I’d forgotten all about my page. The one online with a bit of made up information and scantily clad photos I’d been forced to sit for in a silk slip. I hadn’t seen it, or the photos. I didn’t want to.
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
Hans motioned me forward through the first set of doors. “Now we get you ready. Louisa will handle your wardrobe, hair, and makeup the night of the auction. You will be taken to the house—”
“What house?”
He scowled at me for interrupting. “The auction house.”
“I thought it happened here,” I said honestly.
“This is the training house,” he stated slowly like I was an idiot. “The auction is a different place. You will be taken there and placed on the stage.”
“How long does that take?” The dryness in my throat was stealing my voice.
Hans shrugged. “Five, ten minutes, sometimes less, depending on the crowd. If lots of people are voting, it takes longer. Sometimes they fight. Bidding wars,” he explained when I looked at him horrified. “That’s what you want. Bidding wars always gets the most money.”
“Do you get those often?”
“Occasionally, if the girl does it properly.”
“Does what properly?”
“Her acting.” Hans peered at me. “Play your role. That’s why the men are there, for the fantasy. Give them what they want. Haven’t you learned anything in your training?”
We arrived at my door. Its simple, wooden surface seemed out of place amongst all the other darker, more sinister ones.
“Louisa is waiting inside,” Hans told me, turning the knob.
Louisa was indeed inside. She’d made herself at home on the bed, a vision in an emerald gown. She lifted her head when I slipped in.
“There you are, darling,” she breathed. “Close the door.”
I did as I was instructed and went to the bench. I set my bag down and fished out my notebook.
“No, we will not need that today.” Louisa waved the booklet away with her gem studded hand. “Today, we will discuss strategy.”
“Shouldn’t I write that—?”
“No! This is your strategy, what you will do when you get on that stage.”
“My role,” I ventured, remembering Hans’s speech.
“Yes, precisely. Your role. Your gimmick.”
I was certain now that I should be taking notes. There was no way I was going to remember this. But I sat on the corner of the bench and waited.
“You are the virgin,” Louisa breathed in a sultry, seductive purr that made my cheeks hot. “Untouched. Unsoiled. You are a dazzling, white unicorn and everyone wants you. Men want to be in the place no other man has ever been. They want to conquer and plant their flag. And that is what you’re offering. You are giving them the chance to have something most of them probably never had, because, sweetheart, virgins don’t exist anymore. In this day and age, if you’re still a virgin at sixteen, there’s something wrong with you. But here you are, a stunning vision of grace, beauty ... and virtue.”
I wasn’t so sure about the grace and beauty, but Louisa seemed to be in her element.
She swung herself off the bed and stood before me. One long, spidery hand was offered and I accepted it.
“Get into character, my sweet.”
In character was me pulling on the slip. There were no bathrooms in the training rooms, so I was forced to disrobe while my trainer watched, silently assessing my frame.
“Stop.”
Naked with the slip in my hand, I stopped. It wasn’t my first time being naked in front of the woman. She’d seen parts of me even I had yet to explore.
Louisa placed one finger to her chin and looked me over. “You will visit my girl tomorrow, Gabrielle. She will pump, pluck, and soften every inch of you. We must have you presentable for Friday.”
“Is that when the auction is?”
She nodded and motioned with a twirling finger for me to turn. “Ah, to have a twenty-two year old’s ass again,” she sighed at long last. “Enjoy it. Gravity will steal it all away one day.”
I bit back a chuckle as I faced her once more.
“We have a lot of work to do before your grand debut. Are you ready?”
That was the question.
Chapter Three — Gabrielle
The week was a blur of salons and women with hot wax. Even while I knew what they were going to do with it and even while they’d explained the process, nothing in the world prepared me for the ripping sensation of hairs being torn violently from my vaginal area. The tiny Asian woman had coo’d and clucked sympathetically while applying a fresh strip, but showed not an ounce of remorse.
That was only Monday.
Tuesday, I was marched into a buffering place to get my body massaged and skin scrubbed with what felt like sand. I was wrapped and steamed, and polished with lotions that smelled delicious.
Wednesday was hands and feet. Both were kneaded and painted a delicate shade of innocent pink.
Thursday, I was told to rest, get lots of sleep, but I studied to make up for the last three days. Even if I had the luxury to simply rest, how could I knowing that my whole life would change in a few short hours? I barely had twenty-four hours. Sleep wasn’t an option.
Friday morning, I stumbled out of my apartment and met Louisa at a hair salon. My pale locks were trimmed and layered, and lightened to a soft, almost white. My face was powdered and remade into someone I didn’t recognize. My green eyes appeared wide and innocent shaded a baby pink. My lips were painted a glossy nude.
I didn’t look like myself at all.
Louisa drove with me in the town car. Neither of us said a word the whole way, for which I was relieved. I didn’t think I could handle small talk given where we were going.
We left the bright lights of the city and delved out into the country. Night had fallen, obscuring the farmlands. There was nothing to see for miles before the clumps of trees appeared. I couldn’t fathom where we were headed, but it took nearly two hours to get there.
The Victorian estate with its brightly illuminated lights and burgundy paint greeted us from a wide circle of trees. It sat, a proud structure against the spanning twilight. Any other time, I would have loved it. The Victorian era had always been a favorite of mine, but following Louisa from the car to its backdoor soured me to all of it.
I wanted to soil myself. There was no other term for it. I was scared out of my mind. I could barely walk in a straight line. My vision kept blurring in and out of focus. I wanted to throw up, but wasn’t sure if I’d be able to stop.
Louisa took my hand and patted it lightly. “There, there,” she murmured. “The first time is always hardest. Just let yourself relax and remember why you’re doing this. That always helps.”
It did help, but not enough.
“The good news is, the arena is packed,” Louisa went on, guiding me up the back steps. “Hans hasn’t seen this many clients since Libby the gymnast. That girl can bend in ways that just aren’t natural, but men love her.”
“She’s still working?”
Louisa nodded. “It’s hard leaving a life where you make the kind of money you will tonight. Some leave, but the majority see no point.”
I would leave, I told myself. I just needed enough money to get me through the next eight months of school and then freedom.
We stepped into a back room lined with coat racks. Louisa hung up hers and mine. Then she guided me down a narrow corridor to a small powder room. I was handed a paper bag containing a single, white slip with lace over the breasts and a short hem. The thin, silk straps sat lightly on my shoulders, leaving my arms bare and cold. Louisa brushed my hair and touched up my makeup.
“Feeling okay?”
I shook my head. “No.”
She squeezed my shoulder gently. “I know, sweetheart. But it’ll be over before you know it and next time won’t be nearly as bad.”
That was what I was hoping. Part of me wished
Hans let the girls have alcohol. I just needed one shot to calm my nerves. But with my luck, I’ll probably throw up all over myself.
“Now what?”
“Now we wait for you to get called. I think Hans is saving you for last. You’re the big show stopper.”
That didn’t make me feel better at all.
I can’t say how long we waited in that bathroom. I wasn’t sure if it was because that was where the girls were supposed to wait, or because I looked as sick as I felt. But Louisa made no effort to remove me off the toilet lid.
She thankfully didn’t say much. I didn’t think I could carry a conversation anyway. But it felt like hours later when Louisa got a text and that was it.
It was my turn.
I was led further down the hall as it expanded and broke off in different directions. We passed a set of grand stairs to an open alcove with two simple doors facing each other. I was guided into the one on the left. It was closed behind us and I got my first view of the auction stage.
It was a room, a white, spotless room with no windows, and no other doors, except the one we’d come through. There were no pictures on the walls, no fancy designs, or even a nightstand. The hardwood floors were bare. There was an old-style bed up against one side draped in lacy, white sheets. The metal framework reminded me of something from the Victorian era, something old and no longer safe to use. It faced the wall opposite it. At first glance, it looked almost like someone had painted the entire thing black, but as we stepped in deeper and the single light overhead shimmered off its surface, I realized it was a one-sided window, which explained where the bidders would be. I doubted they’d be able to fit everyone in that tiny room with me.
“Can they see me?” I hissed low under my breath, just in case.
“Not yet,” Louisa answered, maneuvering me to the bed. “There’s a curtain that will be drawn back when we start.”
“How do I know we’ve started?”
She pointed to a bulb I hadn’t noticed just above the door. “It comes on when the show starts and goes off when it ends.”
I sucked in a breath that rattled in my chest. My teeth chattered.
“Loosen up, honey,” Louisa prompted gently when she set me on the firm mattress and my knees wouldn’t bend.
She arranged my hair over one shoulder and made me grasp the gold post on one end of the footboard. The cold metal burned against my palm and the side of my hip where I was made to sit with my feet planted flat on the floor.
“All right, remember now, give them what they’re paying for.” Louisa offered me a smile. “You’ll get through this.”
Then she was gone and I was left staring at myself in a sheet of dark glass. The woman staring back looked as scared and paralyzed as I felt. Her complexion was a frightening, chalky color under the makeup. Her eyes were too wide, too glossy with terror. She looked on the verge of bolting. The only thing keeping her rooted was the post between her hands.
You can do this, I told her silently.
She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
Above the door, the light went on.
Chapter Four — Kieran
My father had never been discreet about what he wanted from me. My responsibilities had always been made perfectly clear with no room to be sidetracked. I was a Kincaid. The only surviving heir to the Kincaid fortune, and it was up to me to make sure I wasn’t the last.
There was a rule in my family, a carefully placed path that needed to be followed to the letter. There was no or about it. I needed to be married by the time I was thirty. I needed to produce an heir before I was thirty-five. Before that and after that, my life was my own to do with as I pleased.
I was already behind schedule.
I was thirty-five with no wife and no child, and a looming birthday just over the horizon. I knew there were failsafe’s in place should I neglect my duties, but Father had never spoken of them. He’d been so sure I would succeed.
But it wasn’t from a lack of trying. There were plenty of beautiful, highly bred women I could select from. I think there was even a catalogue. Women of the rich and entitled. Fathers who would leap at the very idea of me taking their daughter as my own, giving her the Kincaid name.
Only the matter had never been that simple for me.
I didn’t want a wife.
Wives were plenty. I’d seen what became of wives pushed into marriage for money, station, and power in exchange for an heir. I’d seen what became of them. I wouldn’t bring a child into a world where his parents didn’t even share the same room, where he would only be brought out during important events where he would be forced to smile and pretend everything was all right.
I’d been that child. I’d seen what that kind of marriage did to my mother. What it made of my father. I’d sworn to myself I would never allow that to continue.
I wanted a friend, a companion. Someone who didn’t see the Kincaid name. I wanted someone who I couldn’t wait to get home to. I wanted...
The moment her face drifted over the surface of my mind, I forced it aside.
It figured I would want the one woman who couldn’t even look at me. Father would have accused me of deliberately seeking someone unattainable just to shack my responsibilities, but that wasn’t the case. At least, I didn’t think it was.
“Kieran?” Eyes the pale blue of the arctic surveyed my face from across the table, soft with puzzlement and just a hint of annoyance that she was clever enough to conceal behind a tight-lipped smile. “Is everything all right?”
Cordelia Thornton was the ideal woman. She had the name, the pedigree, the education. She even had Father’s approval. In all retrospect, I should have already locked things down five years ago, but she wasn’t Gabby and that was a problem. Both that she wasn’t and because I couldn’t marry her, be with her, and look at her every day and wish she was her sister. That was how marriages died.
“I have a meeting after lunch,” I said, running a palm down my silk tie to distract from the fact that I hadn’t heard a word she’d said in over twenty minutes. “I seem to be preoccupied with it.”
Business was a language I knew she understood. It was after all the reason she wanted to marry me, because I worked and I worked hard.
She smiled and checked her watch. “Did you need to head back early?”
I didn’t. The meeting wasn’t for another two hours, but I could only suffer through one hour of lunch with her. While brilliant and an expert in everything I enjoyed, Cordelia wasn’t that far off from every other woman on a very short list and I couldn’t find the patience to sit through her idle chatter about how I could better plump up my portfolio.
“I should,” I lied, already pushing to my feet. “I apologize.”
Cordelia shook her head. “I understand. I’ll see you on Sunday?”
I only smiled, wondering, not for the first time, how those weekly lunches even began. It had been going on for so long that I couldn’t even remember who initiated it. But it was becoming clear the Thornton’s liked their meals ... and their habits. Dinners every Sunday. Lunch dates every Friday. I wouldn’t have complained if it had been the right Thornton, but I made a mental note to start backing out. I had no interest in Cordelia and it was time I started making that clear. Friend of the family, approved by my father or not. It wasn’t going to happen.
I bid her goodbye and made my way through the country club. The subtle fragrance of cucumbers and lilacs followed me to the French doors. As did the many pairs of eyes I could feel stripping away my clothes. But my strides never faltered. I was too used to being watched to react. I did however wonder when we started eating there, when that cesspool become our meeting place. For a while, we’d gone to a secluded diner a few blocks from the office and it had been perfect; no one either of us knew ever went there. Yet, at some point, we’d migrated to one of the most exclusive and highly celebrated clubs in the city.
I hummed quietly to myself while handing my ticket to the valet. It was apparent
that I hadn’t been giving Cordelia the proper credit that she deserved. She was evidently far cleverer than I anticipated. If I wasn’t careful, she could have us married with ten kids and I wouldn’t even realize it until it was too late.
The idea of being married didn’t scare me, nor did the thought of ten children ... had it been with Gabby. There wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for her, which was ironic given that I couldn’t get her to stand still long enough for a single, full conversation, never mind the making of any of those babies.
Babies with Gabby.
The very idea coaxed a grin from me I knew was probably scaring the other valet boys.
It had begun to rain, a steady downpour that tapped rapidly on the awning overhead and drizzled in a stream over the sides. The world seemed to shimmer in the gloomy afternoon. It was the kind of day that begged to be spent snuggled up in bed. Instead, my car was brought in. I slipped the boy a tip and climbed in behind the wheel.
Global Point International reigned in the heart of the city, a gleaming spear of glass and steel that reminded me of a blade jutting up from its concrete hilt. It pierced into the heavens, a rod of power and intimidation, just how my great grandfather liked it.
I’d never met the man. Chain smoking did him in before I was even born, but having met my grandfather and father, I always felt like I knew exactly what sort of man Bowen Kincaid had been. No doubt cold, manipulative, calculating, bitter with a large dose of narcissism. The latter I was confident was hereditary. Both Grandfather and Father had possessed a great amount of it.
But their rule had ended. I was the only Kincaid remaining. It all belonged to me, except the ten percent share that went to my mother.
“Have only one child,” Father used to tell me during one of his many drunken rambles of wisdom. “A son. Then there will be no fighting amongst them.”
I never asked him what would happen if the child happened to be a girl. No doubt he’d tell me something appalling, like abort it, or throw it to the wolves. But that was the way of the Kincaid legacy.
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