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I hold his gaze and sense the seriousness in his eyes, the sincerity writ in every hard angle of his body, the honesty which laces his expression and I know he means everything he said. "Thank you," I say softly.
He nods. Then slides his hand into his pocket and holds up a strip of leather with a circular disc in the center. "What’s that?"
"Turn around."
I do so without hesitation, his earlier words having cut though any doubts I might have had about coming on board this yacht. He places the piece of leather around my throat and hooks it at the nape of my neck. I see our reflection in the mirror on the wall ahead, and the bees under my skin seem to take wing. Edward, in his black three-piece suit and golden tie is the perfect foil for the flaxen color of my dress. He’s tall, stern, all straight lines and angles and dark shadows. I’m a glittering, glowing, shining bundle of sparks. His fingers brush my neck, and goosebumps crowd my skin. He looks up and meets my gaze in the mirror. The air thickens, pulsing with unsaid emotions. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he peruses our reflection. I touch the engraving on the disc that nestles at my throat. "Is this a—"
"Fallen angel," he nods.
"It’s pretty," I muse.
"It’s essential, so everyone here knows you’re mine."
A hot sensation stabs into my chest. "I’m y-yours?"
"For the next few hours. It’s necessary."
"Necessary?" I frown. "Why would it be necessary?
* * *
"You told me it was necessary, not that it was a collar."
We’re in the grand hall of the yacht. The light is low, and there’s music on in the background. It's very faint and rhythmic, and filled with pounding, pulsing beats which surround me in an intimate, soothing, yet edgy ambiance. He led me through the hall without touching me, but making sure I was close to him at all times. We passed a few couples, and the men eyed me with interest, until their gazes alighted on the band around my neck. At which point, they turned their attention away. That’s when I’d realized the necklace signified possession. I should have felt like an object—Ididfeel like an object—but I was being seen ashisobject, and somehow, that gave me pause.
Edward ushered me to a couch in a corner. A waiter served us. A glass of sparkling water for me and a glass of whiskey for him. When I asked for alcohol, he said he preferred me to have my wits about me. Which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Also, I didn’t notice him giving the waiter an order which means he must have messaged ahead.
Before I can ask him about it, I notice a woman halfway across the room. She’s on her knees, next to a man who’s seated on a couch. He’s talking to a woman in a leather jumpsuit.
The kneeling woman has a strip of leather around her neck with a circular disc on the side. That’s where the resemblance to my accoutrement stops. There’s a chain hooked to her choker, the other end of which is in the hand of the man next to her. He’s talking to the leather clad woman while she stays with her chin lowered to her chest. She’s motionless, but for the rise and fall of her chest. She’s wearing far less than me, and her skirt rides up high, enough for me to see the moisture glistening on her inner thighs. My face grows hot. She’s aroused. And I’m embarrassed on her behalf.
"You don’t need to be embarrassed. She’s content." He takes a sip of his whiskey.
"How would you know?"
"Look at her face. What do you see?" He places his glass on the table in front of us.
"It’s not polite to stare." The words come out in a prim tone, and I wince. The gap between me and this man has never seemed as insurmountable as now in this space. A very exclusive space which you have to be invited to, and only if you are of a certain profile, or so Edward informed me earlier. It's not about the money you have. It's about your ability to be discrete. Everyone here trades in something which entitles them to be here. When I asked Edward what he bartered, he stayed silent. I didn’t bother to pursue that line of questioning. See? I'm learning fast. He only answers if he wants to, and he can’t be swayed. I can only speculate, so I decided not to waste my time on it. I was too busy taking in the scene around me.
"She wants you to stare at her. She wants the world to know she belongs to him."
"You’re a man. Of course, you’d say that."
He blows out a breath. "You’re just like the rest—quick to pass judgement. Quick to view everything through a narrow moral compass, when the world is much more complex."
"You should know. You’re the one who turned your back on your calling, after all."
His entire body goes rigid. The tension that always seems to cling to him intensifies. The static in the air shoots up, and the hair on the back of my neck straightens. "I’m sorry," I whisper without meeting his gaze, "that was uncalled for."
"Life is complex, Belle. It’s not what you expect it to be. You think you have it all planned out, and then something happens that destroys everything you believed in. Suddenly, your past and the choices you made haunt you. The future's a long road, with an end you cannot see. And your present? It digs its claws into you and refuses to let go, no matter how painful your everyday is."
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. A ball of emotion chokes my throat. The bleakness in his voice drips onto my skin like acid and burns me to the bone.
"What’s this?" He reaches forward and scoops up the moisture on my cheek. "Are you crying?"
If I didn’t know him better, I’d say his voice carries a note of wonder, but this man is not capable of such emotion. More likely, he’s laughing at me. And I’m not going to risk looking at his face to find out.
"Are you, Belle?"
