The Dollhouse Society Ultimate Boxset: 21 Books & 5 Shorts in the Dollhouse Society Series

by Eden Myles

  He looked over at his brother. Damian whipped out a large velvet case that he presented to me like a suitor. My heart thudded at the sight, and when I opened it, I saw a long, thin gold chain with one of the biggest rubies nestled in a setting of white gold.

  “You can’t say no,” Dorian said. “We simply won’t accept it.”

  I blushed as Damian slid it around my neck, the ruby so heavy the necklace was weighed down between my cleavage. Damian kissed my cheek. “Not cheap at all.”

  We reached the lobby of the building, where there was a valet to park the car. Damian and Dorian stepped out and Damian turned to help me from the limo. Both brothers offered their arms and I took them, feeling a little bit silly and a whole lot scared, and let them walk me into a crowded ballroom full of the filthy rich.

  You could almost smell the money. There were tables of h'orderves, a tabletop fountain full of champagne, a live string orchestra, and about a hundred of the wealthiest men and women in New York City. Chrystal chandeliers twinkled above, catching winks of light in the diamond necklaces and earrings that the women wore. It flashed in the depths of the heavy ruby around my neck.

  I knew what to expect—the Michaels brothers had tried to prime me—but I still held onto their arms with a death grip as we made the rounds of the room, introducing ourselves to CEO’s, VIPs, god knew who else. We met models, publishers, politicians and businessmen. I worked hard to remember names, but they soon started to run together for me.

  Only a few people stood out. One was a glamorous young model I recognized from runway shows and assorted fashion magazines. She’d been a pinup model for Victoria’s Secret only recently. “Is this your girl, Doctors?” she asked with interest.

  “Veronica, you look marvelous…” Damian began, kissing her knuckles.

  “…and yes, this is Belle,” Dorian finished. “Belle, this is a very special lady. You’re to be her model.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Damian looked to Veronica, who nodded her approval. “Veronica is an A-list model, but she had a double mastectomy a few months ago. Breast cancer, you see.”

  She motioned at the bodice of her evening gown. “Falsies.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh, dear god.” She was so young, little older than I was…

  “We plan to reconstruct her breasts based on your measurements.”

  “Oh!” I said, feeling, as usual, rather foolish. So all those notes that Dr. Dorian was always taking had a purpose, after all. He wasn’t just observing me out of some perverse pleasure. “I’m so sorry!” I told Veronica, but the woman laughed.

  “Don’t be, hon. I’m a survivor, not a victim. And because of you, I’ll have a rack that’ll put me back in the catalogs.” She turned to the brothers. “You are rewarding this beautiful young woman for her contribution, are you not?”

  “We plan to, yes,” Damian said with a smile and a wink my way. “We’ll be rewarding her for every contribution she brings to our work.”

  Dr. Dorian patted my hand and leaned down, making me shiver slightly as he spoke in my ear, “So now you see why we won’t take no on that necklace.”

  I looked at Veronica. She was so beautiful, so young and perfect. I felt honored to be helping her. I looked at my two employers. “You don’t need to pay me for this. I’m not doing anything. You and Damian are doing all the work.”

  “We couldn’t do it half as well without you.” And Dorian kissed me on the cheek, which made me blush.

  The food was delightful, but I only drank water. I’d had champagne in the limo and didn’t want to imbibe anymore than that. I’d never been good with holding my liquor, and ever since Clark, I no longer drank anything suspicious in public.

  Eventually, the Master of Ceremonies showed up and welcomed everyone, and then the string orchestra started up and I took turns dancing with the Michaels brothers. In-between dances, a tall, gorgeous Japanese man showed up with his date, a small, dark-haired girl not much older than I. They made pleasant chitchat with the Michaels brothers before the girl turned to me. “I’m Felix. Yes, you heard that right. And no, that’s not short for Felicity. Do you belong to Dorian and Damian?”

  “What?” I said. “Belong? No. I’m not their girlfriend or anything.” I laughed nervously. “Actually, I’m their housekeeper.”

  “Ah,” Felix said, sipping on a glass of champagne. “I thought for sure you were part of the Society. You seem such a part of them—exactly what they’re looking for.”

  “Society?”

  Felix frowned. “You’re not part of the Dollhouse?”

  “Dollhouse?”

  “So you’re not a doll?”

  The Japanese gentleman stepped between us and took her hand. “Felix, my dear, I really don’t think we should be interfering this way in Damian and Dorian’s affairs.”

  “Oops, my bad.” She grinned at me. “But if you do join the Society, we’ll definitely be best friends!”

  The Japanese man dragged Felix away even as she waved to me, and I watched the strange young woman with the even stranger name disappear into the crowd.

  On the ride home, I said, “What’s the Dollhouse?”

  Dr. Damian exchanged a meaningful look with Dr. Dorian, who cleared his throat. “That’s really no concern of yours, my dear.”

  But now I was intrigued. “Felix said something about a Society. Is it like a secret club or something?”

  Damian smiled. “Felix, though a dear girl, talks far too much…”

  “I often wonder how Alex endures her,” Dorian added.

  Again that psychic look passed between the brothers. Dorian nodded his approval to go ahead and Damian added, “It’s a gentleman’s club.”

  “Like…some kind of strip club?”

  “It’s a gentleman’s club,” Dorian repeated.

  I thought maybe I was starting to catch on. “You mean like a sex club.”

  They looked at each other and said in unison, “Yes.”

  I was more than a little surprised. Both brothers seemed pretty…asexual. I never found evidence of girls being brought home, and there was nothing even remotely pornographic in the house. No porn movies, no dirty magazines. Then again, they were loaded, and Damian was a former rock star, so who knew what their sexual tastes were like?

  “We’re part of what members call The Dollhouse Society,” Damian explained. “It’s a very exclusive collection of powerful men and woman who keep trained courtesans or courtiers and show them off at Society meetings, though many of us do not have courtesans as yet. We still enjoy the Society and the pleasures it has to offer.”

  “Such as…?” I prompted.

  “Gentlemen and their courtesans or courtiers make love for the entertainment of the rest of the Society,” Dorian explained.

  “Well, that…and other things,” Damian added with a mischievous smile.

  “You’re kidding.”

  They gave me a serious look I’d learned meant they were definitely not kidding.

  “Felix said she thought I was your doll…”

  “No,” Dorian immediately answered. His face hardened and he indicated the limo. “This is not a primer for being our courtesan. We are not grooming you for the position, Belle, so you should stop worrying about that immediately. You’re our model, our housekeeper, and, we like to feel…”

  “…our friend.” Damian took up my hand and swiped a kiss over my knuckles.

  The brothers offered me warm smiles that crinkled their eyes at the corners and Dorian added, “We’ll have you back to your dorm just in time for bed, Belle. We appreciate you acting as our consort. Because of you, the ACS had quite a few donations tonight.”

  “I’m glad,” I said.

  What they were saying about the sex thing was a little weird, but I really couldn’t be too offended by it. At least they were being honest with me about their tastes and sexuality, and I didn’t think two men who were up to something nefarious would be so open with their next victim. Woul
d they?

  After they let me out on the campus grounds, I stood in the student parking lot, clutching my wrap, and waved goodnight as the limo pulled out and disappeared into traffic. I told myself I was a very lucky girl to have two employers who were honorable enough to not take advantage of me.

  I ought to be ecstatic about that, I knew, but somehow it made me sad.

  ***

  “Belle, would you be able to serve Friday night?” Damian asked, standing in the doorway of the dining room.

  I was balanced somewhat precariously on a stepladder and trying to get the dusty drapes off the curtain rod so they could be dry-cleaned. “Serve?” I mumbled from under a fold of drape, and then coughed at the dust I was inhaling.

  “Act as a server, I mean, for a dinner party that bro and I are having. We’ll pay you extra, of course…what are you doing, Belle?”

  I tugged at the rod, but they seemed to be somehow permanently affixed to the molding around the huge, panoramic windows that looked out over the manicured lawn behind the house. “Trying to get these down. They’re filthy!”

  “Belle, we have professional cleaners who take care of the window dressings.”

  “Well, they aren’t doing their job. Have you seen these things?” I shook the curtain and a cloud of dust sparkled in the air, making Damian cough. “And sure, I can serve. I don’t have anything going on Friday night.”

  After Damian finished coughing, he said, “No dates or anything? Because if it’s a bother, we have a firm we can hire.”

  “No dates. I don’t date.”

  He crossed his arms across his broad chest, making the tight black concert T-shirt he wore stretch across his plain of pectoral muscle in a way that I found way too distracting. He cocked his head and eyed me with his sparkling blue eyes. “Why don’t you date? You’re certainly an attractive young woman.”

  “Because I don’t date, that’s why,” I said, not wanting to get into this with him. “What time do you need me?”

  “Seven.”

  “I might be just a little bit late. I have a support group meeting that gets out at 6:30.” I immediately wanted to slap a hand over my mouth for oversharing information.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Support group? You don’t seem much like a drug addict or alcoholic.”

  “It’s not that kind of group,” I said in a rush, trying to cover my tracks. “I…I help people. Counseling, you know. So I might be a little late. Is that all right?”

  “That’s fine…”

  At that moment, I pulled too hard and felt the ladder slip out from under my feet. I saw Damian move like lightning out of the corner of my eye. I cried out as I found myself in freefall for half a second, then a pair of strong arms caught me and I gasped at the impact. The dusty drape dropped down upon us seconds later, which Damian shrugged off. His hair sparked with dust, but his face was strained with concern when he looked at me. “Belle? Are you all right?”

  I caught my breath and breathed out. I realized I was pressed up against the muscular wall of Damian’s chest. “I’m fine,” I said, though my breath caught again for an entirely different reason. I could feel his erection through the snugness of his jeans pressing into my side, but I told myself it must be his tight jeans. “Thanks.”

  An awkward moment passed before he lowered me to my feet. He grabbed up the fallen drape and kept it strategically close against his body. “Good. Don’t do that again,” he said in an overly stern voice. “Be here as early as you can on Friday night…and, Belle, don’t mess with the drapes anymore.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  I was only a little bit late on Friday night. Catering had already come and gone, and the dining room was set with six places. I went through the rooms with my clipboard, double checking to make certain all the rooms I thought might be used—dining room, living room, foyer, rec room—were clean and tidy before stepping into the kitchen to find out what my duties for the evening would be.

  Dorian was standing at a counter, going over a list. Dorian loved making lists. I found them all over the house—just another part of his controlling nature, I think. He was very organized. He turned when he heard me come in and said, “Thank you for serving tonight, Belle. Do you have any issues with wearing a uniform? It’s to be a very formal dinner.”

  I thought about that. “No, I guess not.”

  I thought he would give me some kind of Maitre ‘d uniform to wear, like in a high-end restaurant—black slacks, white shirt, some kind of bowtie—but instead presented me with an itty bitty black dress and white apron combo, fresh from the drycleaners. I looked it over. It was a little briefer than I generally liked my dresses. “There are heels to go with it,” he explained. “But I understand if you prefer your own shoes. You might be running about a bit.”

  I always wore sensible Dr. Scholls with their no-slip soles to clean the Michaels mansion. In fact, I almost never wore heels. I was short, only five-two. Even three-inch heels weren’t going to make much difference in that department.

  I decided it was a sensible compromise. I took the dress from him, wondering what kind of special company the brothers were entertaining tonight. “If I can wear my shoes, then I’ll wear your dress.”

  “Excellent.”

  I waited in the kitchen amidst all the catered food in their warming trays. When it came time, Damian stepped into the kitchen, dressed smartly in his million dollar James Bond tuxedo, and looked me over. I saw the approval in his eyes. “You look beautiful tonight, Belle.”

  I beamed him a smile. “I aim to serve,” I said, then realized how that sounded kind of slutty and said, “I mean…thank you, sir.”

  He asked that I bring in the champagne. I placed a bottle on a silver serving try and arranged six glasses around it, then ushered it into the living room, where the guests were taking drinks.

  I soon discovered that all the guests were women—drop-dead gorgeous women with huge boobs, tiny waists, tight evening gowns, and painfully high heels. One was prettier than the next, like a long procession of living Barbie dolls, and I even thought I recognized at least one from a popular daytime soap. I served them all with a smile. Some nodded thanks as I filled their glasses, while others barely acknowledged my presence.

  I didn’t take offense. I wasn’t nearly pretty enough to talk to them. And besides, I was just the help.

  I cleared empty glasses and quickly ushered in more champagne, followed by wine. Damian and Dorian nodded to me and smiled and I gave them A-OK sign as I quickly moved between the kitchen and living room. I thought I was doing a pretty good job for an amateur, but just before dinner was called, I accidently turned too quickly with a full try of champagne glasses and tripped over an end table. I caught myself before I fell, but a glass toppled and splashed the front of one of the women in her long, midnight-blue gown.

  “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” I said, setting down the tray and plucking the bar mop from my shoulder so I could soak up the stain, but the woman rounded on me before I could approach her and slapped my hands away.

  “What’s the matter with you? Are you blind? Do you know how much this gown costs?” she spat.

  “I can imagine. I didn’t mean…”

  “You stupid bitch, I’ll make you pay for the cleaning!”

  Tears fill my eyes, but before I could apologize again, Dorian appeared at my side. “You can leave now, Tiffany,” he said in a soft, rumbling baritone to the woman.

  “Leave?” she said, eyeing me like something she’d likely peel off the bottom of her high heel. “It was her fault! You should keep your help better in line, Dr. Dorian!”

  “She apologized already,” Dorian said, his voice calm but vibrating with a faint growl. “And it’s time for you to go.”

  I turned and fled to the kitchen before I started crying in front of everyone. I leaned against the counter and took a few deep breaths, let a few tears out, then worked on trying to control myself. I thought about my support group. They said it wa
s okay to cry, that tears were weakness leaving the body.

  I was dabbing at my eyes with my bar mop when Dorian came in. “She’s gone. Are you all right, Belle?”

  I sniffed and stood up straighter. “I’m fine.” I offered him the bravest smile I could. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

  Dorian sighed, came to me, and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at my makeup. “It’s just a little spill. Nothing to fret over.”

  “I cost you a guest.”

  “They’re here at our good graces, Belle.”

  I let him dry my face. “Who are they?” I asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Potential courtesans. They’re auditioning for the position of our courtesan.”

  “Oh.” Then I thought about what he was saying. “Your courtesan? You’re only picking one?”

  “I told you. My brother and I share.”

  “I know…but…I guess I thought you were pulling my leg or something.”

  “When my brother and I were young, we were in fierce competition with each other. It almost destroyed our relationship. But then, when our parents died, we vowed not to let that happen, as we were the only family we had left. We decided we would work together and share everything we had—the house, the practice, everything.”

  “Including girls?”

  “Including the girl who would become our courtesan, yes.” He finished wiping my face and smiled. “I’m rather glad you rooted out Tiffany for us, Belle. I have no patience for women like that. Better?”

  I nodded. “Better.”

  ***

  I made no more mistakes for the rest of the evening. I swiftly and successfully ran dinner from the kitchen to the dining room, then scooped up all the used dishes and tableware as each course came to an end and ran them back to the kitchen just as quickly. I refilled water glasses and wine glasses, and somehow managed to spill not one drop. I was feeling very good by the time dinner was done and the girls were saying their goodbyes to the Michaels brothers. They stood at the door a long time after the last girl left, whispering between themselves.

  While I was in the kitchen, loading the industrial-sized dishwasher, Damian suddenly appeared and said, “Would you join us a moment, Belle?”