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“Valentina!” Michael jumps to his feet and holds the door for me to pass.
Gabriel goes rigid. Magda’s mouth turns down, her Pit Bull eyes drooping in the corners.
“You know each other?” Gabriel asks, his ice blue eyes narrowed on me.
“We met on Sunday.” Michael takes his seat again. “She wouldn’t give me her number.” He takes the redhead’s hand and smiles. “Seems the fairy godmother of fate is still doing her job.”
“Valentina isn’t available,” Gabriel replies coldly. He turns to me. “Where exactly did you meet?”
I clear my throat. “In Rosebank.”
“What were you doing there?”
What I do with my free time is none of his business, and his jealous attitude is unwarranted and unreasonable, but Magda can still put a bullet in my head for back chatting or dropping a spoon, so I answer obediently. “I went to El Torro to buy the chorizo.”
“I went to El Torro to pick up a bottle of Magda’s favorite wine,” Michael says. “You see? Divine intervention.”
“She’s below your class,” Magda says. “We picked her up in Berea.”
I walk around the table, serving the people who talk about me as if I’m not in the room. I want to dump the mousse on their laps. Charlie. Think about Charlie.
“I don’t care where she’s from,” the woman says. “We’re not snobbish that way.”
She has a rock of a diamond on her ring finger. She must be Michael’s wife. Are they into threesomes? I can’t get out of the room fast enough. In the kitchen, I inhale and exhale to control my anger. I’m sick of being looked at as a piece of meat.
For the rest of the dinner, the stress mounts every time I step into the dining room. Michael gawks openly while his wife pays me compliments on my physical appearance. Magda is red in the face with annoyance. The one who scares me most is Gabriel. He’s quiet. Quiet is never good.
By the time I serve the pastries in the lounge, my stomach aches with tension. My hope of escaping is squashed when Gabriel calls me back as I’m about to exit.
“Valentina.” There’s authority in his voice. “Come here.”
Four sets of eyes are watching me. Magda sits on a single chair at the short side of the coffee table. Her stare is both scornful and hopeful. She hopes I’ll disobey. The consequences should be fun to watch. Michael looks on with open curiosity while his wife has a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. My gaze locks with Gabriel’s. In silent instruction, he takes a cushion from the armchair and throws it on the floor next to his feet. I don’t have a choice. I walk over to him, the tightness in my stomach growing with every step. As I’ve done so many times before, I sit down next to him. A smile of approval warms his face. He looks at me as if he sees no one else. He cups my cheek and tilts my head to rest on his thigh. Then our brief, private moment is over. Gabriel continues his conversation in a businesslike manner while playing absently with my hair.
Magda looks like a puffed-up dragon about to spit fire. Michael and his wife are obviously used to this kind of behavior. My posture on the floor while Gabriel pets me doesn’t take up more of their attention, except for the occasional envious glance Michael shoots Gabriel.
While they’re discussing a lease contract for new business premises, Gabriel feeds me sips of champagne. When the tray with sweet pastries is passed around, he takes his time to study the selection and chooses a mille-feuille that he pops into my mouth. His thumb lingers on my tongue. After I’ve chewed and swallowed, he wipes the icing from the corner of my mouth before licking his finger clean, giving the action his full attention. There’s a smile in his eyes as he looks down at me. Again, we’re sharing a moment the other three people in the room aren’t part of.
After the dessert, he swaps the champagne for whiskey. I’m not a big drinker. Already buzzing from the champagne, I shake my head when he presses the glass to my lips, but his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling back to arch my neck. He takes a drink from the glass and brings his mouth down to mine. I only understand his intention when he spears my lips with his tongue, forcing them open, and feeds me the whiskey straight from his mouth. I gulp and swallow in shocked surprise. He keeps my head in place to drag his tongue over my bottom lip, licking it clean. Only then does he let go of my hair. My face is ablaze with embarrassment. If Mr. and Mrs. Michael find it shocking, they don’t show it. Only Magda shifts around on her seat. When Gabriel brings the glass to my lips the second time, I open without argument. Being force-fed in front of his mother and friends isn’t an experience I’d like to repeat. It’s as if Gabriel is making a point by demonstrating his ownership of me.
