28. Belle
Belle
I’m about to take a fat nap. Two generously poured cups of wine, by yours truly, and I’ve lost the buzzing headache and am ready to chase my numbness into slumber. I had to stop thinking about the Pans, their occupancy in my brain growing daily. I can’t have them both.
No, what’s wrong with me?
I can’t have them at all.
I could have dealt with my problems, self-therapized myself to set my mind straight, but drinking seemed easier, and it was, until my bedroom door swings open, and Julie and Clarette enter, curtsying. “M’lady, you’ve been summoned to dinner,” says Julie.
Shit.
“Dinner?” I sit up in bed, turning to the open window, my only indicator of time. Sure enough, the sun sits low, the sky a melted orange creamsicle. I planned to skip the meal entirely, but now that she mentions it, my stomach grumbles. But the dread is louder. “Who summoned me?”
“Sir, Peter.”
My chest expands in relief. Lord Pan could return any day now.
I keep forgetting until the threat stares me in the face.
Will he know that Peter might have won his challenge, potentially claiming my womb?
Will that satisfy him to leave me alone?
I doubt it. His sons have changed since he left, especially Rourke.
He won’t be pleased to find his beastly boy far more tamed under my gaze, and I surmise I’ll take the brunt of his fury.
But who am I kidding? Just because Rourke seems absolutely smitten with me doesn’t mean he won’t return to his violent ways once his father comes home.
I’ve known Rourke for weeks. Pan has known him for his lifetime—reared him up.
My blood may be powerful, but how far can it go to change a soul forever?
Wait, no. Why is my greatest concern how I’ll be treated upon the Lord’s return?
It should be that my possibility of escaping decreases once the most feared of my captors stands in my way.
Have I already given up hope? I’m so close, though.
I can feel it. But why am I having trouble reaching out to grasp it?
“We must quickly get you ready,” Clarette says as the two women direct me toward the mirror at the corner of my room. Julie unbuttons the front of my dress, and Clarette undoes the pins I put in my hair this morning.
This is the first time I’ve seen these two in a while. My handmaids have consisted of a rotation of women who keep their shaky glances low and their conversations short.
“Where is Rosalia?” I ask, hopeful they won’t respond with an, “I don’t know,” like the rest of the maids.
“She was called to the country estate,” replies Clarette, her green eyes catching mine in the mirror as she braids a small section of my hair.
“When is she coming back?”
Julie sighs while wrapping me in a beaded corset. “We don’t know.”
Clarette moves to my front, whispering as she twirls the baby hairs framing my face around her fingers. “Lord Pan needed more hands to help his growing guest list. There’s an uprising. He has called all his generals to this country estate to strategize.”
“There’s always an uprising,” Julie says with a groan. “It will be squashed as quickly as it’s started.”
“I’ve heard this one is different. The land is dying, people are more determined for change.”
Julie pulls the cord around my waist, causing me to gasp for breath. “Watch your mouth. You’re lucky you’re able to even utter those words. If someone hears you, we’ll be as mute as the scullery maid.”
Damn, I’m not sober enough for this conversation.
Shit sounds bad, but this whole place is bad, so it doesn’t interest me much.
I just need my rosy-cheeked handmaid back.
“Do either of you know anything about the books in the library?” Perhaps Rosalia isn’t the only one who can help me, even if I miss her for more than her assistance in our escape.
The two are quiet for a moment. Julie fluffs the sheer ruffles lining my low-cut neckline. Clarette sticks pearl pins in my hair. Neither of them budges, but finally Julie stands straight, dabbing my lips with rouge. “We’re not allowed in there.”
“Why not?” I already know, of course.
Clarette answers this time. “Staff aren’t privy to that information.”
It’s a fine enough answer, but their tense disposition tells me they know just as much as Rosalia, but for some reason can’t tell me more.
Or they don’t want to. Their black metallic collars glint from the last flickers of light seeping through the open window.
They’re as trapped as the rest of us, but sometimes prisoners find new loyalties.
I’ve only been here for a short time, and I’m fucking my captors.
I need to be wary of what I disclose to these ladies.
Rosalia’s guidance is still my best bet for escaping.
I’ll ask Peter when she’s coming back at dinner.
He must know. It will make me feel better about having a meal with him instead of planning his murder.
“You look lovely.” Julie steps out of the view of the mirror so I can inspect myself.
“I haven’t seen this dress before,” I say, twirling the fine green fabric.
It’s so beautiful—much more flashy than my usually spectacular dresses.
Its luxuries like these make it even more difficult to contemplate leaving this place and returning to Earth—this and orgasms. The orgasms are going to be a bummer to give up.
“Sir Peter had it made for you yesterday.”
“It was made yesterday?”
Clarette smiles. “This is the third one. He ordered the other two to be burned.”
“Why?”
“I heard from the seamstresses that he said they were too plain for a beauty such as yours.”
My cheeks heat. “Must have been distorted in the rumor mill. He would never say something so kind. He probably said something like, she needs a dress to distract from her insufferable mouth.”
Julie smirks. “Now that you mention it, that could have been what I heard.”
I cluck my lips and chuckle. I guess I like these bitches.
Clarette places her hands on my shoulders. “Enough gawking. Let’s get you to dinner.”
The ladies lead me through the manor, my head still spinning from the wine.
Peter hasn’t called me to dinner before.
It makes me wish I had another glass. Last time I saw him, he was balls-deep inside of me.
Perhaps he wants to have a meal with me to show his appreciation. It’s the least he can do, honestly.
It’s funny—how short I’ve known Peter—and still, when the maids open the door, and I catch his gaze from the other side of the dining room, I sense the malice.
I’ve only seen this layer of him while he beat up the man in his study.
Having it directed my way throws me off kilter.
The ladies close the doors behind me, and I’m trapped with the beast.
“Hello,” he says, not moving, his shoulders high and hands clenching the wood surface. His emerald eyes shine like extraterrestrial orbs amid the dark circles closing them in. His auburn hair sits wildly.
“Hello, there,” I reply, unable to hide the nerves in my voice. I hiccup. Damned wine.
“Please sit.” He motions to the seat in front of him, a place setting already laid out.
“Erm, okay.” I do as I’m told. I’m here for dinner, after all.
He doesn’t take his gaze off me, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped. Servants fill both of our plates. They work quickly. I nearly miss them placing another place-setting beside me. “Is someone joining us?”
He takes a bite of red meat, not answering. On cue, the doors open behind me. I turn to find Rourke staring at his brother instead of me.
“Rourke, so glad you could join us. Please take a seat next to our lovely, Belle.”
Rourke’s jaw twitches, and it takes him some sticky moments before he pulls out the chair beside me, scratching the large piece of furniture against the floor.
I hiccup again and cover my mouth. The last time I was in the presence of both Pans, we were in the library, and I told them to leave me alone. And then immediately fucked both of them back to back. This can’t be good. Perhaps if I weren’t buzzed, I’d be more fearful.
“Why am I here?” Rourke asks, stabbing his fork in a piece of cooked meat immediately after the servant places it down.
“We can’t share a meal together? We’re brothers, after all. Besides, it seems that we’re used to sharing.”
I press myself up from the table. “Alright, I think I’ll go.”
Peter interrupts my attempted exit. “No, please stay.” He talks around a bite of food. “You look so lovely in the dress I had made for you. Doesn’t she look lovely, Rourke?”
He doesn’t respond, only stares ahead at Peter.
Peter protrudes his lower lip. “Aw. Feeling bashful now? You two seemed rather comfortable rolling around in the courtyard yesterday.”
“Peter…” I start, but he interrupts, not looking at me.
“It was really such a sweet kiss you two shared. But I couldn’t help wondering if remnants of my cum still lined the inside of her cunt while you stuck your tongue down her throat.”
Rourke barges to his feet. “How about I rip your tongue out of your mouth?”
Peter doesn’t seem fazed. “Don’t do that, I’m sure Belle would be disappointed to find I can’t pleasure her with one of my most skilled members.”
Rourke jumps across the table, reaching for Peter’s collar and pulling him over the freshly set meal to his snarl, nearly chomping off the tip of his nose.
“Wait! Would you two stop it!” I yell, climbing on the table and attempting to push them apart by their shoulders. Obviously, nothing happens from my force, but they pause. “Enough with the jealousy. It doesn’t suit either of you!”
Rourke lets go of Peter, falling back to his seat. Peter turns his angry stare to me, both of us still kneeling on the table. “How can you tell me not to be jealous, as if I have a choice?”
“What are you jealous of? I’m your prisoner, brought here by your father to impregnate. I’m nothing more than cattle to you both.”
Rourke stands and grabs my arm, but Peter beats him to his words. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”