Aubrey reaches down, retrieving a wicker basket with a folded white towel and washcloth draped over other items I can’t make out. She holds it out to me. “For you.”
“Thanks.” I grab it and peek inside.
“Private baths are down the hall and to your left. You’ll use our provided hygiene products for now, but tonight you can make a list of any specific items you want, and I’ll pick them up for you tomorrow.” She flicks her gaze up and down the length of me once more and shakes her head. Something about the look prompts me to tuck my chewed fingernails into the wicker until they’re hidden from view. “Not sure how you wound up here, Emma—”
“Emmy.”
“—but I’ll have you shinier than Stella’s lip gloss by the time I’m done with you.”
The private baths look nothing like any I’d seen back home. Large and round, the whirlpool tub makes me feel pampered.Toopampered, like it’s trying to convince me I’m something special, and I find myself hurrying through the motions to get the whole thing over with.
After slipping out of the tub, I pat myself dry and spot a white, silk robe hanging on a wall hook. I slip it on just as a knock strikes the door.
Aubrey’s standing there when I open it. She turns and gestures for me to follow. “Spa time.”
Turns out ‘spa time’ is code for excruciating pain. She soon has me stretched out on a massage table, my legs spread as she yanks the final strip of muslin from the area between my thighs. I don’t make a sound, but my fingers dig into the vinyl leather. I’ve never waxed anything but my eyebrows until now.
“I know. Hurts like a bitch the first time,” Aubrey says.
I suppress a grimace. “Just the first time?”
“And the second. And third. And—you know what, I should’ve left it at ‘hurts like a bitch.’”
I snort out a bitter laugh, the sting finally cooling as she spreads a thin layer of cream over the area. When she straightens my legs and applies the soothing balm to my freshly waxed calves, I open my eyes. She stands to the left of the table, the shaved side of her head facing me, and, for the first time, I notice her bare neckline.
“You don’t wear a scarf?”
She smirks but doesn’t look up from my legs. “Nope.”
“Are you not one of the secretaries then? I figured it was, like, a part of the uniform or something.”
“Oh no—I am. I just haven’t been claimed.”
I swallow, one of the contract clauses floating into mind:I understand if none of the Matthews claim me as their loyal servant, I will make it my primary duty to serve all four of them at their individual requests.
My throat is dry when I respond, “Oh.”
Aubrey lets out a chuckle as she gently helps me into a sitting position and closes the robe around my front. “I like it this way, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Youlikeit?”
We stand, and she leads me to another room then guides me into a chair surrounded by mirrors. I’m hardly paying attention. How could shelikeserving four men to ‘full satisfaction’?
I’m no saint when it comes to sex. I lost my virginity at fifteen and never looked back. I like sex, or, more accurately, Ineedit, despite knowing I don’t enjoy it the way most women do. For me, the act serves a specific purpose.
I don’t have a place at home, a mama who wants me, or a clue who my daddy is. I definitely don’t have any control over the secret, forbidden places my mind sometimes goes. But art and sex? Those are the two things I can count on. My sole releases in this world. The only things within my control powerful enough to drown out the rest of the world.
This place—signing a contract, acting as a servant, accepting payment for my body—this is entirely new territory. Territory that threatens to rip away any sense of control.
Aubrey tilts my chin up. She inspects my face, then skims the display of makeup topping the vanity. I’ve never seen so many beauty products in one spot.
“Yeah,” she eventually murmurs, “I do. That’s not to say none of themwantto claim me ...” Her lips lift, and she uses a brush to blend concealer over my skin. “But I made a choice. And it’s liberating. Isn’t that why you’re here? Searching for something? The kind of freedom you can’t find anywhere else?”
Freedom? I don’t know what I’d call identical dolls sharing a mansion to do the bidding of men, butfreedomisn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind.
My thoughts must be written in my expression because Aubrey pulls back, her eyes narrowing. “Or maybe what you’re looking for is different. Maybe thereasonyou’re here is different.”
My stomach clenches as her words hit too close to home. I keep my expression blank, but my voice falters. “Wh-what do you mean? They found me, contacted me. Just like everyone else here.”
