Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “What other choice do I have? She will never forgive this, nor should she. She has always been too pure for the likes of me. We both know that. She does, too,” he replied quietly.

  Pascal sat for a long time, just staring at him, no emotion on his face, arms resting on the armchair as he presumably thought of his next burst of intellect. The silence stretched on as those green eyes bore into his until the point where he actually looked downwards for a split second to get away from the intensity.

  “Why did you tell her?” Pascal immediately asked.

  “I had to. Aiden Phillips was going to tell her if I didn’t.” Pascal’s chuckled response clearly meant that was not a good enough explanation.

  “I doubt that is true. The man may be a psychopath but he is not a moron. You told her because you wanted her to know, did you not? Hmm? You wanted her deeper inside you than anyone has been before. Are you not man enough to admit that, Alexander?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Lovely, shall we get started? How would you like me? Is this why you came half dressed? We have all we might need in this room. Let me just-”

  “Pascal.”

  “Well, really, dear boy, just answer the question.”

  “Yes, then, I suppose you’re right.”

  “Wonderful. True love… How delightful, if not brainless. However, how do you hope to achieve the continuation of true love if you make her despise you? I am struggling with your concept somewhat. This theory of yours is flawed.”

  “Flawed? Aren’t we all? Her dreams of a happily ever after will never be achieved if I continue to lie to her about what and who I am. I promised her she would know me entirely, that I would let her in. She needs to see the bad as well as the good she is somehow managing to pull from me.”

  “Do you want to hurt her as you do me?” How was that relevant?

  “This isn’t about you, Pascal.”

  “Of course it is, to some degree. You use me for your needs. Do you want her to take it all from you?”

  “No.”

  “Then please enlighten me as to why you believe she needs to hate you to understand your past. It is beyond confounding. I understand your past, and you feel the need to beat me, yet you do not need me to hate you for that to happen,”

  “You are a masochist, and a psychopath.”

  “I think that is a little harsh.”

  “Okay, you’ve killed. You understand that as she never will.”

  “We could have her kill someone. I have several lined up.”

  “Pascal.”

  “You’re not enamoured with this idea. I can tell.”

  “No.”

  “Mmm. I think you are underestimating her ability to see you for what you are. I have watched you dismiss countless wondrous women over the years, and many of them would have accepted you without any need for this chivalrous if not deluded behaviour.”

  “You think I should hide this from her?”

  “No, but I fear you are being too – how should I say? – devious about it? She is not a fool, Alexander. She is quite astonishing really, and if you pursue this, I think you will push her too far. She is more capable of handling you than you give her credit for. She reminds me somewhat of myself in my younger years.”

  “She is nothing like you.” The thought was alarming, regardless of the fact that he could hear truth in the words.

  “We were all innocent once, Alexander. We may have become broken over the years, but we are still the same person inside, and while we may choose to suppress our natures, we still have the same loyalties to those who we care for, do we not?”

  “Your idea of ‘care’ is not the same as hers.”

  “You tarnish me with the brushes of others. Have I not always been here for you?”

  “I have seen your sense of morality, Pascal. I’ve lived it, breathed it, revelled in it. Elizabeth is more than that, more...”

  “Angelic? Mmm, however, she now needs to be less so to accept you, yes? And so you must show her. I understand that, but you must love her, too, dear boy. She will not entertain this unless you allow her to absorb your nature and become part of it. She will not sit on the sidelines and watch you destroy all she has worked hard to achieve because you believe playing a game will help her comprehend your deviances. You have to let her in, let her in deeper, Alexander. Give her every memory of your father if you wish. Give her every tear you choose to shed. If you are ready to hand yourself over to someone entirely then you should do it honestly, declare it with your soul.”

  Alex sat and watched as the man’s eyes softened a note and drifted to place he’d only seen a few times before. His body was almost relaxed, instead of the constant façade of perfection that was usual for him. He was clearly thinking of someone else. Whoever that someone had been, they had known the real Pascal – a Pascal of long ago.

  “You’re talking about yourself, aren’t you?”

  Pascal was up and pressing the bell for service again before he could blink. Clearly more coffee was required, as well as a normal distraction technique.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he replied as he started to strip his waistcoat and shirt off.

  “You know I can read you better than that. Why won’t you discuss it?”

  “Alexander, I have no need to revisit my past, nor the people in it. They are ghosts to me, and that is where they shall remain.”

  “Has it got something to do with Roxanne?” Pascal just stood there, stock still, his back facing Alex as he watched the faint rise of his back muscles and smiled at the scars he’d put there. All on the right hand side of his body. Nothing but silence and the quiet ticking of a clock echoed in the room, along with the occasional deep breath from Pascal. Eventually, he moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a deep blue Edwardian style ensemble of clothing. “You don’t need to hide this from me. You can talk about it if you need to. Haven’t you been pushing me for my feelings all this time? I can return the favour.”

  “I have never pushed you for feelings, nor will I ever. That is for her to do. I have simply allowed you to be greater than you were when we first met, to be more,” he replied as he pulled on his rather more ‘Pascal’ look and moved toward the mirror. “Now, can I suggest you go and get some food and then sleep? I have work to do and an abundance of deviance to fulfil. We are not all so restricted by this love you insist upon.”

  “For someone so intelligent, you can sometimes be far too closed off, Pascal. You know where I am when you do need to talk about it,” Alex said as he moved towards the door.

  “I will order you more food. Eat it, and then sleep. I will come for you when she has awakened.”

  “No, I just need a few hours sleep. I’m not hungry yet. I’ll come and find you downstairs later.”

  “Where you will be honest, yes?”

  “You should try some of that yourself, Pascal. You never know where it might lead you.”

  No response, just a raised brow as he turned his back again and walked toward the bathroom. The subject was still very much in the ‘we’re not talking about this’ phase, which, for now, was fine by him.

  He glanced across at Elizabeth one last time to see nothing but a sheer curtain greeting him with a faint outline of her body etched across it. She’d be fine in here. No one else could get into the room other than himself and Pascal, and frankly, if the man wanted to, he could have done anything before he got here. Still…

  “Don’t touch her again,” he called quietly as he opened the door. “Not until I tell you to.” The bark of laughter that came from the bathroom didn’t fill him with quite as much comfort as he’d hoped for. So, swinging back around, he stared at the door and waited for the man to materialize again.

  “Go, Alexander. I will wait for instruction. I am not totally untrustworthy,” his European accent said from the depths of the room somewhere. And then his body reappeared out of the darkness, not a scrap of submissive on display, not the slightest hint of masochis
t to be seen. One mention of a certain woman’s name and Pascal Van Der Braack had become the epitome of arrogance and dominance again, dressed in his finest regalia and probably ready to wage his version of war on something. “Besides, I suddenly feel the ache for something more substantial, and I wouldn’t want to break your little thing.”

  He needed to find out more about who Roxanne was, and what she had over the man. Pascal certainly knew.

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth

  O kay, why am I nearly naked, and where the hell am I?

  Much as I might feel rested, the sudden realisation that I’m not in my own bed has just hit me. Where was I before this happened? Oh, yes… In Pascal’s car, on my way to Alex. Then why am I in a bed?

  I gingerly tighten my thighs in the hope that I’m not going to feel the tell-tale ache there that lets me know I’ve had sex. I’m positive that if I had, with either of them, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep through it, but you never know. Thankfully, I swiftly realise that I do have underwear on – well, at least panties. Thank God for that. Nothing is aching in the slightest, apart from my head.

  I heave myself upright and grab at the red curtain on the side of the bed to see what I’m dealing with, then rapidly halt my progress because there could be anybody out there. Including either or both of them. My eyes narrow at the thought.

  “Alex?” I call out. Nothing.

  “Pascal?” Again, nothing. Apparently I’m alone. Thank God for that, too.

  Tentatively poking my head out around the curtain, I scan the room for enemies. There’s nobody there, only a darkened room. My eyes suddenly widen at the array of paraphernalia dotted about. This is definitely a dungeon of sorts, very similar to Alex’s suite in Rome. Is this his room? Did he undress me? I need some clothes. Why the hell do I always seem to need clothes at the moment?

  Another quick recce of the room proves, without a shadow of a doubt, there are no clothes here, again. Sodding hell. Maybe some kind soul has left some in the wardrobe. I wander over to it, and as I open the door, aftershave assaults my senses, and it’s not Alex’s. I’m in Pascal’s room. This is confirmed by the array of crushed velvet and fine silk shirts staring back at me. Unfortunately, there’s not much in the way of female clothing to use. I sigh out a breath and wander back over to the bed. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Digging through my bag, I find my phone and check for missed calls. Nothing… only a few texts from Belle saying she’ll pick me up from the airport. Well, that isn’t going to happen. How she even booked flights without my passport number is beyond me. I quickly send a text back to her trying to explain my situation, not that I know what it is, but there seems little point worrying her any more.

  A soft knock at the door has me jumping up from the bed and grabbing at my boobs for protection. Who the hell is that? I’ve only just woken up, for God’s sake.

  “Yes?” I call out while scrabbling around with the sheets for some cover.

  “Lovey, come and open the door, would you? I’ve got rather an armful here,” a woman’s voice replies. At least it’s better than a man.

  “Of what?” I ask as I make my way over to the door and unlock it.

  I’m met with what can only be described as a whirling dervish of fake bright red hair, very long red thigh high boots and several items of women’s clothing. She shoves them towards my arms, instantly causing me to drop my sheet to grab them, and then proceeds to wander her way around the room, leaving me standing there like a prat.

  “Ooh, I like it in here. Very posh. Why didn’t he let me have one of these?” she says as she meanders her fingers over various things I have no idea about.

  “Umm, who are you?” I ask, still standing here like a prat, now with an armful of clothes.

  “Vixon. Clarissa, if you must, but not in front of anyone else, please. That man of yours used it once already tonight, and I had to beat seven bales of shite out of my boys because of it.”

  “You’re English.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s a true Londoner, I’d say, with a good twang of American here and there.

  “Yes, residing in New York most of the time. The men are more pliable over here, up for more punishment, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh…” I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to say to that. I try politeness. “Do you come here often?”

  “Are you asking me out? ‘Cause, honey, I know you like pain to be messing with those men. Or maybe you like giving it? Have you had a woman yet? Nice tits, by the way.”

  “What? No, I haven’t, don’t... Umm, sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just...” Yep, words fail me. My mouth is gaping. What the hell am I talking about?

  “Honey, calm down. I was joking. Sort of, anyway. He just asked me to bring you some clothes is all. I suppose they want to see you dressed before they rip it all off you.”

  “They will not be doing anything of the sort.”

  “Ooh, you’re a wild one, aren’t you? Not normally his type at all. No wonder he’s gone all boring. You’ve killed all his spirit. How have you done that? Didn’t think I’d ever see him break for a woman. Pascal, maybe, but not a woman. What’s the secret?”

  “What do you mean by that?” I’m still standing here like an idiot, now also getting a touch defensive about the fact that Pascal could break Alex but I couldn’t. Who the hell does she think she is? And why would Pascal be breaking him at all? He’s not gay. My hand finds its place on my hip as I flick my arse out to increase my dominant posture. I will not be belittled in this place – wherever this place is. I am in control of myself and the situation. If I keep chanting this to myself, maybe it’ll work. Why is she unbuttoning her corset? “Umm, what are you doing?”

  “We’re trying on clothes, girly things.” We are so not. I may be, but I don’t need her help.

  “I think I can manage on my own, thanks.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I quite like the look of that purple number, and you’ll need help with the buttons on that green PVC outfit. My hands quickly drop the bundle of clothes on the chair as I scan what I’m actually holding. There’s not a normal thing amongst them.

  “What the sodding hell is all this crap?”

  “Very expensive crap, lovey, and quite fitting for what’s going on downstairs.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Eden. Did he drug you? I keep telling him he can’t drug people and bring them here, but he won’t listen. You know what he’s like. I mean, all that stuff going on with selling chicks into the third world really isn’t cricket, but hey, I suppose if he’s good at what he does…” My dominant posture has drooped very slightly as I try to hold eye contact with the woman, because seriously? She must be joking, and I will not shake in my boots at the thought. She scans me again as she puts a toothpick in her mouth and crosses her arms. “So, what’s your story anyway?”

  “There’s no story to tell. I just need to see Alex and I’ll be on my way. Once he lets me go home, that is.” That last bit is mumbled. I don’t even know why I let it slip out. Ridiculous, Beth.

  “Alex? Wow. I’ve never heard a soul call him that. You must be one special bitch. Why is Pascal all protective of you? He told me not to touch you. What have you got that’s so intriguing?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know, and quite frankly, I don’t care. If you can just leave, I’ll get dressed and be on my way.”

  “Nah, not buying it. Anyway, it’s not my business. I just work for him, do as I’m told, only by him, obviously. So let’s get you dressed.”

  “I can do that on my own.”

  “Lovey, don’t go all alpha on me. It only suits you when you mean it, and I can tell you don’t, yet. Just let me help and then we’ll form a plan.”

  “A plan for what?”

  “To get you out of here. That is what you want I assume?”

  “Oh, well yes.” How does she know that?

  “Good. Now, let’s see. The only vaguely normal gear is this,” she says as she h
olds what can only be described as a black, leather, eighties style LBD with orange bands running around it. I do nothing more than tilt my head in recognition of its existence, and then she opens a suitcase and holds the matching heels up. They are possibly the most beautiful things I have ever seen. High? Yes. Elegant? Absolutely. Going to break my neck in them? More than likely. “You’re a classy type, aren’t you?”

  Well, I’m not sure about that, but if not wanting to look like a common slut all the time is categorised as classy, I’ll nod my head in agreement. So I do.

  “Where are they?” I ask.

  “Downstairs. Pascal has gone all ferocious for some reason, and Alexander is being his normal, non-readable self. Last I saw of him, he was fiddling with some puppy’s ear.”

  “What?” Jealousy courses through me instantly. I know I should stop it, or not even feel it, but it’s there, snarly and biting its way around me like the devil.

  “It’s dress up night – happens once a month. The staff wear stupid outfits and act like whores. That bit’s pretty normal actually, but the clothes are not normally so comical,” she says as she strides across to a mirror and re-applies even heavier dark eye make-up.

  “What time is it?”

  “About ten,” she mutters through another layer of bright red lipstick. Ten? Shit. Where’s the day gone?

  “Okay,” I reply quietly as I try to think about what it is that I’m hoping to achieve. I still haven’t got a clue if I’m honest. I just know I want to feel in control of something for once, and also that I want to slap Alex so hard he falls over. That’s clearly not going to happen, but I’ll be damn well trying.

  “Look, lovey, just put the shit on. Either that or we can have some fun for a while. That bed looks amazing.” The burst of giggles that leaves my mouth breaks all the tension in the room. “You’re cute. Enjoy it. You should try making them beg.”