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17
Celia
I can’t decide which chore I hate most, sheet changing, dusting, or firewood duty. All of them pretty much suck, especially when the staff sit around on their asses while I do their jobs. They must be happy to have the break while I’m here. I wonder how many of them know I’ll be gone soon enough. Furthermore, the details to which I’ll be removed from Nicolo’s home. Doubtful, at least the extent of the details.
Sarah hands me a dusting cloth today and sends me back out into the dust-free house like a child being shooed away from her mother’s legs. I dust everything I can find and skip lunch to duck into my room. It’s not as if anyone is going to drag me out and force me to do anything. They all seem indifferent until I act up. Then Nicolo steps in to take charge, sets me in my place again, and stalks off in a huff.
My cheek still stings when I wash my face, but the tiny pink dot is barely visible now. I still can’t believe he actually cut me. No, I can believe it. I just expected him to fuck me while he did it like the true animal he is.
I throw the dusting rag on my bed, only to watch it snag on the edge of a big black decorative box. Oh. Oh no, not again.
Praying, even though I’m not stupid enough to have genuine hope, I flip back the lid on the box and find a silk dress, which won’t cover anything at all. Underneath is a black thong, a white paper bag of makeup, and a pair of black strappy high heels. The man has a fetish for ridiculous shoes that hurt my feet. Hasn’t he ever heard of sensible flats?
I scowl at the ensemble and shove the box toward the middle of the bed, so I can sit on the edge. A white sheet of paper sits on the bottom of the box, and I fish it out to scan the page.
The bastard has detailed exactly how he wants me to wear my hair and makeup. His handwriting is neat, in thick block lettering made in black ink. I crumple the note up and toss it across the room just to make myself feel better. It doesn’t work, of course. Especially since the last line of the letter specifically instructs me to put my scar on display.
If I were braver, and if my cheek didn’t currently sting from his reaction to my last outburst, I’d defy him. Show up in the shirt he seems to like to keep me confined to wearing. He deserves it for running around dressing me up whenever he feels like it.
He didn’t list what time I have to be ready, and I’m worried if I get ready now, I’ll be sitting here in those painful shoes for hours. But, if I don’t, and he shows up to find me unprepared, he’ll be angry.
I decide to wait until before dinner to get ready. Not to mention, once I slip into that dress, I’ll be uncomfortable as hell.
The day speeds by, and I check the clock several times. His demands and outfit sit behind me on the bed, mocking me for my fear and obedience.
Once the time comes, I go into the bathroom and get ready, per his demands. I carefully apply the makeup he provided. All products I used myself, which leads me to believe he must have someone working inside my home. Home… something that seems so far away now.
After I finish my makeup, I pin my hair away from my face, so it falls straight and long, coming to rest at the top of my ass.
I groan as I look in the mirror. The dress hugs every inch of my body like a glove. I look fucking naked and cheap in this dress. My hair is too heavy to wear up, so he has to be satisfied with this. I’ll have a headache by the end of whatever it is he wants to do with me. Something I haven’t allowed myself to consider until now. Why does he want me dressed up like this?
I quickly cross to the bed and dig out the fountain pen I stuffed under my mattress. Damn, there’s nowhere in this outfit I can hide it. With an exasperated sigh, I shove it back in its hiding place.
As I’m slipping on the shoes, the door opens, and Nicolo steps inside. He’s dressed in his usual black slacks, white shirt, shiny shoes, and an expensive watch. But tonight, he’s styled his hair and put on a jacket. The effect is disturbing as he’s gone from ruffian to businessman with the addition of a fucking blazer.
With the last strap of my shoe in place, he extends his hand to pull me to my feet. When I wobble, he steadies me, slipping his arm around my waist while pulling me tight to his chest.
