Surrender To Me

He looks up to the ceiling as if thinking, then he turns his gaze down to me. “I like toys. And I enjoy playing with you. So, I enjoy having you around.” Until you bore me. That last part left unsaid didn’t need to be uttered.

“Did you have other toys before?” I glance around. “Is that what this room is for? Your toy room.”

He smiles for the first time today, but he says nothing. Instead, he collects my empty tray and leaves.

His toy. Fuck me until he was bored with me. Is that what he meant when he said he wanted me to be his toy? Judging by my conduct this morning, I wouldn’t say no. His kisses were good. His lips were surprisingly soft, and I wanted him to kiss me again and again. Pull me towards the bed and have his way with me. If I wasn’t so confused by that out-of-the-box kiss, it might have happened. For a moment, he fogged my brain until I realized where I was and who he was. I should never forget that. For the second night in a row, I do not sleep. My dreams are mixed with waking up in a bed of tangled silky black sheets and waking up in a grave. By the time morning comes, I’m glad to have an excuse to get out of bed and shower. As soon as I’m done putting on my clothes, the door opens. It’s him again. He looks like a dark angel in a charcoal suit and red tie. Dark rings mar his piercing black eyes. He’s not sleeping either. Unlike me, I’m sure his reasons for not sleeping are of a more debauched nature. He was probably up all night having sex with an escort or playing poker with his friends. Or both.

“Let’s go.”

My pulse picks up. “Where?”

“Breakfast.”

“Oh. Right.”

“What did you think? Your death? Sorry to disappoint. I don’t do morning killings.”

“Ha. Funny.” I march past him and immediately regret it. I also regret my choice of clothing, a red sundress that while flared was tight around my chest and butt. As I walk in front of him, I can feel his gaze tearing through the dress.

Colin, Rob, and Vera are already in the kitchen, just like yesterday. All in their exact positions, as if actors repeating a scene. Quickly, I rush to the kitchen counter stool and as I’m about to sit; I feel a hand around my arm snag me away.

“What the hell,” I mutter, then I’m whisked away towards the terrace. Dante shoves me down into a chair, and then he moves around the table to another chair. Everything is already set except for the coffee which Vera immediately comes out holding.

“Good morning,” she says to me, “I hope you slept well?”

Since she’s the only person who’s shown any kindness towards me, I smile and reply, “Very well, thank you.” It’s a lie and she can tell. She glares once again at Dante and drops the coffee jug on the table. The coffee sloshes as she marches back into the penthouse. At least I have one ally in this cursed place.

Dante picks up a piece of toast and begins buttering it. He takes one bite and then says to me, “Eat.”Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“And yet you refuse to admit you have a fetish for ordering me to shove food in my mouth.” Dante shakes his head but says nothing. I scan the dishes. Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, mushroom, cheese, yogurt, five types of cereal, two types of fruit juice, coffee, and Vera’s delicious pancakes. I stab my fork into the pile and pick two. If anything is calming me down, it’s these pancakes. I wonder what she puts in them?

After two delicious bites, I turn my gaze to Dante. “You aren’t up to dining with the help this morning, I see.”

“I wanted us to be alone.”

“Mmm… you make it sound romantic.” He detects the sarcasm in my tone and glares at me but says nothing more.

“There’s something I want to know.”

“Is this going to be another interrogation? If you must know, I’m sticking to my story.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Oh.” My curiosity peaks. I have to wait for him to crunch down his toast and wash it down with a cup of coffee.

“Your mother,” He says as picks another slice and adds mushroom and eggs on top of it, “how close were you to her?”

“Close enough. Why?” That’s an overstatement. My mother was barely in my life. I have memories of her leaving me home alone while she chased a singing career that never materialized. When she finally realized it would never happen, she turned to drugs for comfort, which made her even more distant.

“I just want to know what your relationship was like.”

“What’s this about? Are we on a date?”

“Do you know you go from sixty to zero in two seconds? I kinda like that about you.”

“I thought you wanted to know about your money and Saccone. What does that have to do with my mother?”

“Were you close?” His eyes are like a lie detector. I look away from him and back at my plate. There’s too little syrup on my pancake. I add some more, and a dollop of cream. I don’t think I can describe the relationship my mother and I had as close. She was there, but that’s it. “We were mother and daughter.”

“I can tell.” Without me saying much, he seems to discern the truth underlying that statement. Our relationship was complicated. She was never there while I was growing up and died before her time.

“How?” I ask him. “You didn’t know her.”

He fishes out my phone from his pocket and waves it.

“Ah. I see you’ve gone through my old texts.” I blush at the thought of him seeing the many messages that I would send to her that went unread. And the ones that are replied to are only replied with one or two words. When she overdosed last year, I didn’t know she was dead until the police came to the Grand Palazzo looking for me a week later. She died alone. That part hurts the most.

“I had to check if you were talking to your mother and if it wasn’t some coded message.”

“Sure. Thanks for telling me that my mother was absent. Is it your way of embarrassing me?”

He seems wounded by this as if I hit a low blow. “I know you see me as a big bad wolf, but psychological warfare is not my thing. I genuinely wanted to know.”

“Sure.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but drops it and changes tact. “What about your father?”

“What about him? I’ve never met him.”

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him. His eyes narrow, as if trying to determine if it’s a lie. Why he cares makes little sense, so I ignore him and continue eating. His gaze never leaves me the entire time.