Chapter 9 Mia
MIA
PLAYLIST: LIGHTS – ELLIE GOLDING
Ihave no idea what just happened. I don’t recognise myself as I walk up the stairs to the flat.
A valet with three boxes of clothing behind me.
After I stepped out of a Rolls-Royce with the woman I just kissed in it.
The woman, who is thirty-three years older than me.
The woman, who lives such a different life from mine.
The woman, whom I want to forget, but can’t because she haunts my nights and days.
I brush over my lips, still in total disbelief of my own courage.
I have sworn to stay away from her, to not engage any further, not leave my flat again, and yet, the moment I saw her waiting for me, every single one of my plans was gone. It was like in one of my books, and even if I wanted to, I could never say no.
“Mia, finally!” calls Bella at me when I enter, and when she sees Henry entering with me, her mouth drops open. “Ohhh,” is the only thing she says—way too knowingly.
A board grin appears on Bella’s face.
“What is it, Bells?” I ask, annoyed.
“Nothing,” she says, and her grin and tone couldn’t be any more obvious. “You do you. I can wait.”
I groan.
“Where would you like me to put them, Miss Phillips?” asks Henry.
“In my bedroom, please,” I say and point to the door on the left in the back of the flat. “Mind the cats,” I call after him. “They’re not big with intruders.”
“Seems to run in the family,” he calls after me, and Bella cracks into laughter. It takes all my willpower not to join her.
“I’ll wait outside,” he says when he returns, with Porridge, my male cat, on his arm, petting him.
“How did you manage to do that?” I ask. “He hates being picked up.”
“Apparently, not by me,” he says and lets him down.“Fifteen minutes, you said?”
“Yes!” I say and wait until he’s outside to throw my bag onto the sofa, get out of my coat and hurry into the bathroom.
“You have some serious explaining to do,” calls Bella through the door.
“I don’t,” I growl while I pee.
“Yes, you do. You soooo do.”
I wash my hands and refresh my face before I open the door. Bella, of course, lingered in front of it.
“So?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Bells,” I tell her as I hurry into my room.
“How are you here, with her errand boy?”
“They picked me up from school,” I say. “Told me to get in the car and that we’re going somewhere I’d love. And here I am, supposed to put on one of these—“
I open the first box, and Bella gasps. I, who has no clue of fashion, only recognise the feel of it. And the pullover I pull out feels wonderfully soft in my touch.
“That’s Loro Piana,” says Bella in complete and utter disbelief.
“And who is that?” I ask.
“Blimey, Mia, that pullover alone costs thousands of pounds. It’s one of THE old money brands there are.”
I swallow. Hard. I can’t wear something like that. I hold the pullover as far away from me as I can.
“No, no, no,” says Bella harshly. “You will put that on, get out of here and have the day of your life, and if I have to beat you into it.”
I groan.
Bella unpacks the boxes for me.
“They gave you three outfits to choose from,” she says. “Damn, Mia.”
I take a look at the others, and even I can see they were picked for me. Subtle. Nothing that’s too much and would draw too much attention.
“I’d love to see you in this,” says Bella and holds up high-waist, wide-legged trousers that seem to be made from cashmere from the feel of it.
But I already know what it’ll be.
As I slip my clothes to the floor and put on the outfit from the first box with a knitted pullover in dark brown and a pair of black, high-waist trousers.
I don’t feel as out of place as I imagined, but rather as if I'm glowing.
I close the slim, dark brown belt and slip on the loafers; they fit perfectly.
“How the hell did she manage to figure out my size?” I ask myself more than Bella, who stares at me as if she has seen a ghost.
“I don’t know, but look at you.” She steers me to the mirror, and when I see myself, my mouth drops open. I don’t recognise myself.
“We gotta do something with your hair, though,” she says, and hurries away.
My hair is up in a bun, like every day.
Bella comes back with a flat iron, a brush and a whole lot of products.
“Bells, I don’t have time for that.”
“You have. Let them wait; every important person is late.”
“It’s disrespectful.“ I say.
“No,” she says and begins to work on my hair. “She wants you, she’ll wait for you.”
“But—“
“No but. Hold still. I’ll work at God’s speed,” she says.
Bella uses the flat iron to wave my hair.
She brushes it, and I feel like I am someone famous.
She adds a few products, sprays something horribly fruity, and finally clips it back with a golden clip she got from her room.
A view strands she left to frame my face in curls.
She also applies light makeup and mascara.
“Here,” she says and hands me a light beige coat from one of the boxes. I slip it over my arm because right now I feel so hot, sweaty hot.
“I think I need some deodorant,” I say, and Bella fetches it for me.
I have never felt so out of place and yet so comfortable with it.
“Damn, Mia,” says Bella as we look at her work in the mirror. “Every woman will bow for you.”
“I’d rather not,” I say.
“Figurative speech, love,” she says, and I roll my eyes.
“Ready?” she asks me.
“No,” I say.
“You’ll go anyway, hush, hush,” she says and pushes me out of my room. “You’re only ten minutes late, that’s nothing.”
I groan.
“Have fun,” she calls after me as I open the door.
Henry has been patiently waiting outside, and the corner of his mouth tugs into an appreciative smile.
“You look stunning, Miss Phillips,” he says as he gestures me downstairs.
“Thank you, ehm—Henry,” I say awkwardly. “I can call you Henry?”
“You can and should,” he says and smiles.
He opens the door downstairs for me, and I step outside. I hesitate for a single moment, because I know my neighbours will probably have all eyes on me—but then, they might not even recognise me dressed like this.
Henry also opens the car door for me, and I sit down. I try to do so as elegantly as possible, but as elegant is not in my repertoire—it feels as strange as it can get.
I bite my lips as I glance at Victoria, and the way she looks at me causes a heated wave to surge through my body. Her eyes pour desire from them, and her lips part slightly. Apparently, I have made her speechless.
I am, too. I don’t even know what I am doing here. So I just grin to myself. Like the idiot I am.
Henry starts the car, and we take off.
I avert my eyes to stare outside. I am not good at handling silence, so I try to distract myself. I feel her eyes on me, and at some point, I can’t anymore.
“While I appreciate the gesture, you shouldn’t have—“ I begin, but I am interrupted.
“Silence,” she says, and I close my mouth and fall silent like hexed. Time passes, and I don’t dare issue another word.
“Do you like being told what to do?” she asks me after a while.
I stay silent.
“You may speak now,” she adds.
But I don’t know what to say. Because I do—and what does that say about me?
“I wish to get an answer,” she says, her tone stricter.
“I…um—“ I begin and glance nervously at Henry in the front. He’s listening to everything I say.
“He is paid for his silence,” she says as she follows my gaze. “So, answer. Do you like being told what to do?”
“Yes,” I say, cheeks flushing red. “But it makes me feel bad.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I feel less, and judged.”
“What if I tell you following my orders is what I see as the highest form of respect and trust, and I am absolutely captivated by it?”
“You are?” I blurt out.
“Very,” she says. “All you need to do is let me.”
Unbearable heat flushes through me from my pounding heart.
“Okay,” I say and bite my lower lip to keep a smile from spreading over my face. One she has already seen, because a glowing shimmer flickers through her eyes.
“There will be one rule for the remainder of this day,” she says. “You will do what I tell you to, no discussion. I am promising you nothing will hurt you, and you can always set a hard limit. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Very well,” she says, a wonderful smile on her face. “Now, tell me, do you like the clothing?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Good,” she says. “You will be with me today. In private and public. You will not be required to interact with anyone. I will do the talking if it comes to it, I will take care of everything—there is no need for you to do anything but enjoy the day, do you understand?”
Her words sound highly cryptic to me. Usually, my personality would force me to try to find out what is about to happen; it would make me argue with her, stop her by all means, but I am not allowed to, and it is as if a heavy burden is lifted off my shoulders.
“Yes,” I say.
She smirks.
The car comes to a halt, and I see we’re in Mayfair, parked in front of one of the Georgian Townhouses.
I wait for her to say or do something, and my heart beats up into my chest. I just hope she’s not taking me to anything like a formal event—she surely will not. I am not fit for an event like that, and she knows that. Right?
Henry gets out, walks around and opens the door on Victoria’s side. She gets out and holds out her hand for me.
I close my eyes for one tiny second before I slide over and take it. The door is closed for us, and Victoria walks me to the entrance door of the house we parked in front of.
There is no flag, no sign, nothing. Just a heavy wooden door with an ornamental knocker, which she knocks twice.
The door opens, and I am guided inside by her hand on my back.
“Victoria,” says a man in a suit who walks up to us and heartily grasps her hand. “It’s been too long,”
“I know, Harold,” she says. “Time is working against us.”
“It does indeed,” he says. “And who might the young lady accompanying you be?” he asks as he looks at me.
I say nothing and smile, as Victoria says, “A particularly delightful change from the dullness of routine.”
What a strange way to speak, and while the words said nothing, they also said everything. Hands are shaken, smiles exchanged.
“Harold, if you would be so kind as to give Miss Phillips and me here access to the King’s Vault,” Victoria says.
The King’s Vault, I repeat in my mind. I have never heard of anything by that name, and my curiosity is piqued. Is it a real vault that once belonged to a king?
“Sure,” says the man.
We walk over black-and-white tiles, framed by dark wooden walls with golden frames and landscape paintings, to a door in the back. It is opened with three different keys.
I am so excited that I hold my breath. I have always been a sucker for history.
The door opens, and I half expect to uncover some sort of treasure, but I am slightly disappointed when there is only a simple staircase leading down.
“Here,” he says, hands Victoria another key, and she descends with me alone.
“I took a lot of thought in what would be something you’d enjoy,” she says as we reach another, rather plain door. “And I do hope this will suffice.”
The lock clicks, and she opens the door.
What comes into view can’t be described with words. I do not have them. Somewhere in the middle of Mayfair, I step into a dungeon-like, arched cellar with row upon row of bookshelves and a table with chairs in the middle of the room.
The scent trails up my nose—one of old books telling all the written tales for the soul, and a warm feeling spreads through me.
“The King’s Vault is a library with books you cannot find in any library on this planet. It is a collection of first editions, royal lectures, banned and burned books reaching back hundreds of years.”
I am completely and utterly speechless. I walk into the underground room, my hand brushing over a wooden shelf.
It feels like magic pulsating through my veins.
“How?” I ask when I am able to form a word again and turn around. “How is this possible? How are we here?”
“Connections,” she says, as she walks up to me and cups my face.
She kisses me, and I am swept off my feet.
A kiss that devours me. So intensely, so longingly, my legs feel jittery, and I even forget where I am. Her tongue enters my mouth, and I can’t think anymore. I just act and play with her tongue. And although I have never done this before, it feels as natural as breathing.
Victoria slowly ends the kiss. She pushes my head slightly back and her lips over to my ear.
“Kneel,” she whispers in my ear, and a bolt of tingling desire rushes through my core.
A part of me shouts to resist, but I do what I am told to do.
So, I sink onto my knees. She guides me down with her hand.
I keep my eyes closed out of embarrassment. It is so silent in here that the walls transport the echo of her heightened breathing into my ears.
Her fingers grasp my chin.
“Look at me,” she says and pulls my head back up.
“I am not going to do anything other than kiss and you unless you explicitly tell me so.”
My mind doesn’t work. I nod, but I don’t quite comprehend what I am confirming. My core tingles in desirous waves.
“Eyes on the ground,” she says and releases my chin. “You will not move until I tell you to. Hands on your thighs, palms up.”
I do as told.
She walks around me, and her hands caress my shoulder, my neck, until the touch is lost. Her heels resound through the room with every step she takes. I am not allowed to look, so I listen to her every move, trying to figure out what she is up to.
“Tell me,” she says from further away. “What is your favourite book?”
“Nightwood,” I say without hesitation.
Steps.
A book taken from the shelf.
More steps, coming closer to me.
A heavy stool pulled screechingly over the floor.
My body is so tense.
I have no idea what will happen.
To my utmost astonishment, she starts reading to me. I can’t understand. Why would she have me sit here and read? My body is still awaiting something else, but it is simply her words that trail into my ears.
A beautiful reading voice.
But I can’t quite focus. My knees hurt, and it’s also cold; my body shivers slightly. It takes all my willpower not to shift, and it feels like I am breaking inside.
I need to move.
She keeps on reading.
Turned page after turned page.
It is when I am sure I can’t sit here for another second that I give up.
It feels like I am surrendering, and the moment I do, my body finally relaxes. The coldness is gone. The pain vanishes. I stop thinking about what might be and simply listen to her beautiful voice.
Word.
By word.
By word.
Never in my life have I been more peaceful than right this moment. Yes, I have peace at home, and there is nothing like getting lost in a good book, but my mind has always been on.
All those thoughts.
They’re gone now.
I can’t end one thought. They come and go, while the only thing I have to do is be.
In stillness.
A peace I did not know existed.