Page 382 of Phobia
“I am not changing.” I crossed my arms over my frangipani-scented chest. “And I still don’t get why I needed to get all dressed up for a dinner tonight.” I made sure to narrow my eyes dramatically at the disheveled way she had tied her sash around her waist. If she didn’t need to look pristine, then why the hell did I have to?
I turned to examine myself in the mirror. The long black lace gown with red satin lining contrasted with my fair skin and loose blonde curls, earning me a few years more than my real age. It hugged my body in all the right areas, giving me the welcome illusion of curves. Where I had average tits, it created a mirage of generous cleavage with the square neckline. The boning on the corset fooled my eyes into seeing a narrow waist and the way the skirt flared out falsely exaggerated what the good Lord hadn’t given me in the way of hips.
Maman pressed her fingertips to her temples and exhaled forcefully. “I told you already. Your father is bringing a guest over for dinner.”
“Yes, but you never told me who it was.” Company rarely visited, so this mystery guest must have been someone really important.
Maman waved a hand in the air. “Just one of his work acquaintances. Now, come out and help me pour the wine. They’ll be here any moment, and this dress will just have to do, I suppose.” She pulled me from the room, but not before turning her nose up at my outfit one more time.
Just as we exited my room, the front door swung open and in walked Papa with another man in tow.
“Our hats, Pénélope,” Papa barked at Maman, shoving garments in her direction. My fists instinctively tightened at my sides, and I could feel my blood pressure rising. No kiss for his wife or God forbid even a “hello,” just more orders, as if Maman were his lapdog. It never ceased to amaze me, how their relationship was more like a trainer-and-dog situation than husband and wife.
And like any fearful pet, Maman rushed forward to rid Papa and the visitor of their accessories. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Papa had shoved a bone in her mouth as a reward.
Papa turned his attention on me. I was on guard from the way his wrinkled eyes softened at the corners, as if the sight of his only daughter melted his heart. “Rosalie. Come here, dear.” His soft tone and outstretched hand were a trick...one that I was forced to fall for outwardly since I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of his guest.
He braced a hand on my shoulder, his touch insincere. Papa turned to the tall man looming behind him. “Jean, meet my beautiful daughter, Rosalie.”
Beautiful?That was the first time I had ever heard that compliment from him.
The stranger eagerly snatched up my hand bowed from his waist while placing a wet kiss on the back. “Enchanté.” His blue eyes flickered brightly as they drank in my décolletage instead of my face.Gross.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying my hardest not to cringe.
I pulled my hand away quickly and wiped the back of it against my dress, trying to erase the stain of his saliva on my skin.
Jean jerked his head back, thick grooves marring his forehead. “Oh, my, she’s got a rather unusual voice, doesn’t she?” He laughed, searching Papa’s face for an explanation.
Papa chuckled nervously, shooting me a severe glance as if I should have kept my mouth shut to keep from embarrassing him.
Fuck them. Bastien loved my voice.
Papa motioned to Maman in an attempt to distract Jean from my humiliating voice. “And this is my wife.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of having you over, Jean?” Maman’s voice was a lot lighter than mine, more feminine. I had always wished mine sounded more like hers, but alas, it would never be so.
“Jean is a loyal client and I thought it fit to invite him over for dinner to show my gratitude.”
As the only metalsmith in our town, Papa had many customers. Actually, almost everyone who lived within our territory had sought his help at one time or another, but he had never brought a patron home for dinner. I sensed from the eager grin across his chubby face that my old man was up to something.
“And I am eternally grateful to be in the presence of such beautiful women.” Jean’s smile turned my stomach. It was a warning that I had about two good minutes before I needed to flee or I’d better prepare to fight the deceiving six-foot-two perv.
Since God always rewarded assholes, he’d blessed Jean with handsome features. To the untrained eye, he seemed like another charming pretty boy. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with his full head of golden hair and prominent jaw. His body wasn’t too bad either, a medium build from what I could tell through his clothes. All considerable traits when his personality wasn’t factored in.
But as a human, he was a jerk. We had barely exchanged a few sentences, yet his eyes kept scouring my body like those of a hungry vulture. I immediately felt dirty, like I needed a bath. And as if he didn’t think anyone would notice, his pants had tented as he stood in the middle of the living room.
The man was sick.
“Dinner is ready, if anyone is hungry,” Maman chimed. “I just need to pour the wine and then we can all be seated.”
It was barely noticeable, but I saw Papa’s nostrils flare. “Next time, spend a little more time on the meal and a little less time primping,dear.” Papa’s eyes remained jovial as they focused on Jean, but to the careful ear, his words had been laced with venom. He was already pissed off that not everything was perfect for his slimy friend.
“I’ll help you,” I offered. Anything to get away from Jean’s perverted stare, now accompanied by the licking of his thin lips.
As I hurried away, I heard Jean compliment Papa on our humble home. Everything that came out of his mouth was disgustingly saccharin, but what else could he have said? “Your house is far too small and the décor looks more like a church storage closet”? We weren’t rich by any means, but the four walls that housed us were stable and that was blessing enough, I supposed. But a man like Jean could never understand that. To him, we lived like peasants and needed the blessing of his presence to liven up our dreary lives.
Maman busied herself grabbing glasses for me to pour the wine into. “What do you think of Jean?”
