While I’m lathering my body with luxurious soaps, with even more luxurious names, I hear Gemini behind me. “Make sure to use the exfoliator.”
I peek over my shoulder and realize that he’s barely paying attention to me. Too busy doing a handstand in the middle of the bathroom, necklaces dangling in his face while he balances on one hand, then the next.
I can’t control the small ripple of relief that washes over me at the lack of attention.
When I’m all washed up—and exfoliated—it takes me longer than it should to turn off the water, having fallen into a feeble sense of safety behind the confines of the foggy glass.
I don’t know what awaits me after this.
Regretfully, I turn off the shower and slowly turn to face him, not bothering to cover my naked body with my arms and hands. I might feel weak and powerless, but I refuse to let it show.
Gemini has resumed an upright position and holds up a fluffy, large towel toward me. I step onto the plush bathroom rug and reach for it, but he pulls away with a taunting smirk and gives me a few tuts while slowly shaking his head.
My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, but again, I say nothing, except for a small, defeated sigh escaping my lips. I break out into full-body goose bumps when Gemini wraps the warm towel around my body and begins to dry me off. But even when his hands comefartoo close to the middle of my legs, his touch doesn’t convey anything sexual.
I’m left relieved yet confused—unsure of what to make of his intentions.
“There,” he says softly after carefully patting down my hair and tucking the towel around my chest, his fingers delicate against my skin.
His expression is far too innocent for the monster I know lies inside. He mightappearas a debonair aristocrat, but I will never forget who he is and what true evil hides behind the jester persona.
Coaxing me to stand in front of the mirror, he reaches for a hairbrush.
“I can do that myself,” I state, knowing full well that my protest will have no sway whatsoever.
“Now why would I let you do that?” he says, his toothy grin lighting up his eyes as he watches me in the mirror. “Be a well-behaved doll and stay still.”
Unease crawls all over my skin again from him referring to me as his doll, but I remind myself to stay docile—for now.
I press my lips together and say nothing more as he gently brushes my hair, careful stroke after careful stroke.
Having nowhere else to look, I study him through the glass. I linger on the small silver loops around his earlobes, then on the short strand of blond hair falling over his forehead. A thin scar cuts through his left eyebrow; it’s more prominent now that his brow is furrowed as he meticulously works on a knot in my hair.
“What kind of rube doesn’t use conditioner?” he mutters under his breath.
He then falls back in silent concentration.
After successfully detangling my hair, he plaits it with deft fingers into one long braid before stepping back with a pleased sigh and inspecting me.
“Wait here,” he says before disappearing into his bedroom and returning after a few short moments. He hands me a pair of cotton shorts and a loose T-shirt. “You can wear this to bed.” Then winks. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you to your new wardrobe.”
Something about his wink makes my nape prickle, but I take the clothes without balking. I pause, hoping that he’ll turn around while I get dressed.
He does nothing of the sort.
How silly of me.
I drop the towel, and this time, his gaze lingers.
“I can’t wait to feed you,” he says distractedly, falling silent again while he continues to observe me.
My heart squeezes with apprehension, but I ignore him while I step into the shorts first, then quickly pull the shirt over my head. The bright scent of blood orange and cloves lingering in the fabric overwhelms my senses. I recognize Gemini’s scent from the multiple times he’s pinned me to him, and I grow weary, realizing I won’t be able to escape him, even while I sleep.
Considering I’ve had the same nightmare of the maze chase for weeks now, I never did escape him in the first place.
Taking my hand in his, he leads me back to the guest room. Cold sweat prickles my forehead when I realize he’ll most likely handcuff me to the bed again. Instead, he pulls down the duvet and pats the mattress for me to climb in. I eye him with suspicion, but do as he instructed, apprehensively sliding under the covers, my gaze locked on his.
His charming expression is but a derisive facade, and anxiety roils in my stomach as he pulls the covers up to my chin.
