When my bare foot hits the shiny white tile floor, it echoes off the wall, and I turn my head in each direction, trying to get my bearings. I have two choices of direction, but it’s obvious from the distant noise to my right that the kitchen is presumably that way. Still, I find myself pivoting in the opposite direction, curiosity leading the way as I tiptoe farther down the hall.
The first door I come to is on the left, and it’s identical to my own. But when I turn the handle and open it, I know without a doubt this isn’t just another guest area. The spicy scent of Thorsen hits my nose first, followed by the dark details of the room. While the hallway is light and brightly painted, this room is shrouded in tones of gray with heavy drapes obscuring any outside light pollution from the windows. A melancholy feeling hangs in the air, and I know this is definitely his room.
Glancing over my shoulder, I half expect to see him lurking behind me as I venture farther inside the space. But he isn’t there, and I’m free to explore. As far as furnishings go, the room isn’t all that different from mine. His bed is bigger, and the closet too. On the right side of the suite, a set of French doors leads to a balcony. Noticeably absent are the plethora of sexual torture devices he must keep contained to my space.
My fingers graze the bed where he usually sleeps before moving on to his nightstand. Pulling open the first drawer, I find nothing of importance. The second drawer yields nothing either, and it confuses me. He lives here full-time, yet it doesn’t seem like he lives here at all. I walk into his closet, examining the neat rows of trousers and shirts hanging from the racks. In Thorsen’s world, only four colors exist, apparently. Gray, black, blue, and white. On the opposite wall, there’s a similar theme amongst his Oxford style shoes, consisting of only black or brown, in varying designs.
As I wander from the closet and into the bathroom, I wonder if this is what his brain is like too. Is he living in a pre-technicolor world where the shades of his mind are so limited he has trouble distinguishing anything with real vibrancy?
The master bathroom is another clue that he’s a man who doesn’t have a taste for the excessive lifestyle into which he was born. While I don’t doubt that his clothes are expensive, I’m beginning to sense a pattern. Thorsen lives for the necessities, evident by the few toiletry items he keeps in his vanity. A shaver, cream, shampoo, soap. In another drawer, I find a manicure kit and some hair gel. It seems like that’s about as exciting as it’s going to get. Then I open the last drawer on the bottom, which appears to contain towels and handcloths. But when I push them aside, I notice a small black case beneath them. It looks like a shaving bag, but it’s thin enough that I’m questioning if there’s even anything in there.
When I unzip it, the only item inside is a dark blue glass bottle with a hand-scrawled label. Nerium Oleander. I’m not familiar with the name, but as I examine it, something feels off about it. Is this what he used to drug me?
A noise from inside the room startles me, and I quickly shove everything back into the drawer, shutting it as quietly as I can manage before I peek around the corner.
“Oh!” A frightened older woman peers back at me. Her maid’s uniform indicates she must be a part of his housekeeping staff.
“Sorry.” I offer her a sheepish smile. “I… um, got lost. I was looking for the kitchen. We haven’t met yet, but I’m Ella.”
“Lisbet.” She glances over her shoulder nervously as she points at the hall. “You shouldn’t be in here, Ella. The kitchen is down the corridor to the right.”
“Sorry,” I murmur again, scurrying away quickly.
Out in the hall, my racing heart calms as I place one foot in front of the other, putting as much distance as I can manage between Thorsen’s room and myself. I repeat the name of the label on the glass bottle under my breath a few times, committing it to memory so I can look it up later.
As I venture closer to the main area of the house, I notice a difference in the brightness around me. Natural light floods in from the windows, sparkling off every surface inside. When I reach the kitchen, I’m surrounded by more white. The cabinets, the island, the dining table, and chairs… everything is white. It’s beautiful but empty. There’s no sign of Thorsen or Calder, but there’s a set of French doors ahead that lead out onto the terrace. And from where I’m standing, I can hear the gentle lapping of water nearby.
Suddenly, I’m questioning if we’re even in a house at all. Is this just a huge yacht? I remember Lavinia mentioning something about the royal family being fond of their yacht. But no, this can’t be. I would have felt it moving. And I would have heard the water outside my window if it was right beneath me.
“There you are.” Calder pokes his head around the French doors, his eyes roaming over me with a casual interest. “We’re eating outside. It’s a beautiful day. Come join us.”
I follow his lead, squinting into the sunlight as I step onto the terrace. It becomes apparent right away that we aren’t on a ship at all, but the house is perched on a hill, overlooking the bay. It’s stunning and surreal. A slice of Norwegian paradise.
Thorsen is watching me carefully as I venture toward the table, taking in my new surroundings. I feel off-balance and uncertain. He hasn’t dictated the boundaries of my newfound freedom yet, and I suspect that’s because of his brother’s presence. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t unwritten rules I still need to abide by.
“Take a seat.” Calder pulls out a chair for me, and Thorsen watches our interaction with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“Please, help yourself.” Calder gestures to the spread on the table, with a heavy variety of meats and cheese and rye bread.
I opt for one of the lighter options, yogurt, and muesli, along with a handful of odd-looking berries I haven’t yet been able to identify. Meanwhile, the men fill up on smoked salmon and bread.
“No salmon?” Calder holds the plate out to me in offer, and I shake my head.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
Thorsen pauses, glancing at me with an odd expression, and it almost looks as though he’s irritated I revealed this information to his brother. He’s been serving me meals that include meat, and I’ve just been leaving it on the tray. Either he hasn’t noticed, or he didn’t think to ask.
“Ahh, I see.” Calder sets the tray aside with a nod. “I can appreciate that.”
We eat our breakfast in silence, quietly gazing out over the water. Thorsen’s estate includes a private beach as well. There’s a path leading down to it, and I absently wonder if he’ll ever allow me to explore that area when Calder interrupts my thoughts.
“My brother was just telling me about your arrangement.”
My eyes widen when I look at Thorsen for confirmation. He doesn’t give anything away as he continues to chew, his jaw working while he harpoons me with that steely gray gaze.
“What about our arrangement?” I ask cautiously.
Calder leans back against his chair, draping an arm over the side as he turns to meet my eyes. “Thorsen and I don’t have any secrets. He tells me everything.”
His statement is resolute, but the tension radiating off Thorsen is palpable. I don’t think it’s as true for him as it is for his brother.