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“Get used to it, sweetness,” Marius says, bumping my shoulder. “You’re going to be a Goltz, soon enough.”
“And why would she?” a melodious voice calls. I see a woman approach, too perfect for words, dressed in a long beige Grecian gown. “I never got used to it.”
She’s blonde and petite and nothing like Marius, except for those blue eyes. She must be his mother.
“Didn’t you?” Marius asks.
Fair question. The woman looks perfect, and perfectly at ease in this space.
“I’m still shocked every time your father whisks us off to the other side of the planet for a quick sushi dinner.” She chuckles, bringing her hands to Marius’s cheeks, and kissing them.
“So, every Friday?” Marius fires back, amused. “Ma, this is my Sarah. Sarah, this is my mother, Marcella.”
She smiles at me, the picture of warmth. “I heard so much about you. Needless to say, I was curious. You’re as sweet as I imagined.” Her free hand reaches out to mine, and she squeezes it. “I am sorry about everything you’re going through, dear.”
She’s so blasted nice, which only serves to make my heart contract in my chest.
How am I supposed to let her husbandtouch me? The whole thing feels even more depraved all of a sudden.
I swallow a ball of thickness in my throat. “Thank you. Lovely meeting you.”
Both Marius’s grandmother and mother are unbearably sweet.
I don’t get it. How did a family so warm and wholesome produce three sons like Marius, Markus, and Magnus? All three are freaking intense and deranged. I assumed they’d come from a cold home.
“Come, come. I’ve had the staff prepare a lovely brunch, so we can get to know each other and relax,” she says, wrapping her arms around our elbows and leading us through an archway. “It’s early, but we can have a bit of champagne, don’t you think? I hear you’re getting initiated today. You deserve it,” she says casually, without a single sign that she finds it bothersome one way or another.
Maybe she doesn’t know what it entails. Maybe she doesn’t realize it’s her husband who’ll do…whatever he’ll do to me. I’m in knots, unsure I’ll be able to go through with it after all.
Marcella leads us into a strangely cozy lounge. I note the stark contrast to the decor of the hallway; instead of stone, everything’s soft, silk and velvet. The colors are warm: sunset oranges, deep reds, yellows. Low stools, poofs, and loveseats are arranged in a chaotic but pleasant way around a large, plush rug that feels fluffy.
I remove my shoes unprompted, and find the wool soft underfoot.
Markus drags me into his lap before I can choose a seat. We’ve just taken our places when a woman enters, pushing a tray with everything Marcella promised and more.
I’m too shocked watching the woman to pay any attention to what she’s carrying.
She wears a ridiculous maid uniform. Not the sensible kind actual housekeepers wear at places like hotels, but something practically out ofPlayboymagazine. Black and white, it consists of a skirt so short we can see the edge of her stockings, and I sincerely doubt it would contain her ass cheeks if she bent over. Her deep neckline is bordered by lace. On top, her white ruffled apron serves little purpose.
I get a view of ruffles under her skirt when she leans to pour champagne into three flutes.
Again, what the fuck?
“Thank you, Cherry,” Marcella says. “Would you like a glass, darling?”
“If you don’t mind?” the girl replies, syrupy and high-pitched as I would have imagined.
“Of course not, help yourself.”
Cherry brings another glass from her tray, and serves herself a generous amount before leaving.
“She’s a darling. Daddy issues by the dozens, of course, but I certainly don’t judge.” Marcella lifts her glass. “To the happy couple. I couldn’t be more delighted that my Marius found someone to match him, Sarah.”
I raise my flute, still too shocked by everything.
When Marcella is busy picking snacks, I turn to Marius, my wide eyes asking the questions I don’t want to voice out loud.
“Cherry’s a fuckdoll,” he tells me, not bothering to lower his voice.
