Page 46 of Blood and Thorns
He hadn’t even given me anymore demands, and I definitely hadn’t risked looking inside his bedroom again. You know, because just in case.
But every night I found myself sneaking into the west wing, finding he never slept. He either worked out with his punching bag and weights, or he painted at all hours. Then he’d destroy the work in a fit of rage that caused me to run back to the safety of my room.
I hadn’t found the right time to bring up the debt again, but I itched to know how much I’d worked off, if any at all. The not knowing gnawed at me, leaving me stranded in a kind of purgatory, caught between hope and helplessness.
“You need to knead it harder, dear,” Beatrice said, adding a little more flour to my bread dough.
Punching it instead, I began to follow her instructions. Beatrice Potter was a lovely woman who seemed far too gentle to be working for someone like Sebastian.
She smiled so easily, and I kept catching her looking at me with the softest expression. It was hard not to warm to her, especially when she treated me so nicely. She must be in her late fifties, with dyed blonde hair and wisps of grey that suited her rounder face. She had it in a perfect bun, not a strand out of place while mine was tossed on my head like a nest. But at least it was out of my face.
No hair in my fresh bread, thank you very much.
“So, how long have you known Sebastian?” I asked, wanting to learn a little bit more about him.
Beatrice stilled. “How’s that dough coming along?” She changed the subject.
I frowned, turning to find her humming to herself.
When she noticed me looking, she sighed. “I’ve known him since he was a little boy. He used to spend his summers here before…” she paused, clearing her throat.
“Before what?”
Beatrice shook her head, her smile a little more forced. “Nothing, nothing,” she continued in her unnecessarily cheery voice. “So, to properly knead the dough you must…”
I nodded at the appropriate times and even added my own comments every now and then. But my mind kept going back to Sebastian, as if I was disappointed he wasn’t there, breathing down my neck.
I should be grateful he’d left me alone, but having no sense of purpose was starting to grate. At least when I wore his collar at the club I was doingsomething, even if it was simply being his doll. It had been less than a week since Igave over my life, and already I was thankful I was being treated like an object.
There were so many things wrong with me.
Beatrice was a nice distraction, coming in to cook and organise the cleaners that sometimes came in during the day. They refused to acknowledge me, which at first I’d been a little offended by, but I decided to be the bigger person and just ignore them back.
I’d asked to help clean, just for something to do, but Beatrice had refused and invited me into the kitchen instead.
Which was why I was currently taking out my frustrations on the poor bread dough.
Beatrice made a disgruntled noise, and I turned to find Chip standing beside her. She rubbed at his white collar, where there were little splashes of red.
“Do you play chess?” he asked when I looked over at him.
“Chess?” I punched the dough once more.
His pale eyebrow cocked. “You know, the checkered board with the little–”
“Chip, haven’t you got errands?” Beatrice interrupted. “Surely, you’re far too busy to hang around here with us.”
Chip’s brows drew together, and a shadow darkened his eyes when he looked down at her. “I have time.”
“Sure, I can play chess.” It wasn’t like I had anything else planned other than reading, writing and my daily session of wallowing in self-pity. But I was sure I could move that to later.
Double checking my dough, I give it one last punch. Honestly, making bread should be part of therapy. Highly recommend.
“Is this ready to proof?” I asked.
Beatrice’s earlier light seemed to have diminished, butstill she nodded with her signature smile. “Arabella, why don’t you go set the board up in the drawing room? Chip will follow with a nice cup of tea.”
Taking a paper towel, I cleaned my hands before leaving the kitchen. The drawing room was just a smaller living room without the TV up on the mezzanine. The chessboard was already set up on the side, the wooden figurines hand carved.
