We go back and forth a bit, trading little tidbits, until my yawning prompts him to shut the conversation down. He arranges the pile of pillows in the pen with me into something of a nest and tells me to close my eyes for a bit. Clutching my stuffed hippo to my chest, I do as I’m told, and before I even know what’s happening, I drift off to sleep, dreaming of romantic spaghetti dinners deep in the woods.
* * *
Gideon
There’s no real reason for Isabella’s questioning to unsettle me. But unsettled is exactly what I feel, and I can’t pinpoint exactly why as I watch her sleep in her playpen, her arms wrapped around her beloved ballerina hippo.
Forcing myself to look away, I try to focus on my work, an endeavor which quickly proves futile. Still wrestling with that unsettled feeling, I pick up the baby monitor and carry it to the next room with me, where I pull my phone from my pocket and call Maxwell. Not only is he the leader of our band of misfits here on the island, he’s been my closest friend since grade school. If anyone can help me make sense of what just happened with Isabella, it’s him.
“Gideon.” There’s a hint of curiosity in his voice, but no judgement despite me calling him in the middle of a workday. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just had a…” I trail off, uncertain how to put what I’m feeling into words. “Well, I suppose on its face it would be a conversation with Isabella.”
“I see.”
It’s clear from his tone he doesn’t “see” at all, and even though the logical part of my brain is aware that’s entirely my fault considering I haven’t really given him much to work with, my temper still spikes. “Don’t be an ass, Maxwell. It’s unbecoming.”
“I happen to think being an asshole is very becoming on me,” he says with a low chuckle. “But why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, brother?”
The old term of endearment settles me, at least a bit. Since neither of us have siblings to claim as our own, we claimed each other fairly early on. “She asked me questions about myself. My favorite color, foods, movies. Among other things.”
“Oh, dear. Well, this is certainly a cause for concern. The woman you’ve decided to keep as your own for the rest of your natural life wants toknowyou. However will you survive?”
“Fuck off, Maxwell.”
His laughter rings out, deep and clear. “Seriously, Gideon. What’s the problem? She should want to get to know you. It seems to me that it means she’s settling into her role as your Little girl. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Of course, it is.” But as I say the words, I realize why I feel so unsettled.
Up until now, I’d been certain that most of Isabella’s behavior was a farce meant to lull me into a false sense of security so she could escape. She said as much herself.
This feels different. More genuine. Could it be she’s starting to accept her place in my life on more than just a subconscious level?
I’m still not quite convinced. But we still have tonight’s traditional “welcome to the family” dinner. If my Little one can behave herself through that, then I’ll know for certain she’s truly mine in every possible way.
ChapterSeventeen
Isabella
I wake from my nap to a feeling of weightlessness. And when my eyes open, fear grips me at the sight of the stairs rapidly approaching. With a whimper, I cling desperately to the first thing I can find to avoid falling to my death.
A familiar chuckle meets my ears. “It’s all right, little doll. Daddy’s got you.”
Daddy’s got you. Before, those words filled me with a sense of dread. Now I find comfort in them, and I’m able to relax in his arms as he carries me up the stairs.
That knowledge is almost as discomfiting as waking up mid-air, so I set it aside to be examined later as we enter my nursery. Daddy immediately heads for the bathroom, where he forces me to wet my diaper before stripping me naked and placing me in the steaming bath that looks as though it’s already been running for several minutes.
What’s going on? Usually I have my bath in the morning. I didn’t really think anything of missing it today, but now I can’t helpbutto think about it, and what it means that he’s bathing me so late in the afternoon.
“How does your pussy feel today, Isabella?”
The question jolts me out of the rabbit hole of questions my mind has wandered down, forcing my attention to the man kneeling beside the tub. “Um. It still hurts.”
It isn’t, actually. In fact, if it weren’t for how odd the cotton of my diaper felt against my hairless mound all day, I probably would have forgotten all about my waxing appointment yesterday. But instinct tells me that if he knows I’m all healed up, then something bad will be coming my way soon.
Daddy frowns, and presses on my shoulder, nudging me to lie back. “Let Daddy see. Open your legs, little doll.”
There’s nothing to see, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pretend it isn’t still sore. So I lie back against the tub, spreading my knees as far as they will go so he can inspect the “damage”.
