Be a Doll(2)

“Yes, Mrs. Stein,’’ I replied evenly, my eyes locked on hers. I made sure to keep my perfectly manicured hands in my lap and my legs still when I burned to twist and turn.

“I don’t think you understand your situation, Lila,’’ Mrs. Stein said, her eyes narrowing further behind her small glasses. It pinched her traits so much that the tiny wrinkles in the corner of her eyes deepened dramatically. “You have two red marks on your file from your sabotage with the other two prospective husbands. You can’t afford another one, not if you don’t want to go back in the streets with no future.’’

I was in no position to retort anything, but the need was there, all encompassing and so blinding that I had to draw blood by biting my tongue to keep quiet. It was my damn fault for being here today and I could be mad and regret it, the end result was the same. I was at Carter Manor and while I hated everything about it, it still gave me a chance to get away from my previous life. Memories of darkness, of danger lurking in the shadows, of dirt and hunger assaulting me, freezing me to my bones.

“I see it in your eyes, Lila. You don’t want to go back there. It’d be even more difficult after living in luxury for years,’’ she went on, a certain sick pleasure in her cold voice. “You wouldn’t have a roof over your head, no three meals a day, no—‘’

“I know,’’ I stopped her, my voice barely audible through my gritted teeth.

“Do you? Because I don’t think so. Carter Manor is an institution that helped countless gentlemen through the years finding a good wife. We have very powerful people on our side, Lila. You would be out there without anywhere to go and with no money to your name. You’re nothing without Carter Manor and if you sabotage another interview, I’ll make sure you have less than nothing out there.’’

My heart beat harder in my chest, hammering a rhythm that was all too familiar. Fear clawed at me, a fear so strong it shocked me in the chair, making it impossible for me to move or blink.

Before Mrs. Stein came to get me from the streets, I was a lost twenty-year-old woman. I had no roof over my head, no car, no bank account. I had nothing. Not even friends or a degree to my name. I was in the streets, trying to survive by eating straight from dumpsters if I couldn’t afford anything else and it had been way too often. My clothes were never clean, never without a hole in them.

I had been desperate for something better, for anything really.

Mrs. Stein appeared then and offered me what she said was a chance in a lifetime. She presented it like an academy of women where I’d be introduced into a whole new world, a world where I would never have to worry about my next meal or where I would be able to shower next.

I was a pretty smart woman, but at that moment, despair won and I didn’t question it. I said yes and the next thing I knew I was flown here and my life had been once again changed.

But one thing was certain; I would never go back in the streets. Never.

“I believe you made yourself very clear, Mrs. Stein,’’ I said tightly, my nostrils flaring. “May I ask who asked for me?’’

It became more and more obvious that this time I couldn’t sabotage the interview. There was nothing I could do, but pray that the man here for me wouldn’t appreciate me in the flesh. Then Mrs. Stein couldn’t blame me.

She stood and tugged down her jacket closed with one button made of nacre. “Follow me. I better introduce you to him right away. He’s been waiting long enough.’’

I stood and silently cursed my wobbly legs. I had a foreboding feeling about this, as if I already knew that I couldn’t do anything to escape this time. God, I hoped that this man wasn’t too old and a sick individual. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and exited the office on Mrs. Stein’s heels, towering over her with my high heels and my natural height.

“Could you tell me his nationality at least?’’

She stopped at a double panel door made of the same wood as the rest of the doors in the mansion and turned toward me. Behind this door was the hall leading to the four interview rooms. I didn’t have much time to get in the right mental state, but anyway she blindsided me by reminding me where I came from. That woman was good at what she did, I had to give her that much.

“He’s an American business man.’’

“At least I won’t have to live in another country,’’ I mumbled and received a dark look from her. Mumbling had always been frowned upon. It was considered bad class and undignified. Unfortunately, as good of a student I had been over the years, I still had slip-ups that gave me a little thrill, as if the peak of my true self was a comfort when sometimes I had a hard time knowing who I was.

She pushed open the door and went straight to the second one on the left and paused. She eyed me from head to toe, probably running a check list to make sure I wasn’t lacking something and then nodded. With a last warning look from above her small glasses she turned the old knob and walked in the room.

I braced myself and followed her inside, my eyes already looking in the small room furnished with two couches made of black leather facing each other and two matching armchairs on each side. In the middle, a Regency console table with a tea service completed the seemingly cozy interview room. I barely glanced at the tapestry in the far wall or the religious theme painting. No, my eyes were glued to the man sitting on one of the couches with a thick file in his hands.