“Home it is, then.”
Isabella doesn’t loosen her grip on me the entire ride back to the house, and my worry grows with every passing minute. And when I try to put her in the playpen in my office, she whimpers and wraps herself even more fully around me.
“What’s wrong, little doll?” I murmur, bouncing her gently in place. “Daddy can’t fix it if you don’t talk to me.”
But she remains stubbornly silent, so I resign myself to an afternoon of working with her on my lap and settle in my office chair. If this is going to become a habit, I’ll need a different setup, something a bit more comfortable for both of us.
It isn’t long after we're seated, however, before my little doll finally lets go of my neck and slides to the floor. I look down to find her staring up at me with wide, hopeful eyes, and it takes a moment for me to understand what she wants.
Ah. She needs her paci.
Unzipping my pants, I pull out my cock and she eagerly scooches forward to take it in her mouth. And I pass the rest of the afternoon, one conference call after another, with my Little girl nestled between my legs, sucking on her pacifier.
I could not possibly ask for a more perfect life.
* * *
Izzy
“Are you ready to tell Daddy what’s wrong, little one?”
I made it all the way to dinner without him asking again, but I suppose it was too much to hope he would drop the matter entirely. Shrugging, I look down at the half-eaten lasagna on my plate and my stomach clenches.
Again, all I can think of is how long it’s going to take me to lose the weight I’ve gained here on the island. So much so that I may have to start dipping into the “extras” Typhon gives me after all, a thought that makes my skin crawl. But fat ballerinas don’t even get roles in the corps, and what’s the point of going back if I’m not returning to the company?
“Isabella.” Daddy’s tone is firm, sending apprehension creeping up my spine. “Look at me, please.”
Apparently I’m all out of time to delay this conversation, so I force my gaze up to meet his. “Yes, Daddy?”
A sad smile tugs at his lips. “There’s my pretty little doll. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to lie. To tell him I just had a long day and was feeling tired when he picked me up.
But I’m so tired of lying. Tired of pretending to be everything he wants so I can maybe, possibly escape someday. The weight of all that pretense is heavy on my shoulders, and I’m ready to be done with it.
So I give him exactly what he wants: The truth.
“I miss the ballet.” And once I start telling him the truth, I can’t seem to stop. “I miss New York, I miss my apartment, I miss having the freedom to go wherever I want whenever I want. I miss the life you stole from me and it’s slowly killing me to know I may never get it back.”
By the time I finish, my breaths are coming in ragged gasps and just like back at school there are tears streaming down my cheeks. I half expect him to drag me up out of my highchair to spank me, but to my never-ending surprise, he doesn’t so much as move an eyebrow as he watches me.
“I didn’t realize you were suffering so much,” he finally says, his voice so quiet I nearly miss it. “That’s certainly not what I wanted for you when I brought you to the island with me.”
He sounds so…sad. I could almost believe he means it. That he has a heart after all, and he does actually want me to be happy.
Emboldened by that thought, I clasp my hands in front of me, and I put every bit of desperation I feel into my voice. “Then take me home. Let me go back to the city, back to my life. I worked so fucking hard to be a ballerina. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. If you feel anything for me, please, please send me back.”
For a moment, for one heartbreakingly rose-colored moment, I think he might agree.
But then he shakes his head, and that hope shatters in my chest, the sharp shards of it slicing me open from the inside out.
“I’m sorry, little doll, but I can’t do that. But I will do everything in my power to ensure you never regret staying on this island with me. You have my word.”
Rising from his seat, he unstraps me from my highchair and hoists me up into his arms. And when he heads for the stairs, I assume he means to take me to bed. But we walk straight past his giant, heavy bed to the French doors that lead out to a wide balcony I’ve never been allowed on before.
There, he lowers me to my feet, facing out over the sprawling island around us. In the distance I can see the docks Juliet once tried to reach in her own bid for freedom. And beyond that, nothing. Just an empty blackness I assume is the ocean.
“Hands on the railing, little doll. If you move them, Daddy will have to punish you.”
