Consequences(6)

The fake resolve melted as she turned to see the eyes staring directly at her. Then almost instantaneously, he was there, right in front of her. His proximity caused her stomach to wrench, bringing back the nasty bile from earlier.

His large hand captured her chin, pulling her eyes and face toward the dark voids. His strong voice was deep, slow, and authoritative, “Shall we try this once more”—It wasn’t a question but a statement—“It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said good evening.”

Claire’s knees went weak at his touch. She wanted to yell, to run, but she couldn’t let herself. If she couldn’t be strong, she could at least avoid fainting. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’m feeling well.” With his grip still upon her chin, she knew he could feel her body tremble.

He repeated, “Good evening, Claire.” This time, it was more drawn-out. His eyes were so cold. Claire couldn’t distinguish what they said—only see the depth of their infinite darkness.

“Good evening, Anthony.” She would tell herself she sounded strong, but she didn’t.

At that moment, the door opened again, and a young man pushing a cart brought them their meal. Claire started to walk toward the table, but Anthony’s hand seized her arm, stopping her. She looked back up at him, into those eyes. He reached with his other hand to lift her dress and place a hand on her buttocks.

The shock of his touch quickly turned to anger. Her green eyes flashed fire, and her neck stiffened. “What the hell…?” Her impulse was to lash out, but the hand that held her arm tightened its grip, causing her to forget her words.

“I see you can manage to follow at least one rule. Shall we eat?” His grip loosened as his voice attempted a reasonable tone.

Anthony pulled back Claire’s chair at the intimate table. She eyed the display: It all looks so nice and is such a masquerade. The food smelled wonderful, but Claire’s stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat. All of her pep talks about standing up to him proved worthless. Instead, she sat politely, playing with her food and nodding attentively.

Looking at the dinner, Claire felt that something was missing—besides common sense. The young man had poured water into the glasses, yet to make the masquerade complete, at such a dinner there should have been wine or champagne.

It was almost as if he read her mind when Anthony commented, “I do not like to drink alcohol. It inhibits the senses.”

She immediately thought how nice it would be to have a fifth of Jack Daniels.

Anthony clearly relished her discomfort. “Don’t you like your food?”

“I do. I guess I’m just not hungry.”

“I heard that today you have only eaten breakfast. I suggest you eat. You will need your strength.” As he took another bite, he sent her a grin which didn’t reach his eyes.

Claire used every ounce of energy to remain seated and not run. Besides, the door was shut, and she heard the faint beep when the waiter left.

Apparently, the night before was only a prelude. Once Anthony finished eating, he stood and took Claire’s hand. Her trembling increased as she stood. He smiled and held her at arm’s length as he asked, “Did you choose this dress for the evening?”

“No, it was Catherine.” She remained tall and defiant even though she knew her will would not be considered in his plans.

“Yes, she knows me well. Now take it off.” No sweet talk, no kisses, nothing—just a demand to remove her dress. Claire didn’t move. She glared first at him and then at the floor.

Taking a deep breath and returning her eyes to him, she said, “I think we need to talk about this—” In a sudden movement, the dress fell from her shoulders as he tore the lavish fabric from her body. Claire stood in shock, wearing only high heels.