The dress is protected underneath a translucent wrap, but I can still tell that it’s beautiful. And clearly expensive. “He expects me to wear that to dinner?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she answers quietly. “I believe Master Kian ordered it specifically for you.”
She says it as though she expects me to be grateful. And that just makes me curious about who she is. About why she’s here. Does she know who she works for? What he does?
I’m also distracted by the strange turn of events that’s brought her to my room in the first place. A formal fucking dinner? One that involves designer clothes?
Just what is he playing at?
I’m pissed that he thinks he can so easily manipulate me. But before I sound off and tell the maid to go find “Master” Kian and tell him where he can stick his dress, I take a breath.
I need to be more than angry and combative. I need to be smart. With the restraints gone, I have a chance of escaping. Maybe, if I play along, I can get out of here and leave this world behind once and for all.
Feeling slightly unsteady on my feet, I sink onto the chair. The maid smoothly maneuvers the dress out of my way so that I’m not sitting on it. I’ve noticed that, every time she’s mentioned Kian, it’s with an almost reverent tone. And since I the plan is to lull her into a false sense of security, I decide to hit two birds with one stone.
“What’s your name?”
“Aisling.”
“Aisling,” I repeat. “That’s an interesting name.”
“It’s an old Irish name,” she explains. “A family name, too. It was my mother’s middle name and my gran’s first name. I kept the tradition alive and named my daughter Aisling, too.”
“That’s beautiful.”
She gives me a tight smile. I sense a deeper story there. One I want to coax out of her. “How did you come to work here?” I ask, hoping the question doesn’t put her off.
“I’ve drawn you a bath,” she demurs in a good-natured tone. “How about I talk while you soak?”
“You’ve drawn me a bath?” I repeat, dumbfounded.
She smiles. “Trust me. You’ll love it.”
I want to refuse, but the idea of soaking in a hot tub is just too tempting to resist. So I follow her into the bathroom. Sure enough, the tub is good to go. I can see a thin veneer of steam rising over the water and a couple of bottles of open bath salts perched on the broad porcelain ledge.
I start to remove my clothes and Aisling comes up behind me, helping me out of everything deftly. It’s infuriating to admit, but I actually need her help. It’s like my limbs are so rusty from disuse that I’ve forgotten how to move them.
She helps me into the tub with surprisingly strong hands. The moment I find a comfortable position, she twists a nozzle off to the side and the water starts bubbling and pulsing around my aching bones.
“Whoa,” I breathe.
Aisling just smiles politely though and pours in a few more bath salts with a delicate hand.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence. “You were about to tell me how you came to work here.”
“It’s a long story, really,” she starts.
“Isn’t everyone’s?”
“You may have a point there,” she laughs.
As she bends, I notice the chain hanging around her neck. A pendant with initials on it. “That’s pretty,” I tell her.
Her fingers curl around the pendant and then she stuffs it back into her blouse. Her expression changes. Becomes more subdued, more hesitant.
“Sorry, have I said something wrong…?”
“No, no, it’s okay,” she says quickly. “I just… It’s hard for me to talk about my daughter.”