Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Isabella
How much did I have to drink last night?
Too much, judging by the pounding in my head. Slowly raising one eyelid, I groan when the light pierces my eyeball like a dozen sharp needles stabbing me in the face.
Dragging my covers up over my head, I burrow back down into my mattress. I can’t even remember the last time I had a hangover this bad. Worse, I don’t remember a single detail of the night before after I got home. Still hiding under the covers, I try to piece together my memories.
Leaving work. Meeting with Typhon. Going home, feeling like someone was watching me. A few shots of whiskey before bed and then… nothing.
What the hell came after the whiskey? There’s no way that tiny bit of alcohol caused me to black out.
Daddy’s here.
I don’t recognize the voice in my head. Did I imagine it? Shit. Am I going crazy? As far as I know, schizophrenia doesn't run in my family but there's a first time for everything, and it would be just my luck to be the one to draw that particular card.
Flashes of memory flicker through my mind, but try as I may, I can’t piece them together. Tears fill my eyes as my heart constricts in my chest.
What the hell happened to me last night? Was I drugged, somehow? But no, that’s impossible, I didn’t go out to drink. Unless someone snuck into my apartment to drug my whiskey.
But that’s crazy.
Right?
Rise and shine, little doll.
There’s that voice again. But stronger now, almost like he’s actually in the room with me.
Panic closes like a vice around my chest and I throw the covers off, scrambling to the far edge of my bed as I eye the intruder standing over me. For a moment, awe overtakes my fear. The man standing beside my bed is gorgeous, in a sexy, distinguished, older guy kind of way, and the gentle smile on his face momentarily calms my nerves.
Then I remember he’s in my apartment. In my bedroom.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
The tender smile disappears, replaced by a severe frown that makes my stomach clench. “Little girls don’t use such naughty language, Isabella.”
A cold sweat breaks out across my brow. “How the hell do you know my name?”
“I know everything about you, little doll. Now, be a good girl and let Daddy help you out of your crib.”
Daddy’s right here. Daddy’s got you. There’s no doubt now it’s the same voice from my fractured memories. “You’re not my father.”
I mean for the words to come out confident, strong. Instead they leave my lips as nothing more than a scared whisper.
To my surprise, the man only laughs, a low, deep chuckle that has my skin crawling in response. “No, no I am not, little doll. But I am your Daddy. Are you going to be a good girl for me or will I have to punish you?”
Punish me? I must still be sleeping because there’s no way this isn’t some fucked-up dream.
In the event it’s not, I need help. Opening my mouth, I let out the loudest, most ear-piercing scream I can manage.
“Help! Help, someone! Ariel!”
Again, my intruder simply chuckles. “Ariel isn’t here. Even if she was, she wouldn’t be able to hear you. The walls are very thick.”
For the first time, I pause and take in my surroundings. I am not, as I assumed, in my bedroom. The room I’m in could easily fit my entire apartment inside it. Paintings of ballerinas in various poses hang on pale-green walls, and there’s a large dollhouse along one wall, as well as a rocking horse more than large enough for an adult and so many other toys I can’t even begin to catalogue them.
Terror grips me as I force my gaze back to the man in front of me. “Where the fuck am I?” I whisper, pulling back as far as I’m able. Wooden slats press against my back, and it’s only then that I realize I’m not in any normal bed.
I’m in a giant fucking crib.
* * *
Gideon
Poor little doll. She looks utterly terrified, backed into a corner like some kind of prey. I swear I can smell her fear, pumping off her in waves.
And it’s delicious .
But as much as I’m enjoying this moment of initial awareness, it will never do for my Little girl to think she can get away with using such language here on the island. So I fix my expression into stern lines as I reach for her. “You’re in your new home, little doll. And first things first, we should get you used to the rules of your new home.”
Hooking my hands beneath her armpits, I lift her from the crib. Isabella immediately wraps her long, lean legs around me, apparently more worried about falling than about the strange man carrying her to the bathroom, which I find both adorable and encouraging.
“Please take me home. My family doesn’t have any money. Nobody’s going to pay for me.”
Fear makes her voice small, almost childlike, and it melts my heart to hear her slipping into that headspace already. “I don’t want a ransom.”
“Then what do you want?”
Setting her down in front of the toilet, I cup her cheek in my hand, brushing at a stray tear with my thumb. “You, my little doll. I only want you.”
Her tears fall harder now, faster, streaming down her cheeks as she chokes on a sob. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’m horrible with faces, I won’t even remember what you look like when I leave, I swear. I just want to go home.”
“But you are home, Isabella. I know it probably doesn’t feel like home just yet, but it will soon, I promise.”
Staring at me with those wide, doe-like eyes, she seems to scan my face and I swear I can see the wheels turning in her mind as the silence stretches between us.
What does she see, I wonder? A monster, likely, and I wouldn't blame her one bit if she begged or cried or screamed some more in an attempt to escape my clutches.
But she does none of those things. After several long moments of studying me, she nods slowly. “I-I understand.”
My heart swells to the point of bursting at her quiet acceptance. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm aware her surrender was far too quick, too effortless. It’s quite likely my Little one is up to something, and the easy capitulation is nothing more than an act. But her sweet voice tugs at my heartstrings and for now, at least, I'm willing to believe her. “That’s my good girl. Now, let's get you on the potty and into the tub.”
When I reach for the snap on her onesie, she bats my hand away, her cheeks flaming as she takes a step backward. “I can use the bathroom myself.”
“Isabella Grace. That was very naughty.” Taking her hand, I lightly tap her knuckles, a gentle reminder to keep her hands to herself. But from the way her face falls, fresh tears welling in her eyes as her bottom lip trembles, one would think I’d done far worse than simply popping her on the hand.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice so quiet I barely hear the apology.
“It’s already forgiven, my little doll. Now, are you going to let Daddy undress you so you can potty?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say ‘Yes, Daddy’.”
Her bottom lip firms up, and a hint of defiance flashes in her eyes. But it fades almost immediately as her shoulders slump forward. “Yes, Daddy.”
Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer joy of hearing my Little girl calling me Daddy for the first time. I’d thought having my nieces around, referring to me as Uncle Gideon would help, but it’s nothing compared to hearing Daddy from my sweet little doll’s perfect mouth.
“Such a good girl,” I praise her as I reach again for the snap on her onesie. This time she doesn’t move, barely even breathes, as I unsnap it and pull the pretty green material up to her hips.
Isabella looks down, her mouth falling open in shock at what’s beneath her onesie. “Is that… is that a diaper ?”
“It is. You’ll learn to use it soon enough, but for this morning you can use the potty like a big girl.”
“I don’t want to use a diaper. Please don’t make me.”
So polite, even under what are very distressing circumstances. “Don’t worry yourself about it, little doll.” Popping open the clasps on her diaper, I strip it from her and toss it in the diaper bin. Even though it hasn’t been used, she’ll need a fresh clean one for the rest of the day.
With that taken care of, I once again pick her up and lift her onto the toilet. Isabella grips the seat, eyes wide in her pale face as she looks up at me, her plea clear in her eyes.
“May I have some privacy, please, Daddy?”
She even remembered to call me Daddy. What a precious little thing. “No, little one, I’m sorry. Daddy needs to stay with you.”
“But it’s embarrassing.” Just like before, her bottom lip trembles, and I’m almost tempted to give in just to save her the distress.
As Maxwell would say, however, it’s important to begin as I mean to go on. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed by, Isabella. You have nothing to hide from your Daddy.”
She sighs quietly, scrunching her eyes closed in the most adorable expression I’ve ever seen. A moment later, the sound of her bladder releasing into the toilet fills the room, and red blooms on her cheeks.
“Do you need to poop, little one?”
“Oh my god,” she groans, covering her face. “No! I don’t need to poop!”
“All right. Stand up so Daddy can wipe you.”
“I can wipe myself!”
“Isabella.”
I put enough steel behind her name to ensure she recognizes it for what it is. A warning that she can either submit or be punished.
Luckily for her, she heeds the warning and slowly rises to her feet. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I grab some toilet paper and clean her up, flushing the toilet when it’s all said and done.
“There, now. That wasn’t so bad, was it, little doll?”
Sniffling loudly, she nods, her expression full of misery when she looks up at me. “It was awful! Please don’t make me do that again!”
There are far more embarrassing fates awaiting her here on the island, but I don’t want to overwhelm her, so I keep that thought to myself. Perhaps it’s a good thing Doctor D is away at a medical conference and won’t return until tomorrow. Usually we aim to get our Little girls examined as soon as possible once they’ve arrived on the island, but it will be good for Isabella to get settled in a bit before she’s put through Doctor D’s rigorous examinations.
Without answering her, I lead her over to the tub, which has been filling with water since before I woke her this morning. It’s large and deep, but it’s nearly full now so I strip her onesie from her and help her into the warm water.
She doesn’t sink into the lavender-scented bath the way I’d hoped, but instead sits with her knees pulled up to her chest.
Poor Little girl. Shucking off my jacket, I roll my sleeves to my elbows and kneel beside the tub. “Would you like something to play with, little doll?”
“No. I want to go home .”
“This is your home, Isabella.”
“No!” Lifting her head, she glares at me, and despite the fierce expression on her face I can’t help but think how absolutely adorable she looks with her cheeks flushed red and her lip pushed out in a pronounced pout. “I want to go back to my home. My apartment. In New York. I have a job and the ballet and-and-and?—”
She won’t ever be returning to New York. But again I’m worried that knowledge might be her breaking point, so I reach into the toy box beside the tub and examine the selections. Maxwell’s Little girl, Victoria, has a preference for mermaids. Perhaps Isabella would like those as well.
Pulling three from the box, along with the pirate ship Victoria insists all mermaids need, I drop them in the tub in front of Isabella.
But instead of playing with them, she shoves the mermaids and the ship away from her, the action causing a large enough wave that it soaks through my carefully pressed white dress shirt.
And then the little brat has the nerve to laugh.
Her sweet, high giggles fill the room, and I’m almost tempted to laugh along with her. But that would be setting a poor example for my Little one, so instead I fix her with a stern glare. “That was very naughty, Isabella. If you splash Daddy again, I’ll have to punish you.”
Tilting her head to the side, Isabella studies me. Again, it's as though I can actually see the wheels turning in her mind as she weighs whether it’s worth the risk.
I watch, my eyes narrowing as she cups her hand in the water, and sends another large wave straight at me.
Closing my eyes, I wipe at the water dripping down my face. “All right, little girl. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”