My belly drops to my toes and I don’t hear what Yvonne is saying at first. I’m too busy taking in the large, magnificent paintings on the walls, magnificent leaders painted in bold brush strokes, many wearing uniforms and bearing arms. I look to Yvonne. “Your husband likes to surround himself with those he looks up to. The greats, he calls them.”
I nod. It’s interesting to note. I recognize none of them.
When we reach the landing on the second floor, she takes a right and leads me down a long hallway. There’s a small table on this floor with a vase overflowing with bright yellow and golden flowers, the fragrance vibrant and intoxicating. I remember the home I came from, my little room that was no more than a closet, the stark white walls and utilitarian black and gray tiled floors. I wonder if the furnishings of a home speak to the character of its occupants. But sometimes I think too much. I hope too much. And I’ve learned doing so is very, very dangerous.
“This is the door to Tomas’ quarters,” Yvonne says, looking down at the floor as she bites her lip. “He told me to come here with you, but I’m not sure if he kept it locked.” Gingerly, she tries the knob, giving a startled little gasp when the door swings open. She’s so easily frightened, I wonder at her history.
Gesturing for me to go in ahead of her, she waits patiently. I step inside, and feel my jaw drop in surprise. I didn’t expect a place like this.
For starters, it’s huge, the large open floor plan opening to a sitting room, an office, several bedrooms and a kitchen off to one side as well. I step inside and look around at everything in silence. I’ve never seen anything like this.
The entryway is crafted in golds and creams, with a circular marble floor that gleams from the light of the overhead chandelier. There’s a large round mirror with a golden frame on the wall and below it, a matching table and framed landscape prints. Beyond the sitting room is a formal dining room and kitchen area, also decorated in cream and gold. I stare at the chandelier above the dining room table, little crystals dangling and catching the light. I want to explore every inch of this gorgeous home, every fine detail and luxury.
“Tomas has outfitted this place well,” she says with a smile. “And before you came, he asked me for my advice.”
“Your advice?” I ask. What sort of advice would a man like Tomas need?
“Yes,” she says in her soft voice, and her pale face flushes pink again. “He asked me to help pick out some clothes for you, new bedding, and things like that. I hope you like them.”
I walk around the apartment in a sort of haze, taking in the luxury detail. “Oh, I’m sure I will,” I tell her. “I’ve never had anything like this.”
“I understand,” she says. “Me neither.”
She leaps a foot when someone knocks at the door. “Are you expecting someone?” she asks. I shake my head no. Walking over to the peephole, she looks out. “Oh, that’s Eliott and his team,” she says, opening the door. “You’ll like him.”
Unlocking the door, she opens it to welcome a very attractive young man who has spiky black hair and small round spectacles magnifying bright blue eyes. He wears a hot pink t-shirt and designer black jeans, and behind him he brings several men carrying so many things I can’t keep track.
“Oooohhhh,” he says stepping into the large entryway. “Oh, my love, I cannot wait to get my hands on you.”
He has a thick French accent and is immediately all up in my space. I blink in surprise. Tomas sanctioned this?
“Caroline, Eliott is a stylist Tomas has hired to take care of you,” she says. “It’s time for me to take my leave. Enjoy, and I’ll likely see you this evening for dinner.” She’s gone, and I’m left with this team of people I’ve never met. I stand dumbly in front of them.
“I’m…Caroline,” I say awkwardly, giving them a small smile.
“Of course you are,” Eliott says. He’s got a heavy French accent, his hand anchored on his hips, he wags his finger in front of me. “And you are so beautiful, it comes as no wonder Tomas chose you.”
I blink. Is he looking at the wrong girl? I must look bewildered because he throws his head back and laughs.
“Oh, darling,” he says, drawing the words out as if they’re sticky and sweet like caramel, “little do you know what Eliott will do for you. We have disposable contacts so you can lose the glasses and stop shielding those beautiful eyes from the world.” He reaches for my hair. I flinch but he ignores me, gathering the insane, untamed waves between his fingers and twirling them. It feels immediately intimate and so shocking, I cringe. Would Tomas approve?