by Dori Lavelle
The baby gives a soft coo.
My heart clenches as I move him to the changing table. During the whole process of changing the diaper, I do my best to push away any thoughts of Damien. After several messy attempts at cleaning the baby up, I pull the front half of the new diaper up to his tummy and fasten it at both sides with the tabs. I redo it twice to make sure I get a snug fit, not too tight.
The baby coos again and plugs his thumb into his mouth.
A sigh of relief whooshes out of my lungs. “I’m glad you’re happy. Now, let’s feed you so we can both get back to sleep.”
Preparing the bottle takes me longer than changing the diaper; I carefully read the instructions on the formula but still make several mistakes along the way. When the bottle is ready, I screw the cap back on the thermos flask, and sprinkle a few drops of the bottled milk on the inside of my wrist. Perfect.
I lean against my pillows with the baby cradled in my arms as he sucks furiously on the bottle, the fingers of his right hand curled around my thumb.
Swallowing a sob, I touch the warm, soft crown of his head. His dark curls cling to my fingers. “You’re so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?” His mouth curls at the corners and I return his smile, my first in days or weeks. “Don’t worry. They’ll find you a good home with amazing parents.”
The baby gazes deep into my eyes and a thread of mutual comfort passes between us. I continue my soothing talk. “I hope you end up with a better life than mine.” I give him a bitter smile. “Mine is a bit complicated right now. If you happen to see me looking sad, it’s not your fault.”
One of my tears drops onto the baby’s nose, and I wipe it off with a finger. For a moment he stops sucking the bottle and blinks at me several times. His eyes are drooping now.
He’s changed, fed, and ready to sleep again. But he’s not done with the bottle yet. The sucking starts again. He raises a chubby hand to touch my chin. Is he telling me to continue talking? I sniff as I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “I don’t want to burden your little life with my problems. You won’t understand.”
I watch him finish his bottle in silence and his eyes close. Long after the feeding, I’m still holding him. At this moment in time, he feels like my lifeline.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days after the baby arrived, I find him gone. No warning, no goodbye.
When I wake up, the blinds have been opened, but the baby is not inside his crib. I must have been sleeping deeply since I didn’t hear a sound.
My sweaty hands grip the cold edge of the empty crib, my world spinning.
For two days, I did everything to care for the baby. I woke up several times a night to change and feed him. He filled my days with sounds instead of silence. I tickled his little toes and enjoyed the giggles I got back. I didn’t mean to form a bond with him, but it happened. Was that what Damien wanted? Did he want me to fall in love with the baby, then take him away to hurt me?
My vision goes red as I charge toward the door. “Where is he?” My words hit the air at the same time my fists slam against the wood. “Where’s the baby?”
“Everything is fine, Mrs. Steel.” Adrian’s voice is calm and gentle. Given that he never communicates with me from the other side, his response takes me by surprise. “Mr. Steel will be spending the day with the baby so you can get some rest.”
“Really?” I scoff, pressing my back against the door. “Suddenly he cares about how I feel? I don’t buy that for a second.” My teeth are gritted, my jaw tight. “If he cared about me at all, he’d let me out of this prison of a room.”
Adrian falls silent again. I try to get him talking again, but he doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s as confused about Damien’s plans as I am. I give up and return to bed. When my breakfast comes through the partition, I ignore it.
The baby is the only thing on my mind—his smile, the soothing sounds he makes. In only a few hours we had become some kind of team, giving each other comfort during our darkest time, both of us without a home. A flash of loneliness stabs me at the thought of never seeing his bright eyes and dimpled cheeks again.
After about an hour, I drag myself out of bed again and splash my face with cold water. The breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs, and coffee is cold by the time I eat it. Underneath the plate is a note from Damien.
Like a robot, I read it. I can never stop myself from reading the damn notes, even when the words destroy me.
Love of my life,
Watching you with the baby the past two days has brought immense joy to my heart. You will make a wonderful mother one day. After those sleepless nights, I thought you might appreciate some rest, a little time to yourself. As your husband, it’s my turn to care for the baby.
I can’t wait for the day we’ll look after our own children.
For now, get some rest and think of me. I love you, even if you find that hard to believe right now.
D.
I tear up the note, breaking the sentences and words until they’re nothing but a meaningless mess.
I spend the rest of the morning and afternoon on my bed, holding the baby’s stuffed giraffe to my body. Sometimes I stand at the window, looking out, waiting for Damien to bring him back. Night falls and the shutters close, but Damien doesn’t show up.
I’m on the verge of panic when the door opens. Hanna walks in with the baby in her arms. At the sight of his small face, my eyes fill with tears.
Saying nothing to Hanna, I take him and walk to the bed.
“Your husband was great with him. They played all day. He already gave him a bath and fed him for the night.”
Hanna leaves without a response from me. What can I say to her, or anyone? Everything happening around me is so confusing and bizarre.
I struggle to think of Damien as both a good man who rescues babies and gives them baths, and a monster who murders and kidnaps people. How is it possible for the core of a person’s heart to be both warm and cold?
The next day, Hanna appears with my breakfast tray and informs me that Mr. Steel has asked her to take the baby to him. She holds out her arms, and though I hesitate at first, I end up giving her the baby after pressing a kiss on his little fist. What choice do I have? He’s not mine.
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.
Chapter Fourteen
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 think 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.”
&nb
sp; 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.