Chapter 7
My legs feel weak. Even though I knew what the auction meant, hearing him say I’d have to have sex with someone—maybe tonight, against my will—drains every ounce of mental strength I have.
My God, how am I going to escape? And what if the man I’m sold to turns out to be even worse than Angelo and Fiorello?
“I can see you’re worried, my girl. Don’t be. He’ll be good to you, or he’ll answer to me afterward.”
I allow him to hug me, trying to focus on anything other than how utterly immoral he is.
A man who swears he’s madly in love with me doesn’t hesitate to hand me over to another in order to achieve his goals?
When he first told me one of his acquaintances would “bid” for me at the auction, I actually believed that, considering how territorial he’s always been, he would never let another man touch me.
I feel like an idiot for thinking this bastard might have some shred of honor.
“And what if he doesn’t place the highest bid?” I ask, not even sure which would be worse: going with Fiorello’s supposed friend, or with a total stranger.
Either way, I’ll have to escape, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.
“There won’t be a higher bid. I promise,” he says.
“How can you be so sure?”
He steps back, holding my face in his hands. “You’re beautiful, my girl, but you’re a little too old for the sex-doll market. Not every man is willing to take a woman around thirty.”
Of course not. Perverts prefer terrified, defenseless little girls.
“I’m relieved to know that,” I say, forcing a smile. “So, after this, we’ll only see each other again in a month?”
The idiot interprets my question the way he wants, of course.
“Why do you ask? Will you miss me? Does the idea of being apart for so long make you sad?”
“Very much. But I trust you, Fiorello. I know you’d never let anyone hurt me, because I’m yours.”
He bends down to whisper in my ear, “Never, my love. Like I said before, he’ll be good to you. The month will pass quickly. When it’s over, instead of coming back here, we’ll run away together.”
“Aren’t you afraid they’ll hear us? Today it occurred to me we might be on camera.”
“I’m in charge of the cameras. Angelo trusts me completely.
Don’t worry, every time I come in here, I delete the footage from my phone afterward.
Tonight will be the only exception. Watching the video of you getting dressed will be my comfort for this next month,” he says, confirming what I had already suspected.
I push a wave of vulnerability deep down. I can’t afford fear now. “Yes, use it so you won’t forget me.”
“Impossible to forget you, my Elodie. You’re mine. I’ve memorized every feature of your perfect face and body. Enough talking, now. I’m spoiling you. Do a good job tonight, and prove to me I was right in choosing you as my future wife.”
One step after another.
It’s not the impossibly high heels that make me afraid of stumbling on the thick, carpeted runway, it’s the fear itself.
Finally, after counting fifty-three steps in my head, I reach a stage.
The audience is cloaked in darkness. I can’t see the men I imagine sitting there, but I stand completely exposed to their gazes.
Never in my life have I felt terror like this, and that’s saying something, considering where I come from.
There’s nowhere to run. I am completely at the mercy of these monsters. Apparently, I overestimated my strength and courage.
I feel like crying, and for the first time, shamefully, I want to be saved.
Since fleeing my father’s farm, I’ve always been proud of never letting anyone dictate my destiny. But today, I wouldn’t mind a knight in shining armor carrying me far away from here.
I don’t hear what the auctioneer is saying, but I flinch when the same woman who dressed me walks up and unties the sash on my robe, letting it fall to the ground.
I’ve never been shy. I’m my mother’s daughter. I’ve always looked people in the eye and never been ashamed of my body, but right now, I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.
I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
I fix my gaze on the floor, praying silently for God to deliver me.
Any chance You give me, Lord, I’ll fight tooth and nail for my freedom.
The room lights up behind me, and when I glance around, giant screens come to life. All of them display a close-up of my face.
My golden eyes—the same ones my father once claimed were the Devil’s weapon, created to seduce men the way my mother had seduced him—are huge and expressive.
The first bid is called, and I’m stunned by the number.
One hundred thousand dollars.
Jesus, who are these people?
Despite my nerves, I might laugh if the situation were different.
Do they really think someone will pay that much just to keep me for a month?
I barely recover from the thought before someone raises it to two hundred fifty thousand.
For the first time, I understand this is real, but with that comes another certainty: There are no gentlemen watching me. Normal men don’t buy women; they win them. The ones here don’t want a companion or even a prostitute to fulfill their fantasies.
They want a slave.
Someone who won’t be allowed to have a will. Someone they’ll never respect.
They don’t see the women they purchase as people.
They’re objects.
Sex toys.