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* * *
Drew enters, wandering along the bed, his eyes moving over the neatly made coverlet, the dark television, the vase of fresh flowers. It’s a far cry from the cramped and messy bedroom in Dibs’ house. Maybe it’s because I still feel like a guest, or maybe cleaning is my new hobby, but it is—as always—spotless.
* * *
He stops a step or two behind me, and meets my eyes in the mirror. “Are you okay?”
* * *
I glance to the house, nodding, Nathan’s frame absent from my view of the great room. Drew reaches forward, his hand startling me, and fingers the end of my hair, examining its dark chocolate strands. “I like it dark.”
* * *
I only nod, surprised at his nearness, at the warm hesitancy in his eyes. So do I. I had spent last night flipping through Rosit’s ‘before’ images in my beauty book, and had almost winced at the bleach blonde images of me. I’d been a back tattoo and droopy cigarette away from white trash. Now, looking back in the mirror, at the expensive reflection of myself—I can barely match the two images. On the outside, I am completely different. Inside, I’m still a stripper, trading my body for security.
* * *
He clears his throat. “Earlier today, what happened ... none of them could see. The afternoon light casts a reflective glare on the windows.”
* * *
I don’t respond. His lie rests in the space between us. I’m the one who sits in this glass house, who stares into that great room and waits for his figure to appear. Reflection has never been a problem. “Are you here to fetch me?”
* * *
He nods, and my stomach tightens at the news.
* * *
I fasten the second pearl earring. “Do I look okay?”
* * *
He steps back, releasing my hair. The skin around his mouth changes, his five o’clock shadow stretching around a tight smile. “You look beautiful,” he says finally. “Like always. Nathan will be pleased.”
* * *
I push back from the vanity and stand, willing this memory from my mind: his concern, his proximity, his touch on my hair, his lies for my sanity. I don’t really give a fuck if Nathan is pleased. Half of me is still upset over his earlier outburst, the other half is still aroused.
* * *
I walk to the house, feeling Drew’s eyes on me, his hand settling on my back as he reaches forward and opens the door. “Mr. Dumont is in the office.”
* * *
The office. I raise my eyebrows. I haven’t seen the office since my first tour of the house, everything off limits except for the common areas and gym. I follow Drew’s lead and step into the room, a big space with dark blue walls and deep wood accents. Nathan is there, standing by the window, his tie loosened, arms crossed over his chest. I stop.
* * *
“Swimming. How important is it to you?”
* * *
I try to hide my surprise. This may be the first time Nathan has ever asked my opinion on something, our conversations limited to instructions and orders. I look down, searching for the right words. “Not important enough for me to negotiate for, but I would enjoy swimming. It would give me something to do during the day.”
* * *
“My issue, my anger earlier today, was not about you swimming.” He steps forward, rolling up one sleeve in perfect, precise folds, unveiling muscular forearms. “Granted, I was upset that you purposely disobeyed my rule—the rules are in place for a reason, and I need you to follow them. But what caused me to lose my temper was your stripping down to your underwear in front of Drew.”
* * *
My face flushes, and I wonder where Drew is right now, if he is still behind me, or if he just dropped me off and moved on.
* * *
“I understand that you have trouble understanding the difference between our sex and your exhibitionism, so know this: unless I tell you to, you will stay fully clothed in front of the staff. Do you understand?”
* * *
I nod meekly, my cheeks burning as I am talked to in the manner someone would a small child.
* * *
“I’ll speak with your hair stylist. I’m sure there is some product that can be purchased to protect your hair. I will allow you to swim, assuming you do it during the day when I am at work.” He finishes the second sleeve, both forearms now bare, the look—combined with his loose tie and rumpled hair—incredibly hot.
* * *
I will allow you to swim. His gifts are still insults. “Thank you,” I say stiffly. “But I still don’t know why you seem so mad at me.”
* * *
He raises him eyebrows, looking at me as if I am a dolt. “I just explained that to you.”
