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The chilled potato soup is first and before I bring my first spoonful to my lips, the chandelier above the table flickers and I have the sensation someone is standing behind me. I twist my head, thinking it’s one of the staff ready to top off my wine glass, but there’s a chill in the air again and no one is there.
I look around the table, but the other three guys are slurping soup and drinking away, spurts of forced conversation interspersed as I squeeze my legs together. The spin of arousal hits me again and there’s no possible way it’s from any of my dinner partners.
“The soup tastes great.” I try to distract myself, sure that whatever is happening to me is certainly a creation of my own imagination. But before any of them answer, clenched fear wraps around me as that same voice I swear I heard earlier is in my ear again…
“But I’m sure you taste better…”
I yelp, drawing the eye of the others, spoon frozen in mid-air.
“You okay?” Charles asks as Wallace twists his lips into a smile.
“Sure, she’s okay. She’s fine.” He snorts another laugh, then licks his lips, taking the life out of any otherworldly arousal I was feeling.
Under the table, something touches my ankle and bolt upright from my chair with a crash of porcelain as my bowl of soup sloshes onto the plate below, a splash hitting the center of my dress as I grimace. “Damn it.” I grab my napkin and dab the spot.
Wallace releases a restrained laugh and I look under the table to see his leg extended, his foot out of his shoe, wiggling his bare toes at me just in front of my chair.
Hot anger shoots through me, and I open my mouth to tell him what an ass he is, but before the first word slips from my lips, his soup bowl flips up, spilling the liquid down the front of his shirt and into his lap.
“What the hell!” He throws his hands up, glaring at me as Ashby re-enters the room. “She threw my soup on me!”
“I did not,” I bark back.
Ashby eyes the four of us in silence for a long moment as Wallace cleans the front of his ridiculous tuxedo t-shirt with his white linen napkin. Ashby turns and meets my eyes. There’s a glint in them, something I can’t quite place…
“Contact with another contestant, meant to intimidate, harm or otherwise in any threatening manner is cause for removal from the contest.”
Before I can defend myself, Charles responds.
“She didn’t touch him or his bowl.” Charles looks at Wallace. “Tell him she didn’t touch your bowl.” His voice is hard, protective, and I’m grateful for the ally.
Wallace sneers like a child but concedes. “I must have knocked it over myself.”
“Very well. Understand we have cameras everywhere. If anyone were to lie about another contestant’s actions, that would also be grounds for immediate removal. The main course will be served momentarily. Behave yourselves.” Ashby nods, but I see that flicker of a smile once again on his face as he turns, leaving me glaring back at Wallace.
“Don’t touch me again.” I jab my finger in his direction before setting myself back in my chair, looking over at Leonard who sits silently, taking another spoonful of his soup as though he could be dining completely alone, and I wonder if for a second if we are all just being punked.
Nearly two hours later, my dress is uncomfortably tight as I polished off every course nearly licking the porcelain clean. The food is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. My head buzzes with the three glasses of wine I drank as Dalton comes in, standing in the arched entryway that leads back to the front hall.
The two men, Dalton and Ashby, seem almost interchangeable in their duties, and if not for Dalton’s head of black hair compared to Ashby’s gray, it might get difficult to tell them apart.
“You may all retire to your accommodations for the night. Remember, do not leave your room until breakfast is served tomorrow at 9 AM. You will each find an envelope in your room outlining a task to be completed before you sleep. Good luck.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns and disappears again, leaving us all staring at each other.
“I guess that’s good night,” Leonard says, pushing back his chair.
A bolt of fear tightens my throat, but at the same time a rush of warmth covers me and I swear, I feel the slightest touch of fingers on my cheek, sending my heart rate into orbit.
As I make my way up the enormous, curved staircase, the other three guests following behind, I wonder if maybe I’m losing my mind.
Or, maybe I’m already stuck inside one of my dreams…
Chapter 6
Silas
There’s no way I’ll make it through the night like this. Let alone through tomorrow.
