbert’s eyes narrowed as if I’d said the wrong thing. “A lady is always dressed to go somewhere, even if she has nowhere to go. Now, up.”
I left the chair and moved to the center of the bathroom. “Can I get dressed alone this time?”
“Yes. But we want to see.” Gilbert waved everyone to the door. “Everyone out.”
They filed out, and I shed Fender’s clothes before I put on the pink dress. It had subtle designs inside the material, indistinct florals that gave the dress texture but not an obvious pattern. It was sleeveless and tight over my stomach before it flared out slightly. It’d been altered to my measurements perfectly, and with my hair and makeup done this way, I looked like I’d stepped into a completely new life.
I looked like a…countess or something.
“We’re coming in.” Gilbert opened the door and came first, looking me up and down with that critical eye. Then he raised his hands in celebration. “We did it, ladies and gentlemen. Look at her.” He flipped his finger in the air. “Spin. Now.”
Awkwardly, I turned in a circle.
He gave me a look of approval as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Miracles do exist…”
I was all dolled up with nowhere to go.
Not even outside my bedroom.
I hoped Fender would come to me, but he still hadn’t. I sat on the couch and looked out the window into the darkness, sitting in my pink dress, legs crossed. Diamonds were in my ears, and a sparkling necklace hung down my chest. I was lavished with the finest things in life, but it only made me feel lonelier.
At the camp, I could talk to the girls in the clearing. Fender visited me at night. Occasionally, I’d get a short conversation with Raven. But now, I was totally alone. All I had was Gilbert, who chose to spend his time ripping me apart like I wasn’t good enough.
Gilbert’s voice sounded from the door. “Your dinner is served.” He rounded the corner then carried the tray to the dining table. It was another gourmet meal with hot tea and dessert. He lifted the silver lid to display it to me.
I barely looked at him before I gave a nod.
He stilled, visibly offended. “Is there a problem with the meal?”
“No.” I looked out the window even though I couldn’t see anything except the outdoor lighting on the lawn. “It’s lovely, Gilbert. Thank you.”
He sighed before he placed the silver lid back on top. “Then what is it, Melanie? You’re unhappy with everything you’ve been given today? A dress that cost five thousand euros. Diamonds worth the price of a car. Makeup created by the greatest designers in this world. You’re that ungrateful?”
I turned my gaze on him, feeling a kind of anger that I couldn’t express. I’d just been a prisoner at a camp for weeks and weeks, survived a blizzard, had all my rights stripped away, and he acted like he was either unaware of that or didn’t care. “I want to talk to Fender.”
“He’s unavailable.”
The outburst came out of nowhere. “Why the fuck did he bring me here, then?” I flashed him an angry look. “I’m just supposed to sit around and wait for him to come fuck me? That’s my life now? Because that’s not what he promised when he offered to bring me here.” I silently excused Gilbert by looking out the window again.
He stood there for a few more seconds before he left. “Enjoy your dinner.”
I didn’t touch my dinner.
I wasn’t used to having three meals a day, so I didn’t need that much food. Everything was delicious and I wanted to eat every crumb on my plate, but my stomach had shrunk during my captivity. I was thinner than I’d ever been, realizing how petite I’d become when one of the personal shoppers said I was a double zero.
I remained on the couch, sitting in the dark, when I heard the door open and close.
Gilbert didn’t announce himself.
That was how I knew it wasn’t Gilbert at all.
I rose from the couch and turned around.
There he was.
In black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, bare feet on the hardwood, his chest muscular and strong like the last time I saw it. He’d had dinner, but his stomach was ch
iseled and tight like his muscles were permanently flexed. He was like a grizzly bear, his size doubled just by his muscle mass alone. That meant he must dedicate hours to the gym every day because no one just looked like that without sacrifice. A man didn’t have ripped arms the size of my head unless he pumped iron like his life depended on it. He was a behemoth because he chose to be.
The hostility in his gaze slowly evaporated the longer he stared at me, as he took in my new appearance, my curled hair, my flawless makeup, the dress that had been altered to fit me like a second skin. There was still anger behind his eyes, but it was impossible for him to hold on to when he loved the way I looked. He said I was the most beautiful woman in the world when he saw me at my worst. What did he think of me now, when I was at my best? “I’m here.”
I half expected him to bend me over the couch and fuck me mercilessly. I was actually disappointed when he didn’t.
He clearly wasn’t interested. “Speak.”
“It’s been three days. How are you still mad at me—”
“Because I don’t let shit go. Ever.” His eyes started to turn maniacal once more.
“I chose my sister over you. That’s an unforgivable offense?”
His eyes were open and cold, bringing the camp right into my bedroom.
“Fender.”
“Getting yourself nearly killed is an unforgivable offense. And no, I’m not over it.”
I wouldn’t apologize for it. “I don’t know what you expect me to say—”
“What do you want from me?” His fire rose, like I’d just drenched him with scotch.
“I…” I really didn’t know what I wanted from him.
“You demanded my attention…for that?” His eyes seared me, like I’d committed a terrible sin. “My time is valuable. Don’t waste it again.” He turned around to depart.
“Wait.”
He ignored me.
“Fender.” I grabbed on to his arm. “Please.”
He didn’t yank it out of my grasp, but he didn’t turn around either. He halted in his tracks, giving me another opportunity to speak my mind.
I rested my forehead against the back of his arm and closed my eyes, feeling his warm skin, thinking of our nights together and the comfort it brought me, even when it shouldn’t. “You’re all I have…”
He was still, letting me hold on to his arm, letting me rest my lips against his skin. “I’m not ready.” He pulled his arm free from my grasp and walked out, leaving me alone, the shadows closing in and hiding the beautiful moldings, the fine furniture, the golden sconces, and bringing me into a dark cabin without a fire to keep me warm.
Ten
Small Talk
Fender
My presence at the camp was about accountability.
The real work took place in Paris, with my men, distributors, logistics, dinners with the people I paid to look the other way. That was where my most important work happened. The only pleasure I took in the camp was the unbelievable landscape. Quiet. Isolated. Timeless. It was a place very few people had ever seen.
My week had been spent running a drug empire.
It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to see Melanie. I also didn’t have the time. And I was unwilling to make the time after what she did.
I pulled up to the front of my estate and handed the car over to the valet before I approached the open doorway where Gilbert stood, hands behind his back, his appearance immaculate as ever despite the late hour.
“Welcome home, Your Highness.” He gestured for me to step inside before he shut and bolted the door behind me. His shoes tapped against the hard floor as he followed me. “A brand-new bottle of opened scotch is in your office. The dinner I served this evening is still fresh if you’d like that as well?”
“No.” I walked into the main sitting room, which I rarely used unless guests were present.
“Of course. I’ve also given Melanie a tour of the house and grounds. I was thinking—”
“We’ll speak tomorrow.” I took the stairs without looking back.
Gilbert’s voice reached me from the foyer. “Of course. Have a good evening.”
I made my way to the third floor and approached my bedroom door, which was open. I stepped inside and shed my clothes, tossing them on the floor for Gilbert to fetch tomorrow while I was gone. My gun was placed on the dresser, and I loosened my watch and set it next to it.
“Always be aware of your surroundings.”
I didn’t flinch as I pulled out my phone and set it on the dresser. A slight smile slid on to my lips as I dropped my jeans and walked across the room in my boxers. Thinks she caught me off guard. Cute. “What do you want?” I moved to the flask at the bar and poured myself a glass of scotch so I could take a drink before bed, get that burn in my veins so I could skip the nightmares tonight.
When she didn’t answer, I looked at her, where she sat on the couch. The second Gilbert told me he gave her a tour of the house, I knew she’d be waiting for me. A week had passed, and we hadn’t had any interaction.
She was in a black nightgown, her curled hair pulled over one shoulder, her makeup still on. One strap gently slipped over her smooth skin, falling to her elbow. She didn’t seem to notice, her brilliant blue eyes on me, even brighter than they used to be with the dark smoke around her eyes. She was a beautiful woman naturally, without a drop of makeup to accentuate her features, but with a face full of makeup…there were no words. She looked photoshopped even though she was real. She would be the item people envied me most for. It wouldn’t be the money, the power, the whores—it would be this single woman. My woman. “You didn’t keep your promise…”
I watched the resentment in her eyes, the disappointment. A life of luxury wasn’t enough—not without a critical component.
Me.
I entered the living room and lowered myself onto the couch across from her, a coffee table between us. I set the glass on the surface, my elbows resting on my thighs, leaning forward as I examined her.
“I’m alone in my room all day, have no one to talk to, your butler hates me…” She crossed her legs then wrapped her arms around her shoulders, her hands gently rubbing her skin, as if she were cold. Her eyes wandered out the window for a brief moment before they came back to me.
“He doesn’t hate you.”
A quiet, sarcastic chuckle escaped her lips.
“He just expects the best at all times. That’s why I hired him.”
Her arms went still as she gazed at me, looking me deep in the eye the way she did when we were naked and sweaty. She’d tried to run from me, but my hook was in her flesh, and she was permanently attached to me by an invisible line. Despite our differences, our ideologies, our morals, she couldn’t deny the all-consuming connection between us. If that weren’t the case, she wouldn’t come to me at all. “This is worse than the camp. At least I could go outside…”
“You can go outside.”
She released a quiet sigh then looked away.
I studied her accentuated cheekbone, her almond-shaped eyes, the way her hair shone like the snow in direct sunlight. There were evenings when I could stare at a painting for hours. She was a painting I could stare at for a lifetime. “I promised you gowns and diamonds. I promised you a butler, albeit one with attitude. I promised you gourmet meals, a palace—”
“And you promised me you.” She finally spat it out, her expression tightening in a stark look of self-loathing. Her eyes immediately dropped in shame as she swallowed, her throat shifting slightly at her actions.
A small smile moved on to my lips.
She kept her eyes down for a long time. Her thick eyelashes stretched down her cheeks. Her plump lips were pressed tightly together, trying to suppress the words that had already flown out of her mouth.
“You want me, chérie?”
Her chin quickly lifted when she heard her nickname. The satin of her gown tightened and shone differently every time she took a breath, and that shine appeared more often
because her breathing had quickened. The brilliance in her eyes had disappeared, and now she was vulnerable, a meal for the taking.
One of my hands enveloped the other, sheathing my knuckles. The smile was gone, my eyes ripping that dress to shreds. She was mine even when I didn’t touch her. She was mine whether I was right beside her or hundreds of miles away. I’d claimed this woman as mine, and she needed to be reminded that I hadn’t claimed her by force—but acceptance. “Then don’t cross me again.”
“I—”
“Don’t. Cross. Me.”
Her nightgown was a small bundle over her stomach. The straps had fallen down her arms and revealed her tits, and I shoved the material over her hips when I got her on her back, my hips between her thighs, my arms pinned behind her knees. I pushed her into my sheets, fucked her hard like a whore, slamming my wooden headboard into the wall and scraping the wallpaper.
It didn’t matter how hard I gave it to her. She always took it. She was always wet. She winced in pain sometimes but never complained once. Her nails anchored into my flesh and held on, making me bleed whenever she came, and the tears that streaked from her eyes to her ears made her makeup run.
She handled my size like she was paid to enjoy it. Her hand cupped my cheek, and she kissed me, tasted the sweat that dripped from my forehead to my jaw, gave me her tongue as she moaned into my mouth. The cuts on my back burned when the sweat poured in, but the pain got me off because of the woman who inflicted it.
I could have her any way I wished, but I was so eager to fuck her every time I looked at her that this always happened. I got between her legs and looked at her face as I conquered her, like I was bedding a queen after I’d killed her king—and she liked it. My eyes drank in her appearance, watched the tears streak every time she came, watched her lips tremble before the uncontrollable moans rose to my ceiling. I watched her open like a flower, drop her walls, and give me her complete vulnerability. When we were together like this, the camp didn’t exist. Her sister didn’t exist. We were just a man and a woman, burning in each other’s fire, scarring our skin with third-degree burns that we didn’t even feel in the moment.