Small specks of snow flutter against the window of my room, turning from ice to water, and then fading away. Just as I am while I’m standing here in this room wearing only a bra and panties as I’m being measured.
The woman taking my size works meticulously without saying a word. She doesn’t even look me in the eyes as she puts her hands on my waist and bust. Jill, I think. When she told me her name, it didn’t properly register, just like all the other things she’s said so far after coming into my room with two racks filled with wedding dresses.
When people talk about an out-of-body experience, I guess this is it because it’s as though I’m not even here.
All I can think of is how cold it must be outside, and how much I miss feeling the snowflakes fall onto my skin. I wonder if I’ll ever go outside again or if he’ll even let me.
My heart is full of melancholy, the kind where you feel like crying but all your tears have dried up. My stare is a blank and unemotional one. I’m fading out of this existence, losing myself in the moment as I’m being pushed around like a puppet on a string.
Jill talks to me, but I’m not listening. My mind is outside … where the people are. They’re enjoying the weather with smiles on their faces and playing in the snow with their kids, not even aware of the fact someone’s locked up in here. I don’t know where I am or if I’ll ever get out. I pray people won’t forget I exist.
“Miss, can you step aside, please?” Jill asks.
She’s so nice, unlike him. It’s the first time we’ve met, but she looks like a person who cares about people, judging from the look she gives me whenever she spins around me and comes face to face with my disinterested gaze. A simple smile is all it takes to make me feel warm in a place that’s cold to the bone.
My feet hover aside, and as they do, she places a hoop and a skirt underneath me and pulls it up to my waist, strapping it tight. Then comes the bustier and finally the dress. The ensemble doesn’t fit me at all, but with a few pins, she manages to make it wearable for now.
“It’ll have to do. It’s only a test run,” she says, huffing and puffing as she comes to her feet. “What do you think?”
I look down at the dress surrounding my body, the pearly white fabric soft and velvety against my skin, prickling a little when I move my hands. I can’t believe I’m wearing this, and that this would be the dress I wear when he marries me.
A shiver runs up and down my spine as Jill nudges me toward the new mirror that Easton had installed. “Go on, have a look.”
I hesitate but then step toward the mirror in front of the boudoir anyway, and with a big smile, Jill pushes it aside to create more room for me to strut. Even though I don’t want to, I still go to the mirror, and I’m frozen in place. I don’t recognize the girl glaring right back at me. She’s barely there, and her hands begin to shake vigorously.
“That’s not me,” I mutter, staring at my puckered red lips, wondering when she put the lipstick on. I can’t remember; that’s how out of it I am.
“Of course, that’s you,” Jill says, chuckling as she pats down the dress a little. “You look gorgeous!”
I feel sick. So sick that I immediately run into the bathroom and throw up in the toilet.
Jill comes to help me, holding my hair back along with the dress. “Oh dear,” she mumbles, handing me a towel to wipe my mouth. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head as she gets up and fills a cup with water, then gives it to me. “Here, have some water. It’ll help wash the taste away.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, unsure of what to say.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so distant,” she asks. “Should I call Mr. Van Buren?”
“No, please don’t,” I interject, immediately getting off the floor. “I’m fine.”
She frowns. “You … aren’t pregnant, right?”
“What?” My eyes widen. “No. God no. Of course not.”
“I wanted to make sure. I don’t want to put heavy dresses and tight corsets on you if there’s a tiny baby growing inside you.” She laughs it off again. “Not to mention, a pregnant girl needs to eat, and you look as thin as a twig.”
Gee, thanks for the compliment, I guess.
“I’m not pregnant, don’t worry,” I say, and I turn my head.
“Well, if you are, do let me know.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m always here to help you out.”
This woman is actively helping Easton achieve his lifelong goal of tricking me into becoming his wife, and he’s succeeding too. I don’t understand why anyone helps him, why they even work for him. Who would do this to another human being?
I look her straight in the eyes, and say, “Can you help me then? I don’t want to marry Easton.”
She cocks her head, her smile disappearing as she cups my face, and says, “Oh, honey, you’ll be fine with him. I know you will.”
I grab her arms and hold them tight. “I’m being held against my will. Don’t you see?” I say in a moment of clarity. She’s my only connection to the real world right now. The last lifeline to grab and hold on to for dear life. “Please, you have to help me.”
She licks her lips and sighs. “Sweetie … ugh, I wish I could, but I can’t. Easton means the best even though he may seem like a giant asshole sometimes.”
“He took me as a replacement for a debt my father owed,” I reply, fighting the tears. “Please. Help me.”
She sucks on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t. I wanna help you. I really do.”
“Why can’t you? Tell me why,” I say, almost wanting to shake her. “You have a key, right? He lets you in and out of the house.”
“Yes, but I can’t use it to let you out,” she says, averting her eyes. “That would mean betraying him.”
My hands release her arms, my body instantly reverting to a defensive stance as I realize where this is going.
“I can’t … I’m sorry. I owe him too much,” she says.
Her words mean nothing to me. I should’ve known she admires him.
“So you won’t help me,” I murmur, backing away. Of course, she won’t. I should’ve known the minute she didn’t speak the language of the people here but regular English. He brought her here, probably all the way from America so she could work for him personally without having anything to fall back on.
There’s a soft smile on her face. “Oh, honey, please don’t say that,” she says. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll help get you dressed for your big day.”
“That’s not—”
“I can get you whatever you need. Books, magazines, chocolates, tampons. Whatever you want. Just use the pager he’s given you,” she interrupts.
“Pager?” I frown.
“Yeah. You haven’t seen it?” She turns around and walks toward the boudoir, opening the drawer and pulling out an old pager. “Here. Just page me at 30151, and I’ll be right up!”
She stuffs the pager into my hand as if it’s some sort of gift. But all it is, is a representation of my captivity. A digital device that does nothing but receive and send messages to the few people he wants me to be able to contact. The only device I’ll probably ever get to see again that specifically makes it impossible to contact friends or family. Just as planned.
“Um … thanks,” I mutter. I don’t know what to say. She’s smiling at me in a way that elicits a response. As if I should be happy too.
I’m as far from happy as anyone could ever be, though I won’t show that to her. She’s his assistant, and someone who adores him. She’d never go against him, no matter how hard I’d try to convince her. I guess that’s the power of persuasion. His power, which he knows he holds over both of us. It was futile to even try to find help.
“Well, just walk in the dress and enjoy it a little. I’ll come back later to try on the others, okay? You’re free to pick a few you wanna try out too!” She winks and then leaves the room. I sink to the floor, drowning in my wedding gown as the tears of misery flow down my cheeks.
Easton
My tailor is taking my measurements right now, but I’m too antsy for him to finish. I wish I could snap my fingers and have my navy suit ready to go. But unfortunately, that’s not how the world works most of the time.
Just like with women, you have to be patient. Only then will they open up and allow you to enter their domain. That goes for Charlotte too. She’s been nothing but difficult ever since she arrived, but that’s understandable, considering the circumstances. It’s not every day that you get ripped from your daily life and put into a mansion to play wifey for a rich bastard.
She’s lucky she had the chance, to be honest. Plenty of girls would die to become mine.
But I want none of them. She’s the one for me.
I knew it when I first saw her at her father’s wedding, and I knew it when she ignored me at her father’s restaurant years later. The more she pushes back, the more I want to pull and tug until she’s right where she belongs … in my arms.
She may be playing hard to get right now, but I will make her submit. One way or another, I will be the one to pop her cherry.
God, I can’t fucking wait to get my hands on her and shove my dick inside that tight, wet virgin pussy. Her father told me she was untouched, and that better be the truth because I won’t settle for anything less. I’ve dreamed too long, fought too hard for the privilege to let anyone else take it. She won’t slip through my fingers; not this time. No, she’ll stay right there in her room and wait like the pretty little princess she is until the time arrives, and I come to get her.
On the day when I will fucking make her my wife.
A sudden scream for my name has me up in arms, walking out the door, half-dressed.
Charlotte’s in trouble.
