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“Sounds too good to be true,” I say, a joke to myself, knowing how much danger I’m in.
“You should return to your room to freshen up after the gardens,” Apollo directs. “There’s a team there to help you dress, do your makeup, hair, offer a massage for your aching muscles. Anything you need.”
A team? To get me ready for dinner?
I’ve only dreamed of such things while standing around the breakroom coffeepot with my friends and co-workers, Claire and Ava, gossiping about local celebrities and how fabulous it must feel to have a glam team all your own, focused solely on you.
The master gardener, Alexis, joins us. A thin man with a broad-brimmed hat, he gestures for me to follow him for the sunset tour of the gardens he’d invited me on. I accepted, eager to become more familiar with my surroundings.
Who knows when I’ll need to try to escape.
I say goodbye to Apollo and walk beside the gardener through one of the stone archways out onto a grassy field under the setting sun. I inhale deeply, enjoying the fresh, salty scent of the air as it blows over the Adriatic. I stop for a moment, at a loss for words to describe the beauty of the pinks and oranges that paint the sky over the deep teal colors of the ocean.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
“Golden hour in the Mediterranean. It’s the most stunning sight I’ve ever taken in,” I murmur.
“Yes. We are very lucky to be here,” Alexis agrees. We absorb the mesmerizing view. “The Parrish is heaven on earth.”
Heaven on earth.
The phrase makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Will tonight’s dinner be the first of a life sentence, this island becoming my own personal Alcatraz?
I push the thought from my mind. May as well enjoy the tour of my new home.
The gardens are spectacular, lush and fertile. Expansive vineyards sit in neat rows, green tendrils hanging heavy with plump purple grapes. Fragrant orange trees are just beginning to bloom, and of course, the pretty olive trees the country is known for, their leaves a delicate green, spread their branches, reminding me of eucalyptus.
Alexis returns me to my room, leaving me with a dry kiss on my cheek. It’s not lost on me that I’m passed directly from my escort into the arms of the team. They’ve set up a full spa in the en suite bathroom—the white marble space being about the same square footage as my entire post-breakup apartment back in Rosewood.
They want to help with everything.
I must be blushing as pink as my ass as they strip me down, buffing my naked skin with sea salt, then massaging me with lavender essence oils. If they notice the marks on my recently spanked bottom, they’re too discreet to mention it. The warm honey and wax concoction feels amazing as they spread it across my skin. Pain comes as they rip the strips of cloth off. I hold a swear word in, biting my lip.
Afterward my body feels amazing, a glowing, hairless, fully moisturized goddess.
They dress me in a delicate mint-green silk gown. The material cascades against my skin like cool water. It has one long sleeve; the front swoops to one shoulder, leaving my other bare. One of the women drapes a thin gold chain around my waist for a belt, leaving the extra length hanging at my side, making a pretty tinkling noise as I walk.
I want to ask someone where my underwear has gone.
When I look in the mirror, I see there is no place for undergarments tonight. This gown shows everything, yet somehow skims my body so perfectly—
It’s as if the dress were made for me.
My mother told me to always wear a matching bra and panties.
I wonder what she’d say about wearing none at all.
This dress must have cost a fortune. Never has a prisoner been treated so well. Do the Bachmans always host their captives with such grace? A shiver runs through me as I remember how much danger I really am in. Arranging for this wonderful treatment could just be a pretty little charade, like a panther playing with his silly little naive mouse.
Apollo escorts me to dinner, his arm linked in mine. Given the tall, strappy sandals they’ve chosen for me, and how weak my knees feel, I’m grateful for his steadying presence beside me as I walk into this dinner.
Will he be alone? It will be the first time I’ve seen him since he punished me on the jet then put me in this wonderful prison. The only dark spot so far is him, his silent presence an ominous, looming cloud.
The warm, enticing scent of what must be Italian food hits me. We descend the stairs that lead to the dining hall, growing closer to the immaculately set table—white linen, porcelain dishes, crystal glasses, more red flowers.
Dinner’s already been plated.
