Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
But the sound of a door closing behind me evaporates that thought.
“This is my wife’s room. She’s gone for the moment. Business trip to Germany,” Lex says. “She has to fix the mess my sons left behind.” He snorts as if it’s some funny inside joke that I’m not privy to.
Lex opens the closet to the left and grabs a bright-blue dress, holding it up. “Put this on.”
I frown. “What, now?”
He sneers, “Yes, now.”
My eyes skid back and forth between this room and the closet, wondering if he’s for real or if he’s joking. I can’t take off my clothes right here, right now, not with him looking.
But he looks dead serious.
And I’m not in the position to refuse him.
I approach him slowly and snatch the dress from his snake hands, making sure there’s ample room between us. I wait, but he keeps standing there, gazing at me like he wants me to do it in front of him.
“Can I at least have some privacy?” I ask.
He sighs out loud. “Fine.” He walks past me and out of the closet. “But if you’re not out in five, I’ll come in and get you myself.”
I nod and quickly close the door so I can breathe. Just for a moment. Just breathe.
When I’ve calmed down, I kick off my shoes, slide down my panties, and steal a fresh pair from the closet. I’m surprised by how well they fit when I put them on. But the dress is so tight I can barely zip it up. My breasts almost spill out, and my waist is cinched so harshly I can’t breathe normally.
A knock on the door makes me jolt. “Are you coming out or not?”
“In a second,” I reply.
I quickly put on my shoes again, wanting to keep at least one remnant of myself with me as I step out of the closet. Lex looks at me, his eyes sliding up and down my body like he’s rating me. And it makes me feel like a pet getting a mark at a judging competition.
“Beautiful,” he says. “Just like my wife, Anne.”
A creepy smile forms on his lips, making me nauseous.
Why do I have this feeling he’s dressing me up like a doll?
He walks past me to the piano and presses a key. “Anne used to play this all the time back when she was younger.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “I’m told you do too?”
I suck in a breath. “For my papa, yes.”
“He had you play professionally?”
I nod.
He moves to the side of the piano and points at the bench. “Show me.”
My heartbeat is going haywire as I walk closer and sit down. I place my hands on the keys, gazing up at Lex before I begin to play, just as I was taught.
My hands glide across the piano, and I close my eyes and sink into the music like I always do, pretending I’m somewhere in a faraway land with the sun shining on my skin and a heavenly breeze wafting through my hair.
But the image is disturbed by Lex moving to the lounge and sitting down in silence. I feel watched.
Suddenly, he coughs, and when I briefly steal a glance, he holds a napkin in his hand that’s covered in blood.
Is he … sick?
Despite being distracted, I continue to play as best as I can.
“Do you always play with gloves on?”
I hit a false note, the sound making me cringe.
“Yes,” I answer.
“Pity. I think you’d do much better if you took them off.”
I grasp my gloves and touch the embroidered rose. These used to give me so much comfort and made me feel protected. But now? Now all they do is remind me of my papa, who isn’t here to protect me.
Past, age 8
I grab my diary and write down the words I’ve written every day since my mother brought me into this world.
Please let me go to school. Please let me go to school!
It’s always been a dream of mine, but my papa never let me go. Just like it’s been my dream to go to the beach, an amusement park, or the mall. Things normal kids see and do. Kids who don’t have an overprotective papa.
I have many dreams, and this diary is the only place I can ever write about them without my papa finding out. Because if he did, he’d probably scold me for even having them.
I finish with hearts and close the diary, pushing it far underneath my bed where it’ll stay until the next time I open it.
I hop off the bed and go downstairs with a big smile, and I greet the guards and our help along the way.
“Good morning!” I chant.
“Well, good morning to you too, Little Miss Chipper,” one of the maids muses with a grin. “Hope you have a great day!”