“Seems like someone needs alotmore practice before Friday.” Dave’s expensive cologne assaults my senses, paired with the stench of menthols he loves so much. It coats my nostrils with every shallow breath, and I have to fight the urge to gag as he steps up to the bench, hovering over my shoulder with an eye as watchful as a hawk's.
“How was your day, precious?”
“Fine.” I lower my head, my gaze focusing on the movement of my fingers over the keys, determined not to make another mistake in his presence. “How was yoga?”
“Wonderful, as usual.” He leans in, pressing his lips to the top of my head and breathing in deeply. A shiver of repulsion runs across my skin, but luckily, I make it through the complicated chord progression without stumbling.
“That’s good.”
“Mmm. Yes.” Four heartbeats later, Dave pulls away, allowing me to breathe again. “How do you feel about salmon for dinner?”
“Fantastic.” I stare hard at my hands, though it’s been weeks since I needed to watch where my fingers land on the keys. “I’ll finish the song and help.”
“No need,” he says, reaching out to pat my head. “I’d rather listen to you play. My own personal little show.”
Dave leaves to make dinner, and I continue my shaky performance. I’m safe for a few minutes, but then he calls out from the kitchen, his voice demanding and coated with a hint of rage.
Though it’s the last thing I want to do, I stop playing the piano and head into the kitchen to investigate this erratic—but not unusual—change in temperament. As soon as I step past the threshold, Dave turns on me with a deep scowl, eyes narrowed accusingly.
“What’s wrong?”
He thrusts a meaty finger toward the printed sheet pasted to the fridge. “You didn’t weigh in today, Eloise.Thatis what’s wrong.”
Though I don’t want to, I shrink. I had been so excited for my guitar lesson with Riot, I had forgotten—singing and dancing around my bedroom all morning like a lovesick teenager instead of doing my weekly chore.
Dave points toward the scale in the corner of the kitchen. “Go on, Eloise. Hop onto the scale.”
My stomach roils with disgust, but I know from experience that fighting it will do nothing. Stifling my anger, I do as he requests. I’m two pounds under my usual weight, which pleases Dave but causes that horrible numbness to spread through my veins. I’m not thin by any means, but I happen to like my curves, the softness of my stomach, the fullness of my hips and breasts.
If only that mattered.
“Hmm. Good.” Dave smiles down at the scale, and my skin crawls. “I was worried I’d have to lock up the fridge again.” He reaches out, pinching the flesh at my hips, and his grin dims slightly. “We still have to do something about these love handles, though. Are you sure you don’t want to meet with Dr. Bryer? He said he could squeeze you in for a lipo appointment next week. An hour tops, and?—”
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I have a migraine, Dave. Would you mind if I went to lie down?” I ask, feigning a look of pain and clutching my forehead. “Just for a few minutes before dinner is ready? I’ll make up the practice time before bed.”
Dave frowns but nods, shooing me off. “Be back down in half an hour. Not a minute more, Eloise.”
I nod, scurrying up the stairs and into my room. The door has no lock on the inside, so I don’t bother closing it. I can hear if Dave decides to come up the stairs better this way, anyway.
I press my forehead to the door, choking back the scream that’s desperate to claw its way out of my throat. Suddenly, everything is too much, and I can’t keep my mind off howfuckedmy life has become. I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman, a fully capable adult, yet I’m forced to take orders like somepet.Trapped in this beautiful mansion—a pretty little cage—and forced to sing when all I want to do is fly away.
Most days, I push thoughts like these to the back of my mind. I lock them away, I forget they’re even there, and I can make it through the day in comfortable numbness. But today… Today, with Riot, I remembered what it was like to feel. To laugh, and joke, and remember I’m a person—not just some pretty doll put on a pedestal, living for others’ entertainment.
On days like today, I wish, stupidly, that my parents were still alive. I wish they didn't leave me alone with this monster. I wish the world were fair. I wish I had the freedom to walk outside without an escort. I wish I could live.
It didn’t used to be just wishing, either. I’ve tried so many times to escape—mentally, physically, lawfully—and none have had any impact. I’m stuck. I’m trapped. And the worst part is, it’s starting to feel comfortable to me.
But it’s best not to think about that. Better to distract with something brighter.
I set an alarm for thirty minutes and hop into bed, pulling open the romance book lying on my bedside table. My books are my cherished possessions, and over the years, I’ve managed to collect at least fifty. The pages are so old and worn out, they’re practically falling apart, but I take care to preserve each and every one, keeping them perched on the shelf beside my piano.
Books have offered me a reprieve from real life ever since I was a little girl, but in the past couple of years, they’ve become a lifeline for me. Whenever I’m losing it, when the world seems too cruel, I can crack open a book and enter any world I want to. I can escape the one I’m living in.
My eyes pore over the pages, snorting as I read a particularly funny line from the sassy female lead. She’s giving her shifter mate, Bec, one hell of a talking-to because he gave her a hickey.
Of course, this leads to spicier conversation, and before I know it, the pair are in bed doing the horizontal tango. My face heats as I fly through the passage, taking in every dirty wordand salacious action with increasing fascination. I can’t help but picture Riot as I read. Him laying me down on the mattress, whispering dirty things in my ear as he touches my body and pleasures me.
I picture him standing in the doorway, smirking and shirtless, his swirling ink peeking out from the top of his low-rise leather pants. I imagine what it would be like to kiss him, to run my tongue over those two rings at the center of his lip. To find out if he has anyotherpiercings—the kind I’ve only read about in super-spicy romance books.
