will dine alone. He will be here too late for dinner.” Catherine looked as though she wanted to say more, but knew better. Maybe someday Claire would be like that, know better. Then again, hopefully, she would be out of here before then.
“Catherine, could you please help me prepare?”
“No, miss. I am sorry, but your attire and presentation are to be of your own doing.” Catherine turned to leave the suite.
“Please wait. Catherine, can’t you please stay and talk to me, even for a little while? After all, we have five hours before Mr. Rawlings will arrive.”
“I must go, but may I say you look beautiful. I like your face . . . well, ah . . . clear.” Catherine smiled a real and tender smile and exited the suite.
Somehow Claire knew it was a mind game. He was testing her to see how she would dress, look, and act. He was also testing her to determine if his mere presence caused uneasiness. She decided this examination was an opportunity to respond to her circumstances instead of reacting. He would take her body. That reality was made painfully clear. However, she would not let him have her mind. He wanted her to spend the next five hours alone dreading his arrival, filled with fear and trembling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
She had five hours to prove she was in control of her life—if not to him, then at least to herself. She walked into her closet and, like a general selecting his soldiers, perused the racks and shelves selecting an outfit that would bolster her self-confidence. She found it—a black dress with a long flowing skirt. The idea of being near him in a dress made her queasy, but she liked the boldness.
With each flash of the mascara or zip of the flowing black satin dress, she reviewed her decision. Escape from this room is not possible. The only way to get out of here is to concede to whatever he demands and find another way out. Looking at herself in the mirror, Claire straightened her neck, righted her shoulders, and confirmed her mission. Physically fighting had been counterproductive, it only seemed to intensify Anthony’s resolve. She needed to yield, temporarily, to his demands in order to access a means of exodus. Completing her hairstyle, she dissected her plan. It seemed like surrender, but her gut told her that resigning to him with a straight face and experiencing the effects of her verbalization took more control than the pleas, accusations, and fighting of two weeks earlier.
It was eight forty-five when Claire buckled the Jimmy Choo sandals. She felt confident she looked the part. She just needed to perform it too. At nine thirty, her nerves were wreaking havoc with her stomach. Damn him! That was his plan. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She reached for her current novel by the bed and went to the overstuffed chair and sat down. She started to read, but the words made no sense. Her chest thumped as her heart beat too rapidly, and her mouth tasted like cotton. Getting up, she retrieved a bottle of water. Her sweaty palms made opening the cap difficult. The water helped her dry mouth until it hit her stomach. Fearing she would need to run for the bathroom, she remembered to breathe deep cleansing breaths. Her nerves began to calm. The flames of the fire warmed her as she attempted to concentrate on the words of her book.
At nine fifty-eight, preceded by the beep, her suite door opened. Anthony walked in like he was there earlier that day, not two weeks ago. Dressed in a dark gray double-breasted silk suit, he appeared heavier than she remembered; maybe not heavy, massive, broad-chested. She wasn’t sure of his height, but would guess about six four, an entire twelve inches taller than her. His age showed in fine lines around his dark eyes, estimating, Claire figured, late thirties.
“Good evening, Claire.”
The heat from the fireplace helped to ward off trembling. Claire stood and nodded. “Good evening, Anthony.” Taking command, “Shall we sit?”
Anthony sat on the sofa, leaned back, and unbuttoned his jacket. Claire sat on the edge of the chair and looked directly into his eyes. She wouldn’t show fear, although those dark eyes were the scariest things she’d ever seen.
“Do you think you are ready to continue with our agreement? Or do you need some more time alone to consider the situation?”