The Dollhouse

by Stacia Stone

  I reminded myself not to get used to this — or used to him. Regardless of the intensity of Julian's desire for me, eventually he would get bored, just like a spoiled child in this house full of expensive toys. And just like a toy, eventually he would put me away to gather dust with all of the rest.

  Whatever we had, it couldn't last forever.

  The more of the house that I explored, the more overwhelmed I was by its excess. The heated pool that Naomi mentioned was olympic-sized and set into a formation of rocks with a waterfall flowing into it, just like something out of a fantasy mermaid's grotto.

  Trails wound down from where the house sat on top of a hill to a penned area in the valley below. I was pretty sure it contained a stable because two gorgeous horses were visible grazing in the distance.

  I wondered what happened here when Julian was away. He obviously couldn't spend much of his time here with his primary workplace so far away in Chicago. This house seemed like a ridiculous place to keep just to hide away his mistresses.

  The idea left me cold. I had kept thoughts of his wife at bay for as long as I could. But the idea that he had her there and kept me here made me more ashamed than anything he and I had ever done together.

  I had tricked myself into thinking that knowing about her existence would be enough to strengthen my resolve. But here I was — waiting on him while he flitted between us like a hummingbird moving between two equally appealing flowers.

  The logical part of me screamed for me to leave. If I just started walking eventually I'd make it to a town or flag down a car to pick me up. If need be, I could go to the police. Julian couldn't keep me here against my will, not if I truly wanted to go.

  But I didn't want to go — and that was the real source of my shame. I wanted his hands on my body. I wanted to submit my will to him and have him use me for his desires. His face swam in my vision when I closed my eyes and haunted my dreams.

  I love him. Damn my traitorous heart. I didn't have the strength to walk away.

  Naomi had shown me to the library and it was as impressive as she had made it sound. Mahogany shelves two stories tall filled the room, the musky smell of vellum and ink like a tantalizing aroma.

  But I couldn't concentrate enough to read. So I wandered the house instead, if just to distract myself from my own thoughts. I opened doors and peeked into guest rooms — nine of them in all! The master suite was at the top of the stairs and it was austere as Julian was, all dark wood and minimal decoration.

  The ornate double staircase reminded me of something out of a fairytale. I imagined walking down the stairs with a gown flowing behind me like a real life princess.

  I touched the banister as I passed and the wood was smooth under my fingertips. The foyer below was lit by a crystal chandelier that twinkled even in daylight. The window above the front doors gave a spectacular view of the trees and mountains beyond.

  The house was big enough to comfortably house a dozen families like mine. It was a little ridiculous that all of this was reserved for one person when so many people had nothing. Of course, that didn't stop it from being the most beautiful place that I had ever seen.

  I shook off a sudden chill that came over me despite the warm sunlight shining on me. I continued down the hallway, wandering aimlessly as I explored the house.

  This hallway was darker. There were no windows to illuminate it and only a single sconce on the wall that barely shone with the brightness of a candle.

  The door at the end was somehow different than the others, even though I couldn't quite put my finger on how. It was made of the same pale wood as the rest with the same ornate gold handle. I'd peeked into all of the rooms, but this one drew me in — in a way that I couldn't explain.

  I attempted to turn the handle but it refused to budge.

  Locked.

  "That's strange," I murmured to myself. I tried again and realized it wasn't just locked but bolted. A round keyhole above the door handle made it clear that I wouldn't be getting into the room anytime soon.

  I'd explored enough to know that none of the other doors in the house were locked. Whatever was in this room, Julian clearly wanted to keep it hidden.

  Naomi was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I found her. She had a whole salmon laid out on a platter, surrounded by slices of lemon and herbs. I could feel its eyes on me as I walked up to the counter. I'd never been comfortable with food that was served still wearing its face.

  "Bored already?" she asked, sliding a pile of fingerling potatoes off her cutting board and into a bowl.

  "Not exactly." I pulled myself up onto a barstool. "But I do have a question for you."

  "Shoot." She pushed a plate of cut fruit towards me.

  I picked out a piece of pineapple and popped it into my mouth. "What's with that room upstairs with the locked door."

  "Which room?"

  "The only one that has the door locked."

  "I'm not sure," Naomi said, her voice repressive. "Big house like this has plenty of locked doors."

  I got the distinct impression that she knew precisely which room I was talking about. "Don't you have keys?"

  "No," she said, sharply. Then she caught herself and her tone softened. "Some things is best left where they lay. I think you should put it from your mind."

  "Sure." My curiosity was more than piqued, but I could tell she had no intention of telling me anything. Pursuing the subject of the locked room wasn't worth alienating the only other person in the house. "Will dinner be ready soon?"

  "In about an hour, just in time for when Mr. Julian will be getting home."

  My heart skipped a beat. "He'll be back in an hour?"

  Naomi cut her eyes at me before her gaze returned to the cutting board. "Called a bit ago to say we should be expecting him."

  An awkward silence descending between us, broken only by chop of her butcher knife. Finally, it was more than I could take.

  "Naomi?"

  She glanced up at me. "What, honey?"

  "What did h-he…what did Julian tell you about me?"

  Naomi continued to chop vegetables, carefully not looking at me. "Just that you'd be staying here for a bit and to make sure you had anything you need."

  "That's it?"

  "I've been looking after this house long enough not to ask Mr. Julian no questions about his affairs. He tells me what I need to know."

  I forced myself to finally ask the question that burned at me. "Does he do this a lot — bring women here?"

  She set down the knife and looked up at me, a pensive look on her face. "Wouldn't call you much more than a girl, I'm being honest."

  "I'm twenty-two," I said pertly, recognizing her attempt at distracting me. "And you know what I mean."

  "You ask a whole mess of questions." Naomi set her hand on her hip and tapped her fingers on the counter. "But no, unless Mr. Julian's been sneaking them into the basement at night, ain't never been no women brought in here like this — far as I know, at least."

  I wanted to ask her about Julian's wife but resisted the urge. Revealing the fact that I knew that I was a home wrecker probably wouldn't endear me to her.

  "You best go get ready for dinner." Naomi picked up the knife and pointed to the door. "Mr. Julian will be home soon."

  Whatever I was going to say died in my throat as I turned to leave the room. I didn't know what instructions Julian had given Naomi, but she clearly intended to keep his secrets.

  When I threw open the doors of the walk-in closet in my bedroom, it was obvious why Naomi had found my concern over finding something to wear so amusing.

  Clothes for every occasion and season lined the walls on each side. A rack in the back held dozens of shoes from the most modest of flats to the highest of heels. It was a fashionista's wet dream.

  Not that I knew even the first thing about fashion.

  My hands moved over the shimmering fabric of a cocktail dress, gliding gently over the soft material. I checked the tag at the back — my size. A
nother dress was just the same — my size. I flipped through the clothing, checking labels.

  And all of it was in my size.

  "Jesus," I whispered.

  Some of the clothing was new. I noticed a few price tags still attached, but most of it clearly wasn't new. A few pieces, like a blazer with 80s-style shoulder pads, were clearly several years old.

  "Weird."

  I didn't want to hazard a guess as to why Julian had a closet full of clothes in his love nest, and all in the same size. Maybe he had very particular taste in women that he cheated on his wife with.

  A floor-length gown had been pulled out and turned so it hung facing out from the rest. It was the color of fizzing champagne and shimmered gently underneath the light. I touched the fabric and gasped a little at the softness of the silk against my fingers.

  This dress was obviously my size as well but it seemed different than the rest. The bodice was more modest, its cut classic and refined like something out of a period romance. But the back dipped low enough to expose the hollow at the bottom of my spine. And the slit up the side would barely cover the curve of my backside.

  I considered putting it back but couldn't stop my hands from slipping the thin straps off of the satin-padded hanger so the fabric slithered into my arms like something alive. I gently pulled it over my head and down, inhaling deeply when the fabric caught at my hips until it fell down to kiss the floor at my bare feet.

  When I turned to face the mirror on the opposite wall, I was greeted by a stranger. The woman in my reflection would not have been out of place draped in diamonds and holding the leash of a full-grown tiger as it curled at her side. I felt elegant and worldly.

  This wasn't me. I was the scrubby girl from the South side who only washed her hair once a week because there was never enough hot water to go around. I was the girl who felt more comfortable in her dad's old sweatshirt than a pair of heels.

  But in this dress, I was breathtaking.

  I pushed my hair up on top of my head and turned to the side so I could see where the open back of the dress dipped dangerously low. My eyes seemed overly round as I stared at my own reflection, especially juxtaposed against the erotic display. I looked like some pagan offering of a virgin to placate the gods — all unwitting beauty and corrupted virtue.

  Julian was going to eat me alive.

  17

  Julian was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. I descended slowly and my hand gripped the railing as I fought to remain steady on the heels that I wore.

  His expression did not change and he said nothing as he watched me come slowly towards him. If he was upset to be kept waiting, I couldn't tell. His face gave nothing away.

  When I reached the bottom, we stood there for a moment with only an arms-length separating us. I was desperate to break the awful silence, but knew better than to give in to the urge.

  The look in his eyes as he focused on me was as intense as it had ever been, but now there was an edge to his regard that I'd never seen before. The silence lengthened until it was nearly too much to bear.

  "Dinner," Naomi called from the kitchen.

  Julian looked away, momentarily distracted, and the tense moment was gone. When he turned back, his face had returned to the carefully neutral mask that he normally wore. Whatever emotion that simmered beneath the surface had been carefully hidden.

  "Lovely dress." He took my arm and led us toward the dining room. "Where did you find it?"

  "U-upstairs in the closet." His proximity sent shudders of awareness through me and it was difficult to think — much less speak — without stammering.

  "I see."

  "Do you like it?"

  He paused and gave me an appreciative once-over, roving over the fitted lines of the dress and coming to rest on the generous plunge it made at my back. "What little of it there is."

  Naomi had already laid out our settings when we entered the dining room. The heavy oak table was practically large enough to accommodate an army. The two lone place settings seemed like a tiny island in a sea of wood and candlelight.

  Julian seated me in the chair to the right of the one at the head of the table. His hands slipped up my shoulders, stroking lightly across the skin in a way that was simultaneously soothing and stimulating. The hairs on my arms stood on end in reaction.

  "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" Naomi asked, the diffident words not at all matched by her informal tone.

  "That will be all for the night, Naomi."

  She spared me the smallest of glances and hesitated for a moment as if she wanted to say something. But whatever that thought may have been died on her lips. The housekeeper gave a sharp nod before leaving the room, leaving us completely alone.

  My heart beat faster as Julian passed behind me. I felt the feather-light brush of his fingers against the back of my neck. His presence filled the room. It was as if I could feel his will bearing down on me even when he was silent.

  Julian seated himself at the head of the table. He was far enough away that I could breathe, but so close that all I could think was how little distance separated us.

  He picked up his fork and held it in fingers that were long and tapered.

  "Eat."

  I picked up my own fork and half-heartedly pushed at the food. As good as the pink salmon on my plate looked, I couldn't eat it. The anticipation had completely overcome my appetite. What was he going to do to me? What was he going to ask me to do?

  When I looked up he was watching me. My gaze immediately dropped and I heard him chuckle.

  There was still a smile in his voice when he spoke. "Tell me more about yourself."

  The mundane question surprised me out of my preoccupation. "You already know everything."

  "I wouldn't say that. Where did you go to school?"

  "UIC, but I dropped out in my third semester."

  "To take care of your mother?"

  "My brother and sister too, but yeah.” Saying it out loud made the situation sound even more pathetic than it actually was. "My mom had just been diagnosed and she couldn't work. I wouldn't have been able to concentrate in school anyway, thinking about them."

  "You don't resent not being able to finish school?"

  "I don't know. I don't really like to think about it. It is what it is."

  "How very zen," Julian murmured. "Though I wonder if you're making enough of a distinction between acceptance and fatalism."

  "I don't know what that means."

  His gaze was speculative as it moved over me. He brought the fork to his lips and bit off the end of a piece of asparagus. "It means that I'm not sure if you're simply being stoic or laying down and letting life roll over you."

  The words were too calmly delivered to be intentionally cruel, but it still stung. "You don't know me."

  Julian leaned forward, his focused attention making me feel like I was under a spotlight. The air between us was electrically charged and so thick that I could barely breathe through it. His gaze never broke from mine as we stared at each other.

  "You're not eating."

  I looked down at my plate, still nearly full as I had done little more than push the food around on it.

  He stood so suddenly that I gasped aloud before I could stop myself. He came behind my chair, still holding the long cloth napkin that had rested in his lap.

  I held perfectly still, unable to move as his hand slid down one of my arms. He draped the napkin over my wrist and wrapped it around the chair arm before tying it tightly enough that the cloth was taut against my skin.

  Julian continued to speak as he picked up my discarded napkin and repeated his actions on my other wrist.

  "I'd like to tell you what I do know."

  "What—“

  "Hush." He tightened the second napkin around my wrist and I made a sound of surprise.

  When he moved away, it felt like a physical loss. Julian returned to his chair at the head of the table and regarded me thoughtfully over the table. I tent
atively pulled at the restraints binding my wrists but they were tight and gave me less than an inch of free movement.

  I was effectively bound to the chair.

  "I know that you've had to be very strong in the face of true adversity," he said softly. "I know you've carried a weight heavier than most people twice your age could bear."

  A flutter of emotion stirred inside of me, like a fragile bird beating its wings against a gilded cage. I didn't know what to say so I simply stared in his eyes, which had gone dark and unreadable.

  He reached over and speared a small piece of salmon with his fork then brought it to my mouth.

  "Open," he commanded.

  I let him place the morsel of food on my tongue and then chewed slowly. The idea of being fed by him was unbelievably erotic. I had to close my eyes against the wave of pleasure that threatened to overtake me.

  He continued to speak as he slowly fed me one bite after another, his voice lapping over my senses like the gentle crests of ocean waves. "I also know that you are more uniquely suited to submission than any woman that I have ever met."

  Even your wife? The rebellious thought came and fled.

  The warmth of his regard was like a balm to my soul. I still wanted to know about the other women he had known, but didn't have the courage to ask.

  "How do you know?" My voice was whisper-soft.

  His fingers stroked down the side of my neck and I shivered. "How could I not?"

  I wanted to touch him, to excite him to feel the way that I felt — desperate and out of control. But the cloth binding my wrists held me tight to the chair, a physical reminder that I was helpless against him.

  Julian watched me closely, the small smile on his lips indicating that he was perfectly aware of my internal struggle.

  "What about you?" I asked softly. "What do you get out of this?"

  His head cocked to the side and he regarded me thoughtfully, his expression carefully neutral. For a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer but then he spoke.