It also meant sharing him with others, and I wanted him all to myself. With that awareness, another wave of anger rolled through me.
My mascara applied to one eye only, I leaned back to study the woman in the mirror. My blonde hair was coiffed in a low chignon, sun-kissed highlights giving vibrancy to my appearance. My face—which I kept meticulously protected with sunscreen—was flawless, my foundation seamlessly matching the tanned skin at my décolletage. My yoga-toned shoulders curved pleasingly, my never-nursed-a-baby breasts still as perky as they’d been a decade ago. In every way, I was a portrait of stoic beauty. No one could possibly know that my insides were shaking with fury and shame, that there was a magma chamber of turbulent emotions in the pit of me that only seemed to erupt in my husband’s presence.
My appearance was a lie I told without even trying.
What did Edward think he’d find underneath? What would he find if he kept looking?
It scared me that I didn’t know the answer to either question.
Having been given no instruction and needing armor, I dressed powerfully for dinner. The dress was ordinary enough—a mid-thigh length black silk slip dress with a racerback. It was a little fancy for our group, but Edward had included it in the wardrobe he’d sent, so that made it appropriate in my mind. The part that gave it power was what I’d put on underneath—sheer black panties, matching garter belt, and thigh-high stockings. Hosiery on the island was completely impractical, even in February, but they made me feel good. Made me feel sexy and potent and charged.
Especially when I added the red satin Casadei plisse high-heel sandals. Try calling me little bird now, Fasbender. I was anything but.
Yes, it was a power play, too. An outright opposition to what he’d had me wear the night before. Maybe it was asking for trouble. Maybe I wanted trouble. I didn’t really know anymore.
The irony was that he probably wouldn’t even notice.
Except that dinner wasn’t like the old days.
When I came out, it wasn’t the big dining table that was set, but rather the small radial dinette that overlooked the ocean. And it was only set for two. The lights were off, candles were lit. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in a bucket of ice next to a bowl of fresh strawberries.
I heard movement behind me, and without looking, I knew it was Edward. The heat of his presence bounced off the windows and enveloped me. Then his hand was at the small of my back, escorting me to my chair.
“Don’t let this get to your head.” His breath tickled the hair at my nape. “It’s Valentine’s Day and Joette has certain notions. It was easier to perpetuate them.”
“Easier, yes.” As if he’d ever chosen any method because it was easier.
I sat in the seat he offered, placing the linen napkin in my lap as he moved around to take the chair across from me. He was stunning in dark pants and a white dress shirt with black buttons, the top two open. It was a somewhat casual look for him, but not quite as laid back as he usually dressed on the island. And he’d taken the time to style his hair. All to let Joette believe our romance was real?
Maybe.
My breath stuttered when I considered the possibility that it was something more.
Once seated, he leaned across the table to pour the blanc de blanc in my champagne flute. “We can use the opportunity to discuss some rules.”
He was so good at plying me with alcohol just before diving into serious subjects. I took a sip of the drink while he poured his own. “Are the rules your response to last night?”
He didn’t answer at first, reaching over again to remove the silver cover from my plate, revealing white fish with lemon and capers and green beans with almonds. My mouth watered at the sight. Mateo didn’t go out on the boat that often, but all the fish that was served on Amelie came from his fishing trips. Every dish I’d had so far had been incredible.
I didn’t wait for Edward to pick up his own fork before diving in. The fish melted in my mouth. Orgasmic.
Distracted by the divine taste, I almost forgot I’d asked a question until it was answered several minutes later. “The rules are not my response,” he said, now several bites into his fish. “But you need to know them before we get to that.”
I took another sip of my champagne. “I’m guessing that I don’t have a choice in whether or not I follow them.”
I’d become quite good at considering rules as a challenge. Without hearing what they were, my mind was already preparing to find ways around them if not outright defy them.
Edward smiled, as though he expected my response. “Of course you have a choice. What choices you make determine how quickly this process goes.”
“The process of breaking me down, you mean.”
“Yes. That.” He put another bite of fish in his mouth, and I watched, mesmerized. The way his jaw worked as he took it from the fork. The way his throat moved as he swallowed. The way these simple actions made my pussy clench and weep.
I was really glad I’d worn the power stockings. I needed them right about now.
He rinsed everything down with a swig from his flute. “Are you amenable to me continuing?”
It seemed strange that he was asking. Usually he just did with no regard for my opinion on matters. I understood his motives, understood that this was a test. I knew what answer he wanted and the test was to see if I’d give him that answer or be defiant.
Defiance was my nature with him. My gut reaction.
I forced myself to think first. I thought about how things had gone so far since my captivity. How the gifts had begun when I’d stopped trying to escape. How the struggling only seemed to prolong whatever he had planned for me. How prey caught in the sightline of a predator often froze or played dead.
If I ever wanted to get out of here, that’s what I had to do—play dead. “Okay, then. Go for it. Tell me these rules.”
It was almost imperceptible—the slight nod of his head, the gleam in his eyes caught by chance in the candlelight. He was pleased.
And then it was gone, his expression once again stoic. “For now, we will only address the rules for our sessions together. There will be more in the future. Do not assume that this is all.”
I forced myself to take a deep breath.
“During these sessions,” he went on, “you cede your power to me.”
I laughed. “I wasn’t aware that I still had power to cede.”
“Are you sure about that?” He tilted his head, both brows raised. “I’ll tell you now that the most important rule is honesty. I expect you to only speak the truth, or the truth to the best of your knowledge. You will not exaggerate or deflect. Lies will not be tolerated. Withholding information when I ask will be considered a lie.”
My body tensed at his bold expectation. He wanted me to lay everything down for him. Everything. I was beginning to understand what that really meant. Was I willing? No. But if I thought about it in terms of a longer game, of me playing into his hand until he let me go, then I could tolerate it more.
The real question wasn’t was I willing, but was I able?
That, I didn’t know.
All I could do is try. “In that case,” I said, pushing my words from my throat where they wanted to stay. “I suppose you want me to say that I am aware that I do have some power.” He was affected by me—that was power. I had my body. I knew how to play against his possessive nature. I had the ability to withdraw.