by Dori Lavelle
Later in the afternoon, after my lunch, I look out the window and spot Damien sitting on a bench under a tree, the baby in his arms. There’s a smile on his face as he runs a hand over the baby’s forehead.
Damien’s hair is disheveled. He’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, a white burp rag over one shoulder. He throws back his head and laughs. I imagine the deep, throaty sound reaching my ears.
In someone else’s eyes, he probably looks normal, like a loving father and devoted husband. But I know better. I know what lurks inside his dark soul. As genuine as he looks with a baby in his arms, the image he presents to the world is not the truth.
I turn away from the window and rush to the bathroom, where I wash my face again and do some deep breathing, my face buried inside one of the baby’s onesies. More than ever, I wish the baby were with me. I ache for his comfort.
In the evening, Damien brings the baby himself.
“He’s a happy one, isn’t he?” He hands me the baby, wrapped in a blue- and white-striped blanket.
I smile at the baby and take him to the window, my back to Damien.
“I knew you would like him. Did you decide on a name yet?”
“It’s not my place.” I give the baby one of my fingers to hold on to.
“In that case, let’s call him Leon. That was your father’s name, right?”
I turn around, ice spreading through my stomach. “How… how do you…?”
“You keep forgetting you were somewhat of a celebrity once. Everything I know about you came from your own lips or some quick research online.”
“No.” I shake my head. “We can’t call him that. You can’t—”
The beginning of a smile tips the corners of Damien’s lips. “You said we. I like that. Looks like you’re accepting our marriage after all.” He pauses. “I don’t see the problem. You used to love your father and you feel close to that baby. Leon is the perfect name.”
“I said no.” I struggle to keep my voice from rising.
“The decision is made. Leon is the baby’s name.”
With that, he leaves the room. A few minutes later, Hanna walks in with a stack of women’s magazines.
“To keep you busy when Mr. Steel has the baby tomorrow.” She places them on the nightstand.
In the middle of the night, when the baby wakes up hungry, I ask him an important question, in a whisper so Damien doesn’t hear.
“So, do you like the name Leon? Do you want to keep it?”
The baby raises his hand and touches my cheek, leaving it prickly with warmth. Much as I hate to admit it, it feels like a sign. Damien was right—Leon is a great name. I might be insane, but could it be that my father is watching over me through the presence of this baby?
As the thought settles into my mind like a soothing balsam, I feel less alone, less afraid.
“Nice to meet you, little Leon.” Tears clog my throat.
Leon stays in my life for another exhausting but comforting week, after which Damien walks into my room to tell me that a new home has been found for him.
At the shock and sadness on my face, he assures me that he has met with the prospective parents and thinks they’ll be a great fit.
I’m unable to pull away when he draws me to his body and holds me to him for a few seconds. The moment I’m aware of his heart pounding against my chest, I pull away.
I head over to Leon’s crib, my fingertips tracing his soft cheek.
Damien gives me time to say goodbye to Leon, then he takes him away.
“Hanna and the other staff will be here later to get his belongings.” At the door, he turns to face me. “Thank you for making him feel loved.” As the door closes behind him, I slide to the floor.
After another five days, which I spend coming to terms with the emptiness Leon has left behind, Damien invites me to have dinner with him in the dining room. At the end of it, he tells me it’s time for us to start sleeping in the same bed as husband and wife.
39
His room is more than double the size of the one where I spent the previous days. It has a small sitting room and en-suite bathroom. A large arched window provides a view of the garden and the ocean beyond. Although it’s minimally furnished, it screams luxury. The décor is dominated by black, with occasional splashes of white and dark taupe.
Anxiety spurts through me at the sight of the black four-poster bed, situated on a thick white rug.
How many nights will I be sleeping in it with him? Does this mean he wants to have sex with me now? Will he force himself on me if I refuse?
I remember the words he spoke at his cabin:
When I do fuck you again, I want you to want it as much as you did the first time.
Surely if he wants me to enjoy sex with him, he won’t use force. I hold on tight to that fragile string of hope.
The first time we had sex was so passionate, exhilarating, and freeing. Now, the thought of sleeping with him fills me with dread. I clench my fingers tight to stop them from shaking.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I turn to look at him.
“Don’t look so frightened. I promise we won’t do anything you don’t want.” He reaches for my hands and brings them to his lips. “Sex with you is a gift, not a possession. It’s something to be shared, not taken by force. I’m not a rapist.”
I refrain from making a sound as I breathe out with relief.
“One step at a time.” My entire body tenses when he straightens one of my fingers and inserts it into his mouth, sliding it between his lips. His mouth is warm and wet.
“Don’t.” Ignoring the heat that curls down my spine, I tip back my head and withdraw my finger from his mouth.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Felt good, didn’t it?”
“No.” I lift my chin in defiance.
“Your eyes tell a different story.” He attempts to place a hand on my cheek, but I move a step back. “You don’t have to be inhibited. You’re safe with me. I’ll take good care of you.”
He takes my stiff arm and leads me to the bed. I stumble as I trip over the rug, but he steadies me.
As I stand beside the bed, the side of my leg brushing the edge of the duvet, he comes up behind me and glides his hands around my body until they rest on my stomach. His lips are pressed to my ear. “One day soon, you’ll want to make love to me again. It will be even better than our first time.”
Every muscle in my body is frozen, but ready to pounce if he does what he’s promised not to do. His fingers move from my stomach to my ribs, then to my chest. I bite hard on my lower lip. When he smooths his palms over my breasts, I shudder.
“Don’t do that.” My whisper is a breath. “You promised.”
“Shhh…” He kisses my cheek. “Relax. I promised not to have sexual intercourse with you until you want to.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “But I need something to make the wait bearable. Touching is allowed.”
His fingers pull down the straps of my dress, his hot breath sweeping across my skin along with the satin.
I look down. My dress is on the floor at my feet. I’d be fully naked if not for my matching silk panties and bra, similar to the kind he sent me on my birthday in Oaklow. He picked them out for me before dinner and insisted I wear them tonight. The underwear doesn’t make me feel less naked, however. The room is warm, but my body feels cold and my foolish mind keeps flashing back to the first time we had sex.
He turns me around to face him, big hands cupping my shoulders. A fire rages behind his eyes, a heat that threatens to spew out and burn me. “This is how you’ll be sleeping tonight. Every day you’ll get something nice to wear to bed, something I like. Sometimes, I might ask you to go to bed wearing nothing.”
I fold my arms in front of me and drop them again when I realize it’s causing my breasts to squeeze together.
“You say you’re not a rapist?”
“What are you playing at?” A muscle quivers in his jaw, but I can’t stop myself.
“I thin
k you are. You’re touching me, forcing me to sleep next to you naked. You’re raping me, just taking your time doing it.”
“Is that so?” He runs a hand through his hair. “In that case, would you prefer it if I went ahead and took you right now? If you think it doesn’t make a difference either way.”
“That’s not what—”
“That’s what I thought.” He grabs one corner of the bedspread and pulls it back. “Be careful what you say about me, my love. Words are a dangerous thing.” Before I can say anything more, he gathers me into his arms and lays me on the bed, tucking me in.
Reeling, I pull the sheets up to my neck. I must look like a kid, afraid of monsters in the dark.
As Damien watches me with a look I can’t decipher, someone outside the door clears his throat. I thought coming to this room would offer me a little freedom. Apparently not. I’m sure Adrian will keep standing guard.
My legs pressed together, I watch as Damien loosens his tie and pulls it from around his neck, then shrugs off his suit and unclips the rods of his silver cufflinks. His green eyes are dark, watching me as he unbuttons his black shirt. Then he removes his belt. The sound of metal against metal as he undoes the buckle reminds me of the prison bars that used to keep him locked away. Now he’s on the other side.
“You do believe that I love you, right?” He rolls his tongue across his bottom lip. “That’s why I don’t do worse things to you. Hurting you doesn’t bring me pleasure.”
“What do you want me to say?” I ask, loud enough for Adrian to hear. “Keeping me prisoner hurts me.”
“Believe me, things could be so much worse than they are right now. If you can convince me to trust you, you’ll receive more freedom. You hold the key, baby.”
I turn my head to the side. Through the windows, the moon slips behind a patch of clouds. Tucked inside the window frame are the same kind of steel shutters that darkened my old room every evening.
When I look back at Damien, I find him naked, putting his broad shoulders, rippled abs, and trim waist on display. His erection juts out from the line of hair that travels from his navel to his groin.
Heat floods my cheeks and my mind screams for me to look away, to quit sliding my gaze along his thick shaft. It’s velvety smooth, with a glistening tip. How in the world did he manage to fit it inside me? And why am I wondering how it must feel to the touch?
Eyes on me, he strides to his side of the bed and slides in beside me as if it’s the most natural thing. He drapes an arm around my waist and draws me to him, his shaft a solid muscle between us.
“I like to sleep naked,” he whispers into my ear. “I hope you don’t mind.”
I swallow hard and attempt to move away, but his strong arm holds me in place. “I also love holding my wife when I sleep.” The hot rum coffee he had after dinner lingers on his breath.
Still in the circle of his arms, I turn to face away from him. Now his dick is pressing against my lower back. His hot breath fans the hairs at the back of my neck. Any position would be awkward, but maybe it’s better to have his penis pressed against my back than my vagina. Or worse yet, inside it.
“Mmmm…” he groans. “Why have I waited so long to get you in my bed? Lying next to you like this is almost as good as the real thing.”
I throttle the current of desire that shoots through me and squeeze my eyes shut.
He shifts ever so slightly, and then the room goes dark. He must have pressed a light switch on his side.
Damien falls asleep after thirty minutes. The clock on my nightstand says it’s 10 p.m., and I’m still wide awake, frozen in his arms, my body cramped from lying in the same position, with his dick still pressed against my back.
The seconds tick by. I debate what to do. I wish I could get out of bed and escape through the large windows, but even with the shutters open, I could never get out that way. There are thin bars on the other side of the glass.
The occasional shuffling outside the door reminds me that Adrian is still out in the hall. Since I wasn’t blindfolded this time, when I entered the room, I noticed a tiny video screen next to the door. I’m guessing there are cameras all over this room as well, and if I do something stupid, Adrian will alert Damien.
What I need more than anything is to get away from him, even for a second. I feel like I haven’t breathed since the moment he told me I’d be sharing a bed with him.
Desperate to stretch my cramped muscles, I push back the covers and slide out from underneath his arm. One of my feet touches the ground before a hand grips my wrist.
“Where are you going?” His voice is thick with sleep and a hint of danger.
I turn to gaze at his silhouette. His head is a few inches off the pillow.
“I… I need the bathroom.” He can’t deny me that.
He releases his grip and tucks his hands behind his head. “Go on, then.” I feel him watching me in the dark.
Relieved to have a few minutes away from him, I almost race to the bathroom. But even in there, I’m not alone. The bathroom is separated from the bedroom only by a partition of glass. He can see everything I’m doing. At least I can breathe a little here.
I push down my panties and position myself on the toilet seat. The idea that I’m being watched makes it hard to relieve myself. I rest my head on my knees and stay like that for a long while, killing time.
He calls my name after a few minutes. “What are you doing in there so long? It’s late. Come back to bed.”
After counting to twenty, I do as I’m told.
40
My eyes are closed, though I’ve been awake for hours.
I hear Damien moving around in the room. A few minutes later, the moving stops, and I feel his eyes on my face. It’s a struggle to keep my eyeballs from moving behind the lids. The commotion starts again.
A few seconds later, the shower is running. I resist the urge to open my eyes immediately. What if it’s a trick and he’s still in the room? No way. If he were in front of me, I would feel it. His presence is too strong for me not to notice.
My eyes are heavy as I open them. I barely got any sleep last night, so that’s not a surprise. I’ll have a few moments to myself before he returns to the room—time enough for me to gather the courage to ask for more freedom. If he lets me out of the room, out into the garden, I might be able to find a way to escape.
There’s no way he’ll let me out on the grounds alone, or to roam around his mansion unaccompanied. Adrian would probably remain a few steps away from me. But what if Adrian was distracted by something else? No one can stay focused every single second. Minds wander all the time. I’ll worry about how to distract him later. The first step is to get through the thickest wall of all, through the devil himself.
He’s humming a tune. A chill trickles down the back of my neck when I recognize it: Here comes the bride. He’s in some kind of wedded bliss. Last night was as close to a honeymoon as he could get. When the water stops running and I see him reach for a towel, I shift my weight and turn to face the other side of the bed, eyes closed. He’d love it if I saw him naked again. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
He enters the room. I hear every muted step on the wood and then the carpet. The hairs at the nape of my neck bristle. His eyes are on me again.
A door opens. Apart from the door to the hallway, there’s one leading to the walk-in wardrobe. He’s still humming the tune under his breath as he slides drawers in and out.
The rustle of clothes, the clink of a belt buckle, the snap of a watch being closed: These are the sounds I rely on to tell me at what stage of dressing he is. He returns to the room and sinks down on my side of the bed, right next to me. His cologne curls around me, a blend of roasted coffee and citrus.
“I know you’re awake.” His words are unable to conceal his smile. “Aren’t you going to wish your husband a good morning?”
I purse my lips and open my eyes. No use in pretending. Thank God he’s dressed.
The tie is still hanging down his chest, waiting to be tied, and a pair of square cuff links with black enamel inserts and polished brass frames remain unfastened. His body is fully clothed. He greets me with a smile that looks so real, so loving, it would fool anyone but me. But my heart still bleeds when I think about what could have been.
What if all this had never happened? What if he had been released from prison as a truly innocent person, and we entered into a real relationship? Would we have stayed together for the long haul, overcome any obstacles? Would we have married and had kids? Would he have held our babies the way he had held Leon in the garden?
Sadness tears at my heart when I think of Leon. I miss him, but I have to forget him. He did what he came to do: offer me something to hold on to in my personal storm. Now he’s gone, and I have to use the strength he gave me to focus on what’s most important.
“Good morning, Damien.” I force a smile. In order to make a connection, I have to stop fighting him. I have to create trust. There’s no way he’ll let me out of this room otherwise. For the first time since my kidnapping, it dawns on me that the ball really is in my court. “Did you sleep well?”
Damien hesitates before responding. “I... Yes, the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” He reaches for my hand. I resist the urge to pull away.
“Good.” My voice comes out choked. Left with nothing else to say, I stare at our hands, his fingers woven through mine.
“How about you?” he asks.
“Me too. I slept well.” This lie comes easy.
He leans forward, kisses my forehead. “That makes me glad. I look forward to many more nights with you.”
Not if I have something to do with it.
Silence falls and crackles between us as he puts on his cuff links.
“Have you heard anything about Leon?”