went on, and plotted to escape; or plotted to kill Francesca—too afraid to do either.
“Maybe,” Niklas says. “And if not this time around, I’d still like to see the merchandise, for a future purchase.”
Yeah, not this time around because you’ve spent all of the client’s money on the wrong girl.
The cyprians are brought to the mansion minutes later; Miz Ghita comes in to alert Francesca of their arrival downstairs.
“Why don’t you follow me,” Francesca tells Niklas. “No, please leave your girls here. I would like a chance to speak with you privately.”
Niklas nods and then looks to me. “Stay here with Aya and Lia while I talk with the Madam.”
I nod reluctantly, timidly, making sure my Naomi mask is still securely in place. When he starts to walk away, I step up behind him and grab his hand for added effect. He stops and turns to face me.
“Please don’t leave me alone…long,” I whisper, but not so low that Francesca can’t hear me.
Niklas leans in and presses his lips to mine. He pulls away and I open my eyes, looking up at him, pretending to be afraid.
“No one will hurt her here,” I hear Francesca say, but I never take my eyes off Niklas’s. “Shelia,” she calls out, and one of the housekeepers stops dusting and stands attentive. “Fetch two guards and have them stand outside this room. No one leaves or enters it other than your crew.”
“Yes, Madam,” the housekeeper says, and then hurries out the door.
Moments later, Niklas is leaving with Francesca. I look at Sian still lying unconscious on the floor. And then I look at Nora, still the most obedient slave girl I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t know how she does it; she just stands there with her hands folded down in front of her; her head lowered, always looking at the floor; never showing fear, uneasiness, even discomfort. After everything that has happened, Nora Kessler has played her role seemingly without coming close to breaking character for even a second. It fascinates me and disturbs me at the same time. Could I ever really be just like her? Would I want to? She would’ve let that girl die for the sake of her role—I believe that. But that’s what makes her so good. Nora Kessler is a machine. Do I want to be that good? A machine? With no remorse, no conscience? Unable to feel pain because I refuse to let it in by way of emotions? Do I really want to be like her? I want to say no, because it’s the human thing to do.
I want to say no…but why can’t I?
Niklas
I refuse all four of the cyprians brought in for my private showing—none of them were Olivia Bram. Didn’t expect otherwise.
Miz Ghita escorts them out of the small room, leaving Francesca and me alone for the first time. Just me and her, sitting together in a room that’s surprisingly devoid of the typical white everything. Two walls; the one behind and in front of me are filled from floor to ceiling with books. The floors are hardwood; the furniture black. I take a seat on the sofa offered me and make myself comfortable.
I’m worried about leaving Izzy alone in this place. I know she can handle herself to an extent, and—I can’t believe I’m going to say this—I know she’ll stay in character, but it’s Emilio who worries me. I just bought—and hit—the woman who I think he might be in love with, and who just gave birth to his kid—aside from his sister, I’m his least favorite person in this mansion. ‘Naomi’, as everyone here already knows, is my weak spot. And Emilio is the type to go straight for the weak spot.
This meeting can’t last long—it’s been too long already.
“Now that we are alone,” Francesca says, sitting on the sofa next to me; she hands me a glass of whiskey, “I’ve been dying to have you elaborate on some things.”
“What things?” I take a sip and set the glass down on the end table.
Francesca scoots closer.
“You said something earlier tonight,” she begins, “about a family betrayal”—she twirls her hand at the wrist—“that your brother betrayed you? I cannot help but feel empathetic.” You don’t know the meaning of the word.
“We have much in common,” she adds.
“Yes, we seem to,” I say. No, we have nothing in common—you’re a fruitcake.
“I can’t help but want to dig deeper inside that head of yours,” she goes on. “We are both