Page 17 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
“It would be polite if you ate your food,” he says in a careful, slow tone.
I give no reaction, sitting still as ever.
“Fine, then you’ll fucking starve!” he growls in disgruntlement. He shoves his plate away from himself like his appetite, too, has been lost. “Umberto, get your ass in here with the wine!”
A split second later, a toothpick of a man in a butler’s uniform scurries into the room carrying a bottled wine and two glasses. He promptly sets the wine glasses down and fills each with a quarter of blood-red wine. One for me. One for Caelian.
“Youwilldrink this,” Caelian says. “If you won’t on your own, I will come over there and pour it down your throat for you. This is tradition—we begin our marriage with a toast of wine to cement the vow we’ve made to each other.”
“I’ve made no vow—”
“You don’t need to make a vow.Imade a vow for you. I’m your husband and you will listen to me!”
The tension living inside me only intensifies. It feels so unbearable it’s all I can do to sit where I am and refrain from erupting in a frustrated scream. I take hold of the wine glass as he does the same on his end of the table. The warm, tart wine touches my tongue and slides down my throat. If only it were poison.
He drinks his in a single toss. He sets down the delicate glass with no care at all—almost enough for a brute like him toshatterthe glass—but he seems pleased at the moment. At least as pleased as a violent monster like him can be as he gazes at me from his end of the table. Approval flashes in his dark gray eyes.
I’ve obeyed, which is what he wants.
“Ms. Poitier,” he calls, “take her up. Get her ready and bring her to my room.”
Disgust floods my stomach and makes me nauseous. I can’t hold back this time. “Please don’t—”
“Now,” he snaps.
The older woman bustles into the room so quickly, I’d guess she’s been hovering just outside this entire time. She darts straight for me and eases me out of the chair by my arm. I’m pulled out of the dining room where Caelian’s still seated, being served another alcoholic refreshment by Umberto, the butler.
Ms. Poitier returns me to the room they’ve been holding me in. The door swings shut behind us and she goes to work without any explanation.
My wedding gown is stripped off of me. So are the tight undergarments she’d squeezed me into earlier. I’m like a doll being changed from one outfit to another.
“You’re a very pretty girl, dear,” she says, gathering my hair over one shoulder. “He’s very taken with you and your beauty and grace. He’s been dreaming of you.”
“So I’ve been told…”
“You know what’s expected of you,” she says, kneeling to tug off my sheer hosiery. “Young women like you are aware of what happens in these situations. I’ve never known C to put his hands on women, but he’s a violent mafiacapo—nothing is above them at the end of the day. If you push him far enough, don’t think you’ll be exempt from physical punishment. Defiance will get you nowhere but a red and sore behind.”
On some level, I can recognize she’s giving advice to help me. All as she dresses me up in whatever intimate fashion Caelian expects me to be delivered to him in. But her tone’s warm and motherly enough that I begin finding solace in it. Even if it’s just a little.
Ms. Poitier seems wise, like she has many stories to tell. Vaguely, with her light brown skin and coiled hair touched by various shades of gray, she reminds me of an aunt figure. An older woman that could be from my family if it was big enough.
She rises up to her feet and slips a satin piece of lingerie over my head. More ivory against my dark skin. “He’s paid for an experience. Behave yourself and do as he says, and it’ll be over quick. He’s mixed alcohol with his pills again, which never goes well. He’ll be out in minutes. I’ve told him but he never listens. Just… let him have it.”
Nerves quake in my stomach.
My mouth opens to speak, though I squash the urge.
Ms. Poitier’s unaware. Caelian must be too.
Many women locked into contracts and the lifestyle that I’ve led do often get sold to various customers. Often by the time one chooses to marry them, they’re no beginner in the bedroom.
But my story’s different.
Part of the contract I was placed into involved none of these encounters. It explicitly stated in my contract I’d go untouched… until my husband bought me.
Since he bought me out of it, Caelian likely didn’t read the fine print. Neither has Ms. Poitier. They don’t know that I’m far out of my depth. I have no experience. I’ve never…
“You really are a pretty angel,” Ms. Poitier sighs as though a proud mother. She fusses with my hair, making sure it’s framing my face and touching my shoulders in just the right way. “All done. Has the wine hit you yet?”