Wishing Well

by Lily White

  But, it’s not exactly food I’m starving for...

  CHAPTER NINE

  Walking into the dining hall, I chanced placing my hand on the small of Penny’s back, my efforts to appear the gentleman as I escorted her to hostess desk thwarted when she silently stepped to the side, allowing my fingertips to graze her hip until my hand fell away entirely. She didn’t complain openly or bother to glance in my direction, but I didn’t fail to notice the distance she kept, the refusal on her part to allow even that small part of a physical connection.

  Penny didn’t just have walls that closed her in, she’d constructed a moat as well. My thoughts drifted over the possible reasons why.

  “Mr. Mercier, you’re just in time. We have your table ready for you.”

  Genevieve was a sweet woman, if not a little slow in the thoughts department. I knew for a fact my table had been ready for over two hours, but still the blond woman with a button nose and blue eyes that were far too round for her face had used a greeting on me that was intended for patrons to the restaurant that didn’t actually own the establishment.

  The first several times she’d greeted me in such a way, I assumed she was practicing the expected behavior, ensuring she made it a habit to greet the other guests in such a way, but after months of the continued use of the polite phrase, I’d determined she truly didn’t understand it was a ruse we used with our patrons, a formality that was lost on an employer who had agreed to the custom with the Maître D’.

  Breathing out, I grinned politely, inclining my head as she plucked two menus from the desk and walked both Penny and me to our seats.

  Like the gentleman I wanted Penny to believe I was, I pulled her seat out for her, refusing to take mine until she was settled and comfortable. Most women would have thanked me, perhaps batted a lash, or given me some demure grin that told me exactly how she’d show me her appreciation later. Penny merely scowled.

  If I had to beat some manners into this young woman to drag her into compliance, I would do so with the utmost of pleasure and enthusiasm.

  Stepping away from the chair, I ignored how Penny took her seat as soon as I was outside of reaching distance. Genevieve watched the scene with barely hidden dismay, her eyes darting to me in question as I settled into my chair and slipped the cloth napkin from the table to settle over my lap.

  “Matthew himself will be serving you this evening. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived,” Genevieve explained before scurrying off, no doubt to tell whoever would listen that I was dining with a woman who had all but told me to take a hike.

  “I’m sorry about the chair thing,” Penny muttered as she retrieved her menu from where Genevieve had left them on the table. I didn’t bother grabbing mine, I knew by memory what the restaurant offered. “It’s just weird. I’m not used to all this fancy stuff.”

  “Fancy stuff,” I repeated, disbelief coating my voice. She stared at me sheepishly, shrugged, and hid her face behind her menu. I couldn’t help my curiosity.

  “How long, exactly, have you lived on the streets?”

  “Two weeks,” she answered without bothering to lower her menu.

  My theory that it had been the streets that raised her went flying out the window. What had caused this girl to be so ill-mannered? Before I could consider the question further, Matthew approached the table, his uniform perfectly pressed, his apron a blinding white.

  “Bonsoir , Monsieur Mercier,” his eyes darted to Penny. “And to you Mademoiselle .”

  Penny ignored him and he returned his attention to me. I simply cocked a brow and skipped the typical formalities. “I’ll take my usual evening drink, Matthew, and Penny here would like a -“

  Allowing my voice to trail off, I waited for her response. Dropping her menu to the table, she eyed Matthew and answered, “I’ll have a coke, and do you all have regular cheeseburgers here? I can’t read anything on this menu.”

  Poor Matthew had to cough just to regain the ability to breathe. My shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter. When he looked to me in question, I waved my hand in the air and said, “You heard the lady. A Coke and a cheeseburger. I’ll have my usual meal as well.”

  His professionalism not lost on the odd scene, Matthew turned and walked away. Penny stared at me expectantly. I waited for her to say whatever was on her mind.

  “So what is the job you’re offering?”

  Straight and to the point. I couldn’t blame her there. “That depends,” I answered, “on your education and skills.” Intentionally lowering my voice to a sultry tone, I asked, “What is it you enjoy doing? Do you have any special talents of which I should be aware?”

  Grinning in response to my question, she leaned forward and answered, “I can tie a cherry stem into a bow with my tongue, and I’m a pretty decent pole dancer.”

  My throat worked to swallow the blistering censure I wanted to deliver to this rebellious girl. Reminding myself that all good things come with time, I asked, “Are you lying to me?”

  “Yes,” she answered, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t get too excited, because if you did, I’d be out of here faster than they could cook the burger you’re buying me.”

  Message delivered and received. It was too bad for her I was a lot more discreet in my plans. “Any real skills?” I asked.

  Her expression fell. “No. Does that mean the deal is off?”

  I almost felt sorry for her ... almost. “Not at all. There are two jobs that don’t require experience, and Theresa is ready and willing to train you on whatever requirements accompany the job. “I believe you can work in the lounge, or as a maid.”

  Eyes rounded, she shook her head. “Nope. I’m not wearing that skimpy little maid outfit and walking around this place with a feather duster. You can forget we ever had this deal. I’ll just take my clothes, go in the bathroom and change, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Penny moved to stand, but I was faster, my hand gripping down on her wrist, a squeal of pained protest bursting from her lips when I squeezed a touch too hard. Her attempt to jerk away was feeble at best, the dinner setting jostling on the table. And although we’d drawn attention, I wouldn’t back down. She’d reached the end of the line on my patience. “Sit down,” I bit out, the razor edge to my command cutting, “and behave like a respectable woman for once in your miserable young life.”

  What the hell had I been thinking to choose a girl from the streets? I’d wanted a challenge. I understood that, but Penny was proving to be a touch too rebellious, which only drew the ire of a man like me.

  Surprisingly, she sat as I’d demanded, her shoulders folding in over themselves as her eyes scanned the tables nearest ours. Embarrassment colored her cheeks, and once more I saw beneath her bullshit facade to witness the fragility of who she was inside.

  Ignoring the stares and whispers of the patrons seated near us, I snapped my fingers to draw her attention to me, my personality leaking out despite my desire to keep it hidden. “Are you trying to destroy your own life? Is that your game? What is it about having a job, food, a place to sleep and some damn class that aggravates you so much? Where were you before the streets? In some dysfunctional home that taught you nothing about how to behave?”

  Although I’d kept my voice low enough to be a hiss across the table, tears stung her eyes, the gold flecked brown glimmering beneath the low lighting of the room. Our stares were locked as her lips parted slightly, as her fingers clenched over the napkin she hadn’t yet placed on her lap like any decent woman would. Slowly, her brows pulled together, her cheeks deepening in color, a line being drawn between her eyes by the anger boiling inside her, and just as I thought she would attempt to bolt from me once more, Matthew appeared, setting our drinks on the table.

  “A Coke for the lady and a red wine for Monsieur Mercier.”

  Neither of us bothered to glance up toward Matthew, and my hand twitched with the need to slap the rebellious rage from Penny’s insolent face. Matthew left without another word, leaving us
alone to continue this ridiculous battle.

  “You know nothing about me or my life,” Penny spat between clenched teeth. “Not a damn thing. And it’s obvious you just want me to prance around here dressed like a damn slut for the purpose of putting on a show for your guests. That’s beneath me. I won’t be amusement for perverts like you.”

  “You were sleeping on the streets just last night, I’m not sure anything at this point is beneath you.”

  My smile was finely honed, the line sharp. It was all I could do to keep from reaching across the table to wrap my fingers over her face and hold her in place while I explained, “It was never my intention to make you prance around. I recall offering you a choice of jobs. One inside the lounge where, yes, the clothing choices are risqué, but also in our housekeeping department.”

  “Where I’ll have to wear that stupid black and white dress with sky high heels and fish-nets? No thanks!”

  The tension was making it difficult to understand where her refusal was coming from. Thankfully, she reminded me. Canting her head to the side, she gave me a feral smile while saying, “Like the woman you molested in the hall when we first got here? Is that a requirement of the staff? To be ready and available to you?”

  My shoulders relaxed. “You mean Émilie.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, Émilie.”

  Shaking my head, I answered, “You’re confused, Penny. Émilie is not a maid, she was wearing one the lounge costumes. And nobody is required to be at my disposal (except you ). Émilie and I...well...”

  “Are dating?”

  “More like fucking, but if you prefer a term that’s more polite-“ My voice trailed off as I gave her a wan grin.

  “Oh,” she mumbled, her full lips rounding with her eyes.

  “Oh,” I repeated, happy that she appeared to be backing down from whatever assumption she’d made.

  “Sorry, I thought -“ Pausing mid-sentence, she settled in her seat, her cheeks flaring with color. On a softer voice, she explained, “I just couldn’t understand why a man like you would approach some random homeless girl in the rain. I assumed it was for reasons like what I saw with Émilie.”

  Interesting...

  She wasn’t wrong to assume that was my intent, but her adamancy, her anger, at the thought of a man using her that way piqued my interest. I knew nothing about her, knew nothing of her experiences, but I would leave those questions alone for tonight. “The housekeeping uniform is a grey dress, if I’m not mistaken, one that falls to the knees and comes with a white apron. It’s in keeping with the theme of this hotel, but I believe most of the female staff wear shorts beneath them, given their duties. What you saw Émilie wearing is one of the costumes used in the lounge, and if you’re uncomfortable dressing as such, then you don’t have to.”

  Her expression was apologetic. “I’m sure housekeeping will be fine for me. I don’t mind vacuuming, emptying trash cans or stripping sheets.”

  “Very well. I’ll need some information from you before you can begin work.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your full name. Your age.”

  Pulling the cloth napkin from the table, she settled it over her lap. “Penelope Graham. Nineteen.”

  This beautiful girl was fifteen years younger than me. “Why did you tell me your name is Penny?”

  Shrugging, she refused to look at me. “It’s short for Penelope, and I prefer it.”

  “I prefer Penelope,” I confessed as Matthew approached the table to set our meals in front of us. Once he left, I let the conversation go, watching with interest as she practically devoured the food in front of her. Uncaring that ketchup was slipping down her chin or that grease dribbled down her fingers, Penelope had cleaned her plate before I’d taken three bites of my food. Rather than using her napkin, she licked the grease from her fingers, the sight both disturbing for its lack of etiquette and appealing in a way that only a pervert such as myself could appreciate.

  Rather than calling her out on the faux pas, I stared with keen interest. After barely managing to tidy her hands, she looked up, eyed my food and asked, “Are you going to eat that?”

  Without answering, I slid my plate across the table, genuinely amused by this child I’d pulled from the streets.

  CHAPTER TEN

  (Faiville Prison, 11:57 am)

  “She wasn’t that bad.”

  “She was,” Vincent answered, disregarding the trivial defense Meadow had made for her sister while laughter whispered on his breath. “Had I not already made plans for Penelope, I would have tossed her from the hotel back out into the storm the instant she first demonstrated just how bad she really was. The girl had no manners.” His eyes lifted to pin Meadow. “Is that how the two of you were raised?”

  Insulted by the question, she countered, “Because watching a woman get dressed while she has no knowledge of your attention is the best of manners? You don’t have a lot of room to talk, Vincent.”

  His grin was malicious, and inviting. A man with no qualms for the pain he caused, for the games he played, for the lives he manipulated, Vincent took pride in his achievements - if they could be called that. Other people would refer to him as a sadist, a plague, a scourge that should be eradicated from the world for having so thoroughly polluted the men and women he ran across, but he was simply a scoundrel, one who could tantalize with a secretive smile, one who knew how to stroke and kiss, to mold and shape those who had the misfortune of knowing him.

  Penny had cared for this man...eventually. And now Meadow watched him with critical eyes, looking for any hint of his humanity. She opened her mouth to ask him a question, but before the words could tumble from her lips, the door to the interview room popped open, a female guard walking in, her eyes drifting to Vincent for only a second before locking on Meadow. “It’s noon, which means it’s shift change. You’ll need to leave the room while we secure Mr. Mercier in an alternate location for the next half hour.”

  “Am I really that dangerous?” he asked, his voice insidious and flirtatious. “Come now, Lisa, I’ve never done anything for you to worry about my behavior for the next half hour while you all abandon your posts.”

  Meadow couldn’t believe it when the guard’s cheeks tinged pink, her eyes softening. Dear God, had this man managed to seduce the very people who were supposed to keep him locked away and imprisoned from the rest of the world?

  “You know the rules, Mercier. I’m not willing to lose my job when you’ll be nothing but a memory in three days.”

  “That’s not what you said last-“

  “Not funny.” Panic edged the guard’s voice, her blue eyes darting between Vincent and Meadow as her lips pulled into a razor sharp line. “I’ll escort you from the room myself...both of you.”

  Studying the guard, Meadow took note of her short stature, her figure more akin to a man than a woman, her short hair clipped close to her skull and the lines of age that marred her face. Standing as if to ready herself to leave, Meadow leaned across the table, lowering her voice so that only Vincent could hear, “She’s not your usual type.”

  He grinned. “You do what you can with the selection you’re offered.” His gaze slid sideways to trap her in his peripheral vision. “I’ll see you in a half hour, Meadow.”

  She chanced another look at the guard to find the woman staring directly at her. Smiling while turning to retrieve her recorder, she was stopped short by the guard. “You can leave your things. We’ll be bringing him back here when we’re done.”

  Nodding, Meadow hated having to leave her tapes behind. This was her last opportunity to record his confession, the words he’d already spoken potentially lost if something were to happen to the recordings. Biting her lip, she released a breath, casting one last look in Vincent’s direction to realize he was studying her. Did he know how important these interviews were?

  Forcing one foot in front of the other, she passed the guard on her way out of the room, flinched when she heard the door shut behind her, and walked
in the direction of the hall she remembered from when she’d been led in.

  “We’ll leave you just outside the first set of gates. There are bathrooms if you need to use one and a vending machine if you’re thirsty or hungry.”

  The guard moved as if to leave, but turned around again, searching Meadow’s face. “How can you sit in there and listen to him? Didn’t he kill your sister? You should hate him.”

  “I do,” Meadow answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Scoffing, the guard shook her head. “Doesn’t look like it. If you were to ask me, I’d say you have a thing for him.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking you,” Meadow snapped. “Perhaps you’re just projecting your own feelings onto me?”

  The guard chuckled. “Can’t blame me. It’s not often we get the pretty ones in here.”

  With that, the guard left and Meadow choose a seat on an utilitarian bench, pulling up her feet so she could wrap her arms over her shins and lay her head on her knees. Skull throbbing with anger, excitement, agony, and questions, she let go of her disgust with the guard to focus on what Vincent had implied about her family home.

  He was wrong in his assumption that Meadow and Penny had been raised without etiquette, without having been taught right from wrong, without having it drilled into their heads the merits of gracious manners and proper behavior. But unlike the lives some led when money was never an issue, or when constantly in the public eye, their childhood home had been comfortable, an environment built on a modest income where love had been more valuable than diamonds.

  Penny knew how to behave, but whereas she had taken on more of the personality traits of their father - a stern man that still knew how to deliver a well-timed joke and who would often let loose to shirk the stress of responsibility - Meadow had been more like their mother. Refined. Educated. Demure.

  They had been identical twins in looks, in strength, in fortitude, but in personality, there were some subtle differences. Penny was the more relaxed of the twins, the one who believed that life could be lived on the cuff, decisions not always carrying permanent results, that fun and relaxation were more important than constantly worrying what the future would hold. She was fun, while Meadow was responsible. She was brash, while Meadow was reserved.