Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
She didn’t have a chance to answer me because my mother swept into the room and carried me out, chastising me that I shouldn’t walk into someone’s room without knocking. Now I know why.
On the nightstand is a pot of cream. I pick it up, open it, sniff it, and read the label. It’s a cooling cream. For my ass, I guess.
I put it down, more annoyed than grateful because when you order a punishment, you don’t get to be forgiven with a pathetic attempt to lessen the pain. I won’t ever forgive Sebastian for what he did.
I get up and go into the bathroom. The first thing I do is turn my back to the mirror and look at myself, look at the damage, and I gasp.
Nine angry red lines mark my bottom, all in a tight, neat row. She has a practiced hand. The skin is bruised in places, turning blue, but those lines, they’re a bright red. I reach back to feel the skin. It’s raised and tender to the touch. I’ll feel this for the next few days or even weeks.
I haven’t washed myself since the exam. I climb into the shower and turn the water on. I keep it as cold as I can stand because hot stings. Like yesterday, I don’t take my time. I used to. I always found it a pleasure to take long showers, use up all the hot water. My sisters always complained.
The memory makes me smile. I miss them. I wonder if he’ll let me have any contact with them or with Aunt Helena. Maybe he’ll feel badly enough that he’ll say yes if I ask today.
When I go back into the bedroom, there’s a knock on the door. It opens. The same girl from yesterday walks in, and we both blush. She knows what they did to me. She witnessed my humiliation. For a moment, I wonder if she was the girl Ethan used to relieve himself.
God, I think I’d be sick if I had anything in my stomach.
She sets the tray of food down and clears the old one. I guess Sebastian had had dinner sent, but I hadn’t even noticed.
“Thank you.”
She nods, offers a warm smile, and leaves. I pour myself a cup of coffee and notice they didn’t bring tea this time. I eat all three croissants, one plain, two chocolate. I’m starving. I then take the bunch of grapes and go to the window, push it open, and watch outside while I pop one after another into my mouth.
When the door opens without a knock, I startle and turn to find Sebastian walking inside. I stiffen and hold my towel against myself, finding it hard to swallow the last grape.
He looks at me and gives me a brief smile. He’s carrying boxes, one large with a pink bow on it, the other smaller. A shoe box, I think.
“Good morning.”
“Is it?”
“How do you feel?”
I give a fake smile. “Peachy.”
He sets the boxes on the bed. “I brought you a dress to wear today. And there’s more on the way.”
“Is that because you feel guilty?”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Difficult. Confrontational.”
“I guess that’s what your mother thought to cane out of me.”
He stiffens. “Lucinda’s been dealt with. She crossed a line, but it won’t happen again.”
Again, he refers to her as Lucinda. It’s strange. “Am I supposed to be grateful? I mean, after all, you did sic her on me to begin with.”
He crosses the room and just stops short of taking hold of my arm. I can see the effort it takes him to control himself.
His gaze falls to my chest, and I hug the towel to me.
“Let me clarify,” he says, meeting my eyes again. “It won’t happen again without my order, Willow Girl.”
Willow Girl.
That puts me in my place.
I study him, hear the warning in his tone.
He doesn’t feel guilty. He’s not upset. He dealt with it, whatever the hell that means. I’m the one who’ll deal with the bruised ass, not to mention the bruised ego.
“Go to hell.”
“I’m going to let that one go, considering. Get dressed and come downstairs. You have five minutes,” he says, turning toward the door.
“Why?” I push, although my voice is lower, and I half-expect him to not hear me. But he stops with one foot in the hallway. “Why are you giving me clothes?”
“Because I don’t want everyone gawking at what’s mine.”
Ah. What’s his.
Property.
What did I expect?
“Five minutes. I’m waiting at the bottom of the stairs.”
He leaves with that and, after taking a deep, steadying breath—because this man pulls the rug out from under me like no one else—I take the lid off the smaller of the two boxes to find a pair of slingback sandals inside. They’re white with a tiny heel. I recognize the brand from my sister’s magazines. Designer.