by Amy Brent
That’s her polite way of telling me that I don’t need to know anymore. I have a feeling that this house isn’t just a bi-annual auction. I never really thought about it before, but seeing as all I have to do this week is think, my mind starts wondering about all the women that Blake's bid on in this house.
He did say that I was the best submissive that he’s ever had, that needs to count for something surely?
It’s got to do.
Then as I reach the terrace, I’m shocked by the trouble that he’s gone to, for me. I’m happy that I dressed up and I hope that he’s not disappointed by my dress or anything else.
“Wow!”
She laughs, “Yes, he’s quite the romantic. His request even took me by surprise.”
There are candles in the middle, leading up to a table that’s on the corner of the terrace. There’s a tray and a chef who bows the moment we arrive at the table.
“Good evening, Ma’am.”
No one calls me, ma’am. It reminds me of someone addressing mom as that back when I was a kid. He's polite and I nod at him as he takes out my chair and motions for me to sit down.
I see the beautifully laid table with a set of lilies in the middle of it and I laugh, “Did he request lilies?”
She winks, “What do you think?”
I trace my hand over the table cloth and then with the smell of the food, my taste buds start to ignite. I’m sure that it’s as delicious as it smells.
Everything’s perfect, but there’s just one thing missing.
“Where’s Blake?”
And on cue, he says, “Here!”
He’s walking up to the table in black pants and a matching shirt. I suppose this is his idea of being formal and he takes my breath away. Just seeing him in all black does something to him that makes him look even sexier. I didn’t even think that was possible.
Veronica nods at him, “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. Good evening and have a beautiful evening, Mr. Fisher.”
Watching her be so formal with him, makes me feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t even correct her and tell her to call him, Blake.
“Ms. Sinclaire,” she says as she nods to me, but this time she doesn’t have a neutral face like she did with him. She winks at me and then leaves.
“Thank you,” I say as she starts to walk away. Thinking that I’ve completely lost my manners. I wanted to ask her about my phone and why Lourdes was being nice to me one minute and then horrible the next.
Everything that I should have said to her I didn’t. Not because it wasn’t important, but her presence surprised me. I was expecting Blake to come to the door and when she was there, I was too busy thinking about the amount of girls that he’d done this with and maybe stayed with in this house. I felt possessive, and the whole idea of it was driving me mad. I’m different in this house. I'm never jealous of anything, and I’m worried that it’s not because he took my virginity and this is why I feel that he's mine.
“Lily, are you listening?”
I shake my head, “Sorry what did you say?”
“I said stand up and let me look at you.”
In an instant, I get up, and I smile wanting to please him. As I see his lips curl, I know that he’s not disappointed.
“You look beautiful!”
He moves from the table to give me a kiss on the forehead as a child. I expect that seeing as he can clearly see that I have no bra on and my nipples are hard as soon as he touches me, that he would want to do more than just kiss me on the forehead.
He doesn't try anything sexually as he holds out the chair for me to sit down.
“Let’s see what the chef has on the menu today.”
I smile as the chef runs down the menu, but Blake’s eyes are not focused on him, but on me.
“For your appetizer, I’ve prepared the Oyster Chowder en Croute, and for the entree, I've carefully prepared a Spice Rubbed Lobster with Monkfish with risotto.”
“And dessert?” Blake raises an eyebrow as he says it and licks his lips at the same time.
Wow, I haven’t had dessert in forever, please let it be something chocolate.
“A chocolate mousse,” he claps his hands together, but I sense that the way Blake’s looking at me. He wasn’t talking to the chef when he asked for the dessert option.
“Should I serve you now, Sir?”
Blake nods his head and then as soon as I look down and try and figure out which cutlery to use. Blake seems to answer the question for me, “Use the first spoon on the inside.”
I nod, “Right.”
I’m completely out of my league once again. He’s a master of dishes, the chef was talking a foreign language as far as I was concerned, because I didn't understand anything that's going to be served on the menu.
The chef put the porcelain bowl in front of me with the steam coming out of it and the tantalizing smell, I should have wanted to start eating. There's jut one problem; I don't like seafood. Especially oysters, which is silly, because it isn’t as if I’m being offered it every day, but for some reason, I never want to eat it.
“Oysters are the food of love,” Blake smiles at me and I wonder if it’s written all over my face that the cream soup in front of me, doesn’t appeal.
“I know. I’m just…”
“Not used to eating them. I can tell,” his smile is intoxicating that as Blake pours the wine and I lift up the spoon, which doesn’t even look like one. I hesitate for a moment before I try it.
I think about the diner that I work at, and everything’s simple. I have about three sets of cutlery in front of me right now, and I have no idea why there’s so many if we only have a three-course meal. I want to ask him, but I don’t want to feel even smaller than I already do at the moment.
“It’s a lot nicer than I thought it would be. I don’t even like oysters.”
“Have you had them before?” he seems interested in having a conversation, and I’m taken aback by the flow of it.
“Yes, when I was a kid we used to travel to different states. Not in planes like I'm sure you did so many times.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
I nod as I think about my parents and the adventures that we used to have when I was a kid. They feel as if they’re someone else’s memories and not my own anymore, because ever since then nothing’s been the same.
“What did you used to do?”
“Well, they never used to book a hotel. My dad would just jump in the car and say, we’re going on vacation.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I stop eating even though my bowl is nearly empty and laugh, “One time that we went to Montana, and there was a festival, and we couldn’t get a hotel room. We spent the night in the car and mom upset with him and told him that next time, he needs to book a hotel.”
“Did he?”
“No, the same thing happened again,” I laugh hysterically, “He said that he’d thought that he had booked it, but he forgot. He confessed to me afterward that it’s so much better getting in a car and just going to the edge of nowhere and not thinking twice about it. He loved that about being out there and finding new places that hadn’t been discovered. That’s what I loved about him.”
“Your dad sounds like a handful. Where’s he now?”
That’s the awkward part, the reason that I avoid talking about my parents. There are the stories that are great, and everyone laughs at, but then there are the painful memories. The ones that I tend to keep in the back of my mind. But then there’s the bad one. The one that always happens in my nightmares.
The chef asks if we’ve finished and then as he takes our bowls and Blake requests that he leaves the entree and then comes back in thirty minutes or so. Blake pours more wine, and then I take the glass as I continue my story.
“They’re dead.”
“Sorry, about that. How?”
“I used to play the violin. Dad was late from work and was rushing to come and see me. Every recital I’d played at, he hadn't
see me play at a single one. My music teacher was taking me to this concert. She’d already told them that I was a natural player and that I played the violin beautifully. They bought me a second-hand one after she told them about my gift. I made a point that morning saying that this was my chance to maybe go to college one day. A famous violinist was going to be at the concert, and I felt as if this was my chance to be something. Be someone. It was important.”
A tear traces down my cheek as I think about the way that I’m describing the events as if it was that calm. As if I was that understanding.
“I said every cruel thing in the world to him. That I don’t want to be like them. Living in this small town and trying to make ends meet. I want to be someone better. I deserved that, and this was my chance and if he loved me. If he loved me, then he wouldn’t mess it up.”
“And? You blame yourself for them dying.”
“If he’d not come as he’d done before then maybe he would have seen the lorry. Then maybe he wouldn’t have been rushing and crashed head-on into the truck.”
“Maybe.”
“The only person I have left is Gary, my brother and he’s in trouble," I hesitate as I tell him any more about Gary. He may throw me out of the house if he knows that my brother's in a jail cell possibly facing a conviction for murder. "Which is why…” He’s staring at me, so I continue saying what’s on my mind, ‘He’s my only living relative so I have to help him. He needs me, and if the roles were reversed, then he would do the same thing for me.”
He nods, “I see.”
Blake doesn’t say anything, and then he starts eating and ignores my tears. I feel so silly for still breaking out after all this time. I need to get over it. I do. They say that time heals all pain, but I don’t understand why after all this time the pain still feels fresh in my mind. It’s as if I can’t erase it as much as I try.
“You should eat your food.”
I nod my head thinking that he’s not asking me. He’s telling me to eat and just move on. Well, that’s what I believe he's doing seeing as he’s not saying anything.
Then all of a sudden, I stop sniffing and start to cut up the fish and slowly put in my mouth. Blake starts to talk, “My mom died of cancer.”
He clears his throat, and I stop eating to listen to him, but he motions for me to continue.
“I knew for a good three months, that she was dying and you know what I did?”
“No,” I whisper, knowing that I’m not the only one that feels guilty about the death of a loved one.
“I didn’t see her.”
“Why?”
I don't want to eat, but every time I stop and attentively listen to him. He motions for me to continue eating.
“I wanted to remember how she was, but then at times, I wonder if that was me being selfish. She’d told me that she wanted me to remember her before she was sick and maybe I interpreted it the wrong way.”
I didn’t have an answer for the question; he didn’t wait for me to reply.
“My dad,” he laughs, “He asked me more than once to come and see her. When I didn’t then our estranged relationship grew even more estranged, if I'm making sense?” he takes a sip of his wine.
“I never realized how bad our relationship was until she died. It was as if she held us together and then after she was gone, there was nothing doing that anymore.”
“Do you regret not seeing your mom?”
He looks me dead in the eye and says, “Every single day.”
I stop eating and then our eyes lock and then he says, “But the reason I’m telling you this isn’t so that you pity me. You telling me about your parents just showed me something.”
“What?”
“That no matter how we feel about our past. We can’t take them back, and they’re a chapter that’s closed. You should never have regrets. Never. It just eats you up. I made a decision and so did you, the only difference is that you were a child.”
* * *
There's nothing that can bring my mom back and nothing that can bring your parents back. Besides you were a child at the time."
I agree with him, but that doesn't stop it hurting. That doesn't stop me wanting to turn back time.
"So, do you still play the violin?”
I laugh, “I can’t afford one, let alone still play. I have no interest in it.”
“Well, maybe it’ll come back to you.”
I shake my head, “I realized that after their death. That the only reason I played was because I was good at it. I saw it as a means to getting out of town. Something that I thought I was so desperate to do.”
“And now?”
“I work in the local diner, and that’s fine for now.”
He nods, “But not forever?”
“I’m still young. I can figure it out, once Gary’s issue is sorted then I can think about what to do next.”
“Wow, sounds like your brother’s lucky to have you in his life.”
“Not really, he could have put me in a home or handed me over to one of our relatives. He looked after me. He made sure that I graduated high school and I know that if it wasn’t for him I would be a mess.”
The conversation has changed both of us. I can feel a connection, something farther than sex and I smile at the idea of Blake and I connecting for the first time out of the bedroom. Having dinner was a good idea, maybe I’ll venture out and see other parts of the house. He’s given me the confidence to do something other than stay in that room.
Olivia’s right I’m a lot stronger than I ever give myself credit for and I need to stop putting myself down all the time.
“So, tell me who lit all the candles?”
I laugh as I look at the path that they created as I walked in and most of them have no flame now.
He laughs and says, “I already told you one secret. I have no intention of telling you another one.”
We laugh, and I don’t even think about the fact that I have on no underwear. I want to find out more about him – if anything heal him, because now I know why he feels sad at times. We have something in common, we both feel guilty about the one’s that we love and their passing. I want to make him feel better. I know that I can do that in the bedroom, but for now, I’ve got the challenge of doing it out of the bedroom I realize that I enjoy it even more. I don’t want to leave this house, not because of it’s beauty or the grounds that I can’t see in the dark from the terrace. I want to do it, because simply, I don’t want to leave him.
Chapter 15: Lily
The last couple of days have been magical. Every minute with him gets better every time. It’s as if I’m learning something new about my body every time. He pushes me to the limit and I think that I can’t take anymore or don’t even want it and then I find out that I do. Or maybe I just want him? Maybe that’s the issue, he goes through these moody moments. The times that I can tell that something is really troubling him and I want to make him better.
I obey just to please him and nothing else. Knowing that he’s relieved and wants to come inside of me is enough for me to carry on. It makes everything feel as if it’s worthwhile.
Last night was different, he stayed with me which means that we’re really connecting. I thought that after we went to dinner, he told me things that he’d said he hadn’t told a soul.
It made me feel special as if I really meant something to him. He knew right then and there that he meant something to me too. Everything was happening the way that it should and I couldn’t wait to tell Olivia that I’d found happiness with Blake and that I had a feeling that everything was going to be okay with Gary.
It’s as if coming and staying in this house was a blessing in disguise. One that I’d never envisioned. I stretch out my hands, because I’m feeling a bit stiff. Something drops off the pillow and falls to the side.
I’m slightly disappointed, because it’s my last day with him. I thought that he’ll be here when I wake-up, then again unlike me he has a business to run. I should b
e grateful that he’s spending some time with me, but I can’t help feel nervous whenever he leaves.
My heart’s thumping as I think about him leaving a romantic note. As I read it and realize that there’s nothing romantic about it.
* * *
Lily,
* * *
Get dressed, come in the robe and meet me at two. Don’t be late.
* * *
B.
* * *
The note’s as cold as he can be at times. There’s a map at the bottom of this house and the place that I need to meet him. Maybe I’m misguided about the whole thing. I’m a girl that wants to be pampered, but there’s just one problem. I was bought and as much as I try and think about things as simple as that, I realize that it's fair from simple in my head.
My head’s hung and I don’t feel like getting ready, but then the note is telling me to be in this part of the house. Not asking me to do that. And why do I have to go wearing only my robe?
Holy crap!
What’s the time? There’s not even a clock in this room. Then as I move to the edge of the bed, I see a watch. His Rolex watch, he must have left it so that I know what the time is, and would avoid being late. A cold chill runs down my spine as I think about what he has in store. No doubt he’s not taking me out for a meal, but this has been my comfort zone and now discovering that I only have ten minutes until I meet him makes me feel better in a way. I don’t have to think too much about it and I can just hop in the shower and meet him. If I’d woken up earlier then I would have had all sorts of nightmares about it.
I’ll hope in the shower. Put on the robe and for once in my life try and not get lost. I’m a person who does the same thing every single day, because it’s easier. I’ve been like that ever since my parents died. They did something different and it resulted in their death.
Gary often says that I’m paranoid and what happened to them was merely an accident. One that happens all the time. I can’t believe I told Blake the real reason why I don’t sleep at nights. Why I felt that my parents death was really my own fault and why I never aspire to be anything more than a waitress anymore.
