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While nice, Monique only cared about the bedroom. Especially when Helen opened a pair of double doors and carried their luggage through, gesturing to the four-poster bed bedecked in a soft blue comforter and white Egyptian cotton sheets.
All told the average woman would not imagine that Helen Warner was a Domme. But Monique was not the average woman. She felt the sturdiness of the posts, saw the hooks hanging from the headboard, and caught a whiff of romantic candles that mixed calming vanilla with exciting cinnamon. It was a smell she could get used to.
Since they arrived so late, Helen informed her that dinner would be ready in less than a half hour. She excused herself to tend to house matters, leaving her guest to change into a loose cotton dress that hugged her chest but merely flirted with her hips. Monique thought about letting her hair down but chose to sit in front of Helen’s vanity and coif it on top of her head into a tight bun. The finishing touch, which she completed the moment Helen stepped in to tell her dinner was served, was a string of pearls around the bun. They nestled nicely in her fine chestnut hair.
Dinner was indeed served by the time they reached the dining room in the Premier House. Helen pulled out a chair for Monique, to the right of the head. Naturally, Helen sat there, her posture perfect as she pulled a napkin into her lap and roast off a platter. Monique lifted her hand to serve them, but Helen insisted on “spoiling” her.When do I get to spoil you?
Not anytime soon. A loud voice echoed in the dining room, feminine, yet full of bite.
“Helen!” A woman dressed in a Versace suit strutted into the room, her five-inch heels clicking on marble and her jewelry jingling on her wrists and neck. At first, Monique thought the woman also had her dark blond hair pulled back, but on second glance she realized it was a short, choppy pixie cut above the ears and the nape of the neck. The bold and dark makeup on the woman’s slim face made her look like the type to waltz into an office and grab a man by the family jewels. “Where have you been all day?”
“Monique Grant,” Helen said, pushing her chair back, “I'd like you to meet my sister, Evelyn Warner.”
“Please. Eve.” She pulled out the chair on Helen’s other side and sat down, although she did not face dinner, nor did she act like she was going to eat any of it soon. “Evelyn is some other woman I don’t know.”
“I admit I don’t know an Evelyn, either.” Helen put her utensils down and regarded her sister with a mixture of contempt and affection. “And I was out. I told you that I would have a guest this week. I had to go pick her up.”
Finally, Eve looked at Monique, a grin cracking on her face.That’s not a happy smile.Monique concentrated on her most political countenance, refusing to show Eve Warner that she was at all intimidated by her.I’m not intimidated.For one, Monique knew she was older than Helen’s sister. Not that Eve was a “kid” by any stretch of the imagination.She doesn’t like me.
“Yes. Your guest.” Eve stared straight at Monique, her heavy eye shadow making her look like a specimen from a high-fashion magazine. One long, slender leg crossed over the other as Eve took out her phone and looked up something. “There’s your message from this morning. I must have forgotten to check them.”
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Helen pushed a glass toward her sister and offered to fill it with wine. “Surely, you haven’t had anything to eat yet this evening.”
“Afraid I can’t. I’m meeting someone later and wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite.”
“Who are you meeting?”
Eve pulled her fingers across her lips as if she were closing a zipper. “Last time I told you, there was that whole fifth-degree thing. Remember? Because I sure do.”
“Ah, so it’s a date.”
“Now I regret telling you. At least you’re on a date of your own.” Eve flashed Monique another look. “What did you say your name was?”
“Monique.” She said it before Helen had the chance. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“No, but I’ve heard of you.” Eve accepted some wine and downed half of it in one gulp. “I guess my sister has… eclectic tastes.”
“Eve…”
“Now, now, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Yet Eve would still not look her in the eye, as if Monique would give her a terrible affliction from a single glance. “You must understand. My sister has a habit of bringing in women I tend to recognize. Small circles, you know.”
“I see.”
“Isn’t it time you got ready for this date of yours? Don’t you have homework to do?”
Eve stood up without finishing her drink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Helen.” She patted her sister on the shoulder and sashayed out of the dining room. “Especially with that lovely lady!” Her voice echoed, loud and melodic.
It took a few moments before Helen or Monique picked up a fork again. “Please pardon my sister. My parents let her get away with murder growing up. Truly the spoiled one.”
Monique finished chewing before responding. “She seems lovely. I can see the resemblance between you two.” Not just the hair, but the way she confidently carried herself through the room as if everyone should be in awe of her.I would say it’s a Warner trait, but I’ve been around enough rich people by now to know it’s every last one of them.“Don’t worry about her, Helen. I sensed no malice in her words.”
“That’s good because I doubt she intended them.” Nevertheless, Helen looked back to where her sister walked. “A date, huh? I should see what kind of person it is…”
“She’s a grown woman.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about her date.”
“Oh?”
