CARINA
When I hear a knock on the door for the third time this morning, I pull the cord on my nightgown tighter and brace myself for whatever else Tomás has planned for me.
I’ve already eaten alone on the sprawling balcony after the maid wheeled in a trolley laden with exotic fruit, fresh pomegranate juice, and a pot of the richest coffee I’ve ever tasted.
An hour or so after, another rap on the door brought a second maid who’d moved quietly and made a beeline for the outdoor jacuzzi. She’d popped open a bottle of champagne, poured a gold leaf flute half full and switched on violent bubbles inside the tub big enough for four adults.
I’d sat in the soothing warmth, submerged to my chin until my fingers wrinkled. The powerful underwater jets massaged my stiff limbs and soothed the fiery red welts on my ass. It had given me headspace to think about last night and how he took control with commands and sadism, only to kiss me the way he did—with delicate compassion.
A distorted illusion to suggest he cared how torn up and confused I was, that he felt it too.
I open the door on the third rap. “Miss. Can you follow me, please?” A willowy male dressed in a black suit takes a step back, beckoning me with his eyebrows. “The lady of the house wishes to speak with you.”
What could Teresa Souza possibly want to speak to me about? “I’m not dressed. Can you give me a second to change?” I ask, ruffling my hair in an attempt to unstick the damp tips.
“That won’t be necessary. Please, come this way.” He moves with long strides, expecting me to follow, which I do.
It’s just the two of us strolling along a carpeted landing, moving far away from the safety of Tomás’ suite. There’s a change in atmosphere when we turn right at the end of the long corridor and enter a different wing. It’s warmer and scented with a familiar lavender essence. Draping potted plants sit on ornate stands lining the artistically papered walls at intervals and twinkly glass lanterns dangle overhead.
The man servant knocks once and pushes a set of double doors inwards, revealing dark green walls, an emerald green velvet couch, and billowing gold curtains caught between the wild outdoors and the sumptuous indoors.
“Come in, child,” Teresa calls to me, but I don't see her anywhere.
The doors close behind me and I’m left by the entrance, barefoot and curious.
“Oh good, you're not dressed yet.” She walks out from behind a freestanding screen at the far end of the room, its wooden panels stenciled with prancing tigers. “Tomás said you’d like to wear something different for the reception this evening. He’ll talk business for a few hours this afternoon, and then he expects you to attend.”
Her flowy, floor-length gown catches in the breeze as she glides toward a quirky mirrored drinks’ cabinet woven with floral buds, stacked with crystal tumblers and bottles of golden liquor. She’s every bit a Souza queen in her own right, down to her elegant gestures and expressionless poise. I’m in awe of her finesse and how she appears completely unfazed by my presence in her private quarters.
“Tequila?” She looks over at me, a defined brow cocked. “To celebrate this unforgettable day.”
I know she’s referring to her son taking her husband's throne, so I graciously accept. “Yes, thank you.”
She lines up two short glasses and pours. “Tomás brought my husband’s ring to me this morning. Apparently, I have you to thank for that.” Her tinted lashes bat slowly, taking in my natural appearance in leisurely sweeps. “My gift to you is a vintage designer dress from my personal collection. It’s one I’ve never worn before.” A gust of air shoots down her nose. “A woman can never have too many dresses. The one I have in mind will suit your complexion perfectly.”
Lifting the drinks, she catches my eye and offers me one. I move closer to accept it, cautiously meeting her toe to toe. “Salud.” I smile, taking the tequila from her diamond encrusted fingers where black polished fingernails uncurl like talons.
“Salud, sweet child.” Teresa sips, her gaze fixed on my face. “My son appears to like you.” She adds over the rim of her glass.
I almost spill the liquor when my hand shakes. “Did he tell you that himself?” My brow furrows and my instincts sharpen.
She bends closer, so I can see the circle of viridian green fluctuate as her pupils dilate. “A mother can sense these things. I’m very close with my boys. It’s clear to me you’ve made yourself indispensable.”
The way her head leans sideways to assess me sends a shiver of childlike apprehension right through me. I’ve been judged on my appearance too many times. Mentally abused and bullied for being a misfit. If this woman claims I’m not good enough for her beloved son, I’d likely smash the glass and leave. And something tells me she brought me here to let me know that very detail.
In her silent speculation, I muster the courage to comment. “He’s paying me to accompany him. That’s all. There’s no emotion involved in our arrangement. Or underhanded tactics.” I confirm. “Hebrought me here. I would have happily gone home to my family.”
Her low chuckle isn’t forced, but it isn't natural either. “Oh child, that man has never paid for a woman in his life, nor has he brought one home to meet his family.” She finishes her tequila, puts the glass down, and saunters across the room to her walk-in wardrobe, where she disappears.
He didn’t invite me here as a guest. Nor was it his intention to introduce me to the Souzas. I’m simply an outlet for his demons, that is all.
In the minutes of hush, I tip the liquor into my mouth and swallow, fully embracing the sordid memory of it trickling from the crown of his dick down my throat. Somehow it tasted better then. Smoother. Sharper. Sinful.
Teresa’s singsong voice snaps my mind back into the room. “This is definitely the right one for you.” She holds up a stunning sequined dress, the texture fluid, like it’s made from liquid gold, and carries it to the four-poster bed where she hooks the hanger on the nearest post.
A sweetened breeze cools the blazing heat of my skin and agitates my air-drying hair. I cover the silk floor covering and halt before the most exquisite dress I’ve ever seen. Its dreamlike material hangs with a precise hourglass structure. Gliding my fingertips from the low-cut neckline to the narrow waist, I find a risqué thigh slit that wouldn’t leave much to the imagination.
His mother stares at me, her arms folded, the tips of her sable hair skimming fixed shoulders. “Do you like him too, Carina?”