Hero

29

I am strangely liberated after my forced confession. Whatever was blocking my vision shifted, allowing me to see my situation with Calvin for what it is. My mind is submitting to my body, understanding that I not only accept but want what I know is wrong.

Early afternoon sun skims the dying leaves outside my window. My heart thumps with thoughts of Calvin’s hand making its way inside me while I revealed shameful secrets. It’s been days since I’ve seen him, but the memory is fresh at all hours.

My door opens without announcement, and Calvin enters. “Good afternoon, Cataline,” he says as he approaches. “My little sparrow on her perch.”

“It looks like a nice day.”

“Truth be told, it’s a bit chilly for my taste. Good thing we shut your window; I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

“Yes, good thing,” I murmur.

“I have a proposition for you. I promised to consider letting you outdoors for good behavior.”

My spine straightens immediately. My breathing stops.

“Before you get excited, I have one last assignment for you. I’m not sure you can handle it, though.”

“I can,” I promise. “Anything.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”

His threat in the chapel returns to me suddenly and without mercy. I’d somehow blocked it out until this moment, and the memory is almost crippling. I grip the edge of the sill. My stomach flips violently at the thought of Calvin sharing me with someone else, and my shoulders slump again. “What is it?”

“In my position, I’m expected to support different causes through donations or by making appearances. Long ago I agreed to host a charity ball here at the mansion. There will be food, dancing, socializing, that sort of thing.”

“A party,” I supply.

“Sure. A party. I don’t care for them, but it comes with the territory. If I could throw the event without attending, I would. Now, your behavior has improved since your arrival, but it’s far from ideal. I can’t very well have you screaming at the top of your lungs while I have guests downstairs.”

My hands flex as though clinging to his every word. “What are you going to do with me?”

He clears his throat, adjusting his stance. “You have the opportunity to plead your case to me. Either I tape your mouth shut and lock you in the basement, or you make yourself useful to the caterer and serve food.”

I blink my confused shock. “You want me to serve food? To people?”

“Left to your own devices, I’m not sure you wouldn’t come down and make a scene. At least this way I can keep an eye on you. Would you like to see people?”

“Yes.” I pause. “I think. What would I say?”

“Avoid any attempts at conversation. If anyone approaches you, it’s acceptable to say that I’ve asked the staff not to interact with guests.”

“You’d trust me enough for that?”

He steps closer. “Can I trust you?”

I nod.

“If you do well, then I’ll allow a horseback ride accompanied by me. And perhaps even lunch outdoors or whatever other fantasies you’re fixating on.”

I clap my hands together once. “I can do it.”

I recoil with surprise when he reaches out to take my chin. “However. If you make any attempt to enlist help or escape, I will be very, very disappointed. And I can assure you it won’t go unpunished, no matter the outcome. I am a powerful man, Cataline. With a long reach.”

“I understand,” I say. “When’s the party?”

“In a couple hours.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that’s—I’m . . . Thank you.”

“I’ve been thinking about our time in the chapel.”

My response comes from under my breath. “I have too.”

“Don’t wear underwear tonight.”

I swallow audibly. “You told me once I wasn’t here for that.”

“For what, Cataline?”

“Sex.”

“You’re not.”

When he’s gone, I go directly to the shower where I brace myself against the tiled wall. Things are rushing at me at warp speed. Emotions, ideas, fears. If I were to throw myself at someone’s feet, would it be the end of my nightmare? Calvin’s trust is oddly moving, but I don’t know if I can stay idle knowing there’s a chance of escape. Languorous water droplets slide down the tip of my nose, buoying there until the next one comes along. Escape should be my only thought, but it isn’t. The no-underwear rule means I’ll have Calvin again tonight if I’m compliant.

By the time I’m finished drying my hair, there’s a caterer’s uniform waiting for me on the bed. The white button-down blouse tucks into a fitted black skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. In my past life, I never would’ve worn something so short and revealing, especially during this time of year. But since it’s a uniform, there isn’t much I can do.

There are five other caterers, two women and three men, and they all wear the same white shirt and thin black tie as I do. My excitement at company wanes when I’m received with wide-eyed stares. Since they’re in pants and tennis shoes, I’m loudly out of place with my legs on display in a skirt and high heels. I’m introduced as a member of the staff, and their patience for my questions and fumbling is short. Nothing I do seems to be right, and my insecurity is heightened by anxiety about what the night will hold.

I’m crossing under the foyer’s magnificent chandelier, balancing in my shoes, when the doorbell rings. It seems to happen in slow motion—Norman appears to greet a couple, and the door lingers open while he takes their coats. The air’s frosty bite is welcome on my bare legs. I don’t remove my eyes from the door, even when Calvin’s unexpected heat warms me from behind and his voice is in my ear.

“Tempting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say.

“If you’re thinking of flying, Sparrow, know that I will catch you. There is no escape. Fly until your wings fall off, until there's no more sky, but I will find you. I will always find you.”

Norman closes the heavy door, and the guests follow him from the room. I look over my shoulder. Calvin wears a tuxedo, his bowtie near my hair. I meet his eyes behind his glasses. His hand smooths over my backside and under the skirt’s hem. The tip of one finger grazes my opening and slips inside, eliciting my sharp gasp.

“Good little bird,” he praises. “Make sure you’re very attentive to my guests tonight.” He removes his hand and pats my ass before walking past me into the dining room. My heels puncture the room’s quiet as I go to the door. I touch the handle for some time until the doorbell rings, causing me to jump away.

Norman rushes into the room and halts abruptly when he sees me. I take two steps back, staring at him. He shakes his head slowly but doesn’t speak. It’s not until I’m retreating that he lets the guests in.

When most people appear to have arrived, I navigate through the room with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. My mind is in overdrive being in a crowd that feels three times as big as it is. I almost drop my tray when a man touches my shoulder to pass by. His apologetic smile is kind, but I back away.

“Excuse me, Miss?” I turn to an elderly woman with fading red lipstick. “Where can I find the restroom?”

“Um, I . . .” I freeze, my heart racing, until she raises an eyebrow. “The bathroom,” I manage. “It’s just down the hall, second door on the right.”

When she’s on her way, I set my tray on the nearest surface and inhale a deep breath.

“You all right there?”

“A little short of breath,” I say.

“Maybe you should have a seat.”

I look up. The man seems in his early forties, average build with a noticeable beer gut. My immediate thought is that he’s no match for Calvin should I need him to be.

“You ever catered before?” he asks.

There’s a loud noise behind me, and I whirl around, knocking a champagne flute off my tray.

He laughs loudly. “I hope this isn’t your day job.”

“It’s not,” I say, bending awkwardly as I brush the shards into a pile. “This is my first time.”

“Hey, careful,” he says. “You’ll cut yourself. Someone’s coming with a broom.”

I straighten up and catch Rosa signaling to me that she’s on her way. Across the room, I catch Calvin staring at us. His unreadable eyes move between the man and me. He doesn’t seem displeased that I’m socializing, more intrigued. As though he expects it.

“So what do you do?”

“What?” I ask, returning my attention to the man.

“For a living. You said this was your first time.”

“I—” My palms begin to tingle, and there’s a sudden lack of moisture in my mouth. “I can’t say. I’m . . . I work for Mr. Parish.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You work for him, or he hires you?”

“I’m on the staff. I can’t really talk about it.” I’m drowning, sure that Calvin will appear at any moment to whisk me off to the basement.

The man studies me a moment before nodding. “Ah. I see. No, I get it.”

“You do?” I ask.

“Sure. I wouldn’t exactly go around broadcasting it either, but I’ve been down that road a time or two.” He winks. “Though, never with someone like you.”

Could he possibly know the truth about me? The thought that Calvin’s done this before, and that others know about it, puts a strange knot in my chest. “I should really get back to work,” I say.

“You . . . do you work exclusively for Parish?”

“What?”

“You know,” he says. “Catering. Does he hire you just for himself or for others too?” He chuckles. “Like a party favor?”

“I don’t know,” I say, backing away. When I check again, Calvin’s in conversation, no longer watching. My skin prickles fiercely as understanding washes over me. “Do you do business with Mr. Parish?”

He’s looking down at my ankles, but his head snaps up. “What? Oh, sometimes, yes.”

“Excuse me.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need fresh air.”

Fresh air is not a luxury I’m allowed, so I find myself in the bathroom, braced against the counter with outstretched arms. I stare at myself in the mirror, my blue eyes too bright and my hair too silky for all the things that haunt me.

“Don’t wear underwear tonight.”

“Make sure you’re very attentive to my guests.”

“I have a debt that can’t be paid with money.”

I wasn’t wrong in thinking the no-underwear rule meant someone would come for me tonight. It just wouldn’t be Calvin.