10. Maeve
10
MAEVE
A fter the last attempt to climb out the window, Ronan posted a man outside his bedroom window. Now I know that isn't an option anymore, at least not until I earn his trust. I sit on his bed and stare at the window in disgust. The television plays a show as background noise, but I'm not watching it. I was glued to the soap operas earlier, but the early evening sitcoms don't hold my interest, and I switched the news off after a story about the missing surgeon came on. I don't like seeing my face on the TV screen for that.
My body feels tired and weak. I know it's from lack of physical activity and poor diet, but it doesn't make me feel better. My normal exercise routine has been replaced by sleeping in and watching shows. And while Ronan offers me a wide selection of delicious food, I have no appetite. I can't stand the idea of eating food when I'm so angry about being kept here against my will.
The lock clicks, and I assume it's Ronan here to badger me about something else. I stiffen and remember how he forced me to examine his friend's stump of an arm. There was no saving the hand, since no one knew where it was. I'll be surprised if it doesn't come FedEx at some point. That's the sort of thing people like him do, right? Cut off hands and mail them out as warnings…
I tense as the door swings open and the man I've come to know as Aiden walks in. He's carrying a garment bag in one hand and a shoebox in the other. His shoulders are squared, but his face looks calm and approachable. I wonder what he's doing as he drapes the dress bag over the foot of the unmade bed and sets the shoe box on the floor.
"Ronan would like the pleasure of your company this evening for dinner. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to escort you to the dining room." He says it so pleasantly, as if he's a butler and not a taskmaster. I still cringe at his words.
Ronan hasn't spent any time with me for weeks, since we fucked that night. He comes in late, and I feel the bed shake as he slides under the covers. Sometimes, he covers me with a blanket, which is a kind gesture he probably thinks I don't know he does. If any of his men knew he had even that much compassion, he'd be laughed off the face of the planet. I pretend to sleep to spare myself the misery of having to look him in the eye knowing he will never let me go.
"What if I don't want to go?" I curl my legs up and hug them to my chest and eye him as he straightens. He's the only man in this house who looks at me with sympathy, other than Ronan. They're a lot alike, which makes me wonder if they're brothers or if Ronan's leadership is just that influential to him.
"I'm not sure it was an option, Dr. Walsh." That's something else that's changed.
At first, the men called me all manner of nasty names and crude slurs. Ronan put a stop to it after we screwed, or at least I think it was him. I didn't say a thing in my defense, but suddenly, they all call me Dr. Walsh—except Ronan, who on the off chance that he speaks to me calls me Maeve.
"Well, tell him I'm not coming." I look away, turning to the TV to a program I don't even recognize, and I hear him chuckle.
"I'll be back to get you. I advise you to dress for dinner. I once saw a man be forced to strip naked to dine when he wore jeans instead of a suit…" His comment hangs in the air as he leaves, locking the door behind himself. I wonder what Ronan would do if I really didn't put on whatever's in that bag.
It's just like him to think he can casually invite me to dinner and expect me to dress up for him after he stole me right out of my home. I'm not interested in dining with him, let alone talking to him, not when he can't be civil and listen to my point of view.
I glare at the door, then at the garment bag. They didn't do an awful job of picking clothing out for me. There had to be a woman on staff or a wife of one of his family members helping them to have selected me a wardrobe I very much enjoy. Once I put on that first pair of jeans and sweater, they came back with boxes full of things that were perfect. I resented them at first, but at least I'm clothed and not naked.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and I crawl across the bed and pick up the shoe box. I never told them my size, but these are a size seven, which is perfect, actually. I'm not sure how they figured it out, either, because I came here barefoot and haven't worn shoes in weeks. And when I lift the lid off the box and see the most beautiful sparkly heels, I'm shocked. It makes me even more curious to see what's inside the bag.
With a furtive glance at the door and feeling a bit of shame toward myself for even caring, I slide the bag closer to myself and pull the zipper down. The black plastic crackles as the zipper opens to reveal a stunning blue sequined dress with off the shoulder sleeves and a beautiful plunging neckline. It had to have cost a fortune.
I reach for the tag and see that it's designer, maybe couture. I can't believe what I'm seeing. Ronan bought this dress for me to have dinner with him in his own dining room? And what does he think I'll be giving him in return?
At first I scoff, disgusted… But then a plan begins to formulate. If he wants me in this dress, it might mean he's taken a special interest in me other than just forcing me to stay in his home to doctor his men. The thought had occurred to me before, the night we had sex, but then he never made another advance on me, so I dismissed it. But now I'm thinking I can use that.
I pull the dress out of the bag and hurry to the mirror, holding it up in front of my body. It looks to be the perfect size, and the front of the gown has a slit that looks like it will expose my entire right leg. I grin at myself as the plan comes into focus. I'll get him wasted, encourage him to drink more and more, and when he passes out, I'll escape.
When Aiden comes to collect me, I'm ready. The dress fits me like a glove, and the shoes look amazing with it. I've twisted my hair into an updo, and with no makeup to put on, I've pinched my cheeks for rouge. I follow Aiden down the long, winding hallway toward the clatter of pots and pans I'm assuming is coming from the kitchen, and he opens a swinging door for me. I walk in, and Ronan, dressed in a sharp black suit, stands from his place at the head of the table.
"Welcome," he says, and he gestures. The place to his right is set, and the rest of the table remains empty, populated only by floral arrangements and a table runner.
I swallow nervously, hoping my plan works. There's a bottle of wine being chilled and a few more set to the side on a cart near the fireplace. I make a mental note of it as I walk toward him and he pulls my chair out.
"Thank you," I say, smiling politely. I just have to keep up this act and get him drinking. And now I have shoes to wear when I run. They'll be a bitch, but it's better than barefoot.
"Wine?" he asks, and I nod. I press my lips together, forgetting I have no lipstick, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He fills both my glass and his own, and then he puts the bottle back in the ice bucket and sits down.
There are silver domed lids over our plates, which he removes and sets to the side, and the sight of a delicious meatloaf, roast potatoes, and carrots makes my mouth water. The scent is divine, but I can't let myself be too wooed or distracted by this. I can't let him get to me.
"What's the special occasion?" I ask him, trying to act like my normal suspicious and angsty self. If he sees me being relaxed, he may know something's up. I admit I do feel calmer now that I have this plan. It's like all my anger and nerves melted away just to allow me to put on this act. I want out of here.
"No special occasion…." He hums for a second, a low note, and then says, "Or perhaps it's a thank you. For saving my life." Ronan takes his black cloth napkin and snaps it out, then drapes it over his lap.
"Men like you actually say thank you?" I say snarkily, and I don't even look at his face for his reaction.
"You'd be surprised," he says with a chuckle, and for some reason, I find myself smiling.
I dig into the food and find that it's absolutely as delicious as it smells and looks. The cooks here are fantastic, like fine dining at a five-star restaurant. I'm impressed, but not enough so to change my mind about wanting to go home. I can order takeout that's just as good as this.
When the wine starts flowing and the meal is almost finished, I start to loosen up a bit more. Ronan asks me about my job at the hospital, and I explain to him in very pained detail how important I am. Anything I can do to bolster my own importance and reputation may just show him why I need to go home. He listens intently and adds an appropriate comment or smile at the right moments. Then he changes the subject entirely.
"And what sort of things do you do for fun?" His dazzling eyes bore through me. I feel the familiar swirl of alcohol and warmth in my face. He's being so different, so human.
"Well, I guess I could say I work out. I read. I like music…" I can't think straight with the wine in my system. I know I like other things, but right now, I can't remember why I am even telling him these things. I'm supposed to be getting him drunk, but I think I may have overdone it.
"Would you like me to bring you books and a radio? I could have my men set up a home gym." He smiles softly as he says these things and brings his third glass of wine to his lips to drink.
I glance at mine, but my vision is blurred. I'm hazy. I drank too much, and after weeks of hardly eating, it's hitting me really hard. I swallow hard, and my eyes meander back up to his face as he tilts his head.
"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, and he reaches out to touch my cheek with the back of his hand.
"I think I'm drunk," I tell him, and I hiccup. My words are slurred. I'm a wreck. I should be ashamed of myself. I was enjoying his company so much and the wine a little too much, and I lost track of why I even joined him for dinner.
"Let me help you to bed," he says, and he lays my napkin across my plate. As he stands, I wince and glare at him.
"What are you going to do? Take advantage of me now?" I wonder if he can even understand what I'm saying. My insult doesn't seem to faze him.
Ronan leans down and wraps his arms around my body, cradling me as he effortlessly lifts me off the chair. "Did you drug me?" I slur, and he says nothing.
I fully expect that he will take me to his lair and pin me down for allowing myself to be so weak. I'm a fool. He was supposed to be the one passing out, and I was supposed to get out of here.
When we get to his room, he sets me on the foot of the bed, then gently removes my shoes, even as I wrestle to do it myself. He unzips the dress and peels it off of me despite my clumsy protest, and then he lifts me up again and lays me on the mattress with my head on my pillow.
He doesn't climb onto the bed immediately. He's not pawing at me or demanding sex. He's not even looking at my body, naked except for my panties.
He strips down to his boxers, shuts off the light, then climbs into bed and pulls the covers up over us. It's shocking. I'm drunk and vulnerable. I hatefully attacked him with accusations, and he acts like a gentleman and allows me to sleep?
My mind might be hazy, but I'm not going to forget this moment. Especially when he curls himself around me and kisses the back of my shoulder and says, "Goodnight, Maeve. Sleep well.”