My eyebrows go up again. “You’ve never tasted it?”
“No, it’s gross.” He starts to laugh, but then turns away, heading towards the door. Probably so I can’t watch and take notes. “I’ll be right back. We’ll eat on the patio. We didn’t have dinner yesterday.”
Or lunch, I think as my stomach grumbles furiously in agreement. But I don’t say it out loud. No need to remind him how long he kept me standing at that motorized desk in those torture devices he calls shoes.
“Put on yesterday’s white outfit. You can change into something else when we get home. We’re leaving in thirty minutes to go back to Riverview.”
Wow. There’s a lot to unpack in those three sentences. When we get ‘home’ stands out the most. But I don’t ask questions, just give him a little salute. “Sure thing, boss.”
He gives me a look that says he knows I’m mocking him but chooses to ignore it. Then he’s gone, closing the front door behind him and leaving me alone with my thoughts and yesterday’s clothes.
I get out of bed, wincing at the soreness between my legs. A physical reminder of choices I’m still not sure I should have made.
I pick up the discarded white outfit from where it landed on the floor yesterday afternoon. My mind drifting to the attic bedroom back in Giovanni’s Riverview mansion. The one with the color-coded garment bags hanging in perfect formation. White, black, pink, peach, gray, red, light green. A rainbow of control, each one containing another version of the woman Giovanni wants me to be.
Everything is so confusing now. Yesterday morning, this was just a job. A weird, boundary-crossing job with a system of demerits and rewards, but still just a job. A means to an end. Thirty-one thousand dollars and my freedom.
But now? Now there’s been poetry in wisteria tunnels and confessions in the dark. Now there’s been “Do you like me?” and my body’s betrayal when he touches me. Now there’s been his trauma and mine, laid bare like matching wounds.
It doesn’t feel like a game anymore. Games have rules you can understand, strategies you can plan. This feels like freefall.
I slip off the shirt and shorts I took from Giovanni’s closet last night and stand naked in the middle of the room, vulnerable in more ways than one. Maybe thisisworking? Maybe I can survive this game after all?
The white outfit feels like a costume now, a role I’m not sure I want to play anymore. But what choice do I have? Twenty-one days until homelessness. Five demerits left after points shuffling of last night.
I’m just about to step into the skirt when I hear soft footsteps behind me.
“Did you forget something—” I begin, turning around.
But it’s not Giovanni.
It’s Rico.
And I’m… naked.
His eyes crawl over every inch of my body like invasive insects.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My mind scrambles through options like I’m speed-dating catastrophes. Cover myself? No—that’s what prey does. Run? To where, exactly? The bathroom with its flimsy lock that a toddler could kick through?
“Giovanni will be back any second,” I say, my voice impressively steady for someone whose heart is trying to punch its way out of her chest. “He just went to get coffee. Feel free to wait on the patio.”
The patio. That’s how he got in. The door stands open behind Rico, morning light streaming in like it’s not the opening scene of a horror movie.
Rico’s smile stretches too wide, revealing teeth that look expensive and predatory. “I know exactly where my cousin is. I watched him leave.”
Holy shit. This moment went from potentially dangerous to certainly lethal in the span of eleven words. He’s been watching us. And from the looks of him, he’s been doing more than watching. His burgundy suit pants—the same ones from yesterday’s party—hang dangerously low on his hips, exposing a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. The bulge below is unmistakable.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
“Let me just throw some clothes on and?—”
“Don’t bother,” Rico says, taking a step toward me. “I like you better this way. Makes things easier.”
My pulse thunders in my ears. “Makes…whateasier?”
“That pussy of yours looked so good last night when you were riding Giovanni in the cabana.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “The way you moved... I knew I had to have a taste.”