They’d been in the air for an hour when dinner was brought out. Filet mignon, long, elegant green beans made with some sort of fancy oils and sauce, potatoes, and a salad with a raspberry vinaigrette. Annette hadn’t expected to eat this well as someone’s prisoner.
She’d spent most of the trip staring out the window, watching the sky change colors in the sunset, still unable to believe he was actually taking her out of the house. What kind of captor took his captive on field trips? When she’d made the bargain, she’d assumed giving her freedom to the Russian meant she’d never leave his property again. The metal cuff that had been locked around her wrist had only served to reinforce that assumption.
She ran her fingertips along the edge of her wrist where the metal had been. And now on the other wrist, a thick triple row strand of diamonds which matched the string of diamonds around her neck.
Annette had always been prone to cabin fever. She hated being stuck in the house. She liked to be out and about. If she went longer than a week without going somewhere, she felt like she would lose her mind. When she’d made the trade for her sister, she’d tried not to think about that part. All she’d been able to think about was that somehow it was her fault her sister had been taken and that she couldn’t let some stupid lie she’d told some horny guy in a club end Janette’s future or her life. But the thought of never leaving the giant white house had pressed at the edges of her mental landscape, making sleep the first night difficult.
Now, here she was, just a full day into whatever she’d signed on for, on a fancy private jet actually going someplace. Realistically, she knew he could be taking her anywhere. He could sell her to someone, or share her with someone or several someones. Right now the thought of calling him Master in front of his friends was about to send her into a panic spiral. That one thought kept crowding out all the other things she knew she should be more afraid of.
“How is your food?”
She looked up suddenly, startled. “Perfect. Thank you.” It felt weird being polite to him under these circumstances, but she’d agreed to this, as absolutely insane as it was. It had seemed so much less crazy to her the night before when things had been more desperate.
“Good. I wasn’t sure how you liked your meat cooked.”
Annette was surprised he cared how she liked her meat. She’d only had this cut of beef once before at the wedding of some very wealthy friends of her father’s. She hadn’t grown up poor by any stretch of the imagination, but filet mignon still hadn’t been in her normal dining repertoire. It seemed impossible to think that it might be now.
It felt almost as though they were on a date. It had been so long since a man had taken her out and tried to genuinely impress her that she’d forgotten what it was like. Why would he take her on a date? Only a few hours ago, he’d calmly watched Brian hit her with a belt. He’d let her cry and had appeared completely unfazed by the whole affair. If she were being honest, that was the moment the real fear had kicked in. In that moment, she’d been one hundred percent sure her future would be nothing but threats and pain.
She’d half convinced herself that it wouldn’t even matter if she was perfect and never told another lie or displeased him in any way. She felt sure he’d find some excuse to hurt her. But now she was less sure. Things were peaceful now, and she didn’t know if it was a calm before another storm or if it meant something more.
The bravery of the night before had mostly run out. The only thing fueling her now was good old-fashioned stubbornness and not wanting to look weak in front of him. And it wasn’t just about her ego. Annette had the strong feeling that if he smelled weakness he might pounce on her like a wild animal.
“I still don’t understand why we’re going to the ballet,” she said, looking at her food. She didn’t want to make him mad, but she couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He’d been so nice to her since they’d left the dungeon that there was this fucked-up part of her that thought she might someday feel something for him beyond fear and arousal.
Anton took a sip of wine and regarded her for a moment. “There are places I want to go which are best experienced with a woman on my arm, and you were the lucky winner.”
It might have been offensive if he’d said it in an arrogant way because Annette wouldn’t label herself as lucky. But he seemed to be making a strange joke which softened the barb a bit. It was clear he’d been in the country a long time since he used English as well as anybody else she knew, but the thick accent he still carried made it seem odd when he casually used sarcasm in the way an American might. It made the whole exchange feel extra foreign.
So they were going out regularly? At least she wouldn’t be stuck in the house all the time. She decided he could never know about the cabin fever. What if he used keeping her in the house as some sort of punishment? She promised herself whatever else happened, she wouldn’t trust him. On the outside she would become whatever he wanted, but on the inside, that would always be her private space he could never reach.
She’d never allowed herself to be truly vulnerable with a man, and she didn’t intend to start with this one even if the only thing she could truly safeguard from him were her thoughts.
Anton didn’t speak again, and she didn’t know what to say, either. Everything felt so awkward all of a sudden in the closed space. She didn’t know how to act. She didn’t know how he would act. She wasn’t sure she could count on him at all to protect her from Brian. Annette felt like she needed to win Anton’s favor or his attachment or something—even if she was determined that it wouldn’t and couldn’t mean anything on her end. But didn’t she already have his favor a little bit if he was taking her out and buying her nice things and paying all her sister’s expenses? And feeding her extravagant meals like a queen?
It was so hard to know. He hadn’t tried to touch her on the plane even though she’d been sure while she was putting the dress on that he’d picked this gown specifically for the easy access. He could slip his hands underneath the many layers of fabric to find the shorter skirt underneath without any trouble. And there had been a note inside the box directing her not to wear panties. So what was this distantly polite charade, then?
Annette felt on a razor’s edge, not knowing if or when he would touch her. Why order her not to wear panties and give her a dress like this if he didn’t plan to touch her? He hadn’t even made a single suggestive remark. And given his strong grasp of the English language, it wasn’t as though he didn’t know the words to say.
After dinner, a fluffy raspberry cream pie and champagne were brought out. They ate quietly, silverware scraping and clinking gently against the china. She wondered if this was a comfortable silence for him, because it was anything but comfortable for her.
When she’d finished her pie, Annette wiped the corner of her mouth with the linen napkin and laid it over the plate. Her hand rested on the table. Anton’s hand suddenly covered hers, but still he said nothing and did nothing, and they remained in this suspended state of existence until the plane landed twenty minutes later.
Without a word, he guided her off the plane and to a waiting car that whisked them a few miles away to the theater the ballet was being performed in. Every nerve ending was on fire, a live wire, sparking at the ends. Why was she so nervous? She didn’t learn the name of the theater because they were swept in through a back door with Anton’s quick flash of a VIP pass.