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How long I sit like this, I don’t know. My brain wants me to accept that Oliver left me and our baby, but my heart refuses to listen. I wish my head would shut my heart down and erase all the emotions pouring through me so I can get on with my life. So far that hasn’t happened.
He’s out there. He watches. I can feel his eyes on me and his heart calling to me. When I go shopping, for a walk or simply spend time at the library he’s there with me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy. I can’t explain the ties I feel tethering us together. Arcane? If you believe in that sort of thing. Definitely not mundane. But I know I am not wrong.
Golden light breaks through the curtains. In the distance dusk is setting in and the stars silently chase the sun toward the opposite horizon. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sink my toes into the plush carpet.
That is why I have to do this. It’s tonight or never. I glance around what was once our sacred space. His energy lingers, but he’s gone. Oliver Stone is all but a ghost.
My lashes dip.
My jewel.
Those two whispered words push me into the bathroom and linger in my heart as I numbly turn the water to the hottest setting I can stand and step into the spray. Careful to keep my balance on the tiled flooring, I soap head to toe using my favorite lavender body wash. Remembering the Headmistress’ instructions, I gather the razor and touch up my bikini line, or what I can see of it, anyway. My legs are just as hard to reach around a six-month baby bump, but I manage.
I step from the warmth of the shower. Not letting my mind wander too far into the night’s coming events, I focus on the cool marble beneath my feet instead. It grounds me to the present where it is safer. Steam coats a large mirror stretching from one side of the large, spacious bathroom to the next. After I ease the dampness from my hair, I spread my makeup out on the vanity table.
Icy fingers dig into my chest. I raise my gaze to catch my reflection. Purple stains the space under my eyes and I look like I could sleep for a month. The color has left my cheeks and let’s be real for a second. My breasts are twice their normal size and my back aches. I would rather be curled up in bed right now.
I square my shoulders and try to keep the frown off my face. “You have two options,” I chastise myself. “Give up or fight.” Gray-blue eyes stare back at me and I can not only feel the determination welling inside me I can see it too. The silvery glitter of the steel slipping into my resolve is hard to miss this close to a massive mirror.
A tiny foot kicks at my middle, and I rest a hand over my belly. “Yeah, mommy isn’t a quitter.”
I reach for my foundation and my powder. Red lipstick pairs well with the smokey eyes and kohl. Done with the first phase, I dry and style my hair in hanging curls that brush down the length of my back and play over the tips of my breasts.
Cold seeps into my bones, but I push the accompanying emptiness aside and focus. Tonight determines the rest of my life. I can’t fuck this up.
“As good as it gets,” I murmur to the empty space. I take a calming breath and step from the bathroom. Someone has turned on the remaining lamps in either corner and the chandelier hanging from the center of the room. Its massive size throws a warm glow over the large chamber.
Oliver’s staff operate like clockwork. He keeps them like he does me. At arm’s length with money showing up in an account to pay the monthly expenses. I’m not sure if that makes me the prisoner or him. With any luck, I’ll find the answer to that and many more questions where I am going.
Carpet replaces black marble. I drop my towel on a settee and cross my empty bedroom to find a garment bag on my bed with a note resting on top.
This is all you will be required to wear for the night. Take care to place the ribbon correctly. - HM
“HM,” I read the two-letter signature aloud. Headmistress.
“Ribbon, huh?” I move a questionable look to the bag and cautiously unzip the leather to find…
My brows draw up high and I admit. This is not what I expected when the Headmistress said my apparel would be provided.
“This is a joke. Right? There’s an actual dress in the garment bag. Right?” I hold up a ribbon that cannot possibly cover anything remotely the size of my belly.
“There has to be instructions. A magic word I drop and more cloth shows up magically.”
I turn back to the bag, take out the large velvet robe and sure enough find a small diagram over how I’m supposed to turn myself into a wrapped gift.
There’s a light timbre coming from my bedside table. Two rings and I answer the incoming call to my cell phone.
“I thought there would be clothes in the garment bag.”
There's a sweet laugh, and then the line falls quiet a moment. “Gift wrapping is clothes if you consider the point of view. But really, Amethyst, dear. Don’t you like the color? I thought for sure purple velvet would be your thing?”
I get a lot of jokes involving my name, but this is a new one. My eyes fall closed again and I swallow the building knot forming in my throat. “I didn’t realize you possessed a sense of humor, Headmistress.” I hate she makes me and the other women call her that, but I guess in the large scheme of things a name doesn’t matter. It’s what the person can do for you that counts.
“You have no idea, dear,” the older lady dead pans over the phone’s speaker. “Follow the instructions. Don’t take long. My driver will be there in half an hour to collect you. Did you do the self-care as instructed?”
I shake the unease away and chalk it up to nerves. “Yes. Did you send the invitation?”
“Good. The amount of money your buyer will end up paying demands you be the picture of perfection.”
