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“Okay.” Out sounded good. Her mind had been slowly unraveling, locked away inside the gallery, imagining the worst.
Quill’s face was stern. “Okay, what?”
“Okay, Master.”
“Good girl. And when we go out, you will call me what?”
“Sir.”
He nodded and pointed in the direction of the bathroom.
Saskia quickly showered and put on a lavender sundress he’d laid out for her along with a pair of silver strappy sandals.
He gave her a quick once over when she emerged, nodded his approval, then took her hand in his and led her out to the car. Marcus had already gone to the house to sleep for the day.
Saskia wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t what she got. Quill took her to an amusement park. It was a local family-owned park, named after the large lake situated in the middle of the property.
He won her a stuffed Dalmatian at one of the carnival games. He made sure she got enough sunscreen on her back and shoulders. He fed her corn dogs and cotton candy and held her hand in the haunted house.
They rode all the rides. He talked and acted like a normal person, not the man who’d intimidated and scared the shit out of her from moment one until this morning. As the sun began to glow orange and set behind the trees, they sat at the top of the oversized Ferris wheel. He looked content high above the tree line and crowd.
The ride malfunctioned, and they were stuck at the top for about twenty minutes while someone from maintenance was called to fix the glitch. Stuck in the bucket suspended over the park, far away from Quill’s estate, Saskia managed the bravery to ask the question that had been on her mind since he’d knocked the milk bottles down and won her the toy dog.
“What is all this? Why...”
His face appeared relaxed, but she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark reflective glasses he wore to block the glare of the sun. Even as the sun finished disappearing behind the trees, he hadn’t moved to take them off.
“Let’s not make a big deal out of it. I just wanted to get out. You needed to get out. I haven’t been here in a while. I used to come here a lot when I was a kid.”
Saskia waited for some further explanation, some cute anecdote that would make him seem less distant, more approachable. But he didn’t say anything more.
She wanted to ask if he’d brought the first girl he’d collared here. But there wasn’t enough bravery in the world for her to broach that question. She didn’t want to see him shift back into the person who pushed her further and further away. She felt like she’d already messed things up somehow. As if he might have let her in a tiny bit if she’d just been quiet and enjoyed it, without making him examine his motives.
Finally the wheel lurched forward and began its descent. When they reached the bottom, a manager handed Quill two free passes. “We’re very sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”
“It’s no problem. Thanks,” he said, slipping the passes into his pants pocket.
As they moved away from the ride, Saskia asked, “Can we come back sometime?”
“We’ll see. We should get back.”
She didn’t react at all when his hand slid into hers, afraid if she acknowledged it, he’d pull further away from her.
“Did you have a nice time today?” he asked, sounding almost normal.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad.”
It was as close to heartfelt confessions as she’d likely ever get from him.
Saskia followedhim back into the gallery, startled by the changes that greeted her arrival. Everything was different. There were paintings on the wall, but none of the Quill pieces. And none of her. It was all other artists he’d collected, as well as a few installations scattered about.
A buffet table stood at one end, laden down with all the fancy party foods one might expect at a gallery opening. The servants were putting the finishing touches on the food. One thing was certain: a lot of people would be in this space very soon.
Her cage was missing, though the sex furniture remained in place. The furniture wouldn’t be easy to move, being bolted to the floor. But wasn’t he concerned about people seeing that? Then again, if it could be rebranded as art it might pass—depending on the intended audience. But you had to be careful. You didn’t want to rattle the birds in their cages.
“I’m having a private party,” Quill said as if this were a thing that needed stating. “My work has been moved into the main house and replaced with paintings that were on display there. It would look a bit suspicious if everyone I knew saw how many Joseph Quill pieces I own. Don’t you think?” The question was rhetorical. “Come.”
