He grabbed her chin, pulling her eyes and face toward the dark void. 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 wouldn’t let herself. If she couldn’t be strong, she could at least avoid fainting. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I am feeling well.” Still holding her chin, he had to 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 that the depth of their darkness seemed infinite.
“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, making her 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, and her thoughts summed up the scene. It all looks so nice and is such a masquerade.
The food smelled wonderful, but Claire’s stomach wouldn’t allow her to eat. She managed a few bites. However, swallowing was difficult. Her anxiety made her mouth dry as cotton. All of her pep talks about standing up to him proved worthless. Instead, she sat politely, playing with her food and nodding attentively.
There was an attempt at conversation. Looking at the dinner, Claire felt that something was missing besides common sense. The young man poured water into the glasses, yet to make the masquerade complete, there should be 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 thought immediately how nice it would be to have a fifth of Jack Daniels about now.
Anthony relished her discomfort. “Don’t you like your food?”
“I do. I guess I’m not hungry tonight.”
“I heard you have only eaten breakfast today. I suggest you eat. You will need your strength.” He grinned as he took a bite. His eyes didn’t grin. She used every ounce of energy to remain seated and not run, although the door was shut, and she heard the faint beep when the waiter left.
If she had run, she could have avoided the next horrific hours of her life. 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. “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. She didn’t move. She glared first at him and then at the floor.
Taking a deep breath and returning her eyes to his stare, she said, “I think we need to talk about this . . .” He waited for her to obey his command. When it seemed she had other plans, he redirected the conversation. In a sudden movement, the dress fell from her shoulders as he tore the lavish fabric from her body. Claire stood in shock, finding herself wearing only high heels.
“Apparently, you do not remember all the rules. Rule number one is to do as you are told.”
The trembling intensified as tears teetered on her painted eyelids. No words came from her mouth. It was all right. Anthony had other plans for her mouth. He pushed her down, directed her to kneel, and unzipped his pants. She noted immediately that he followed his own rules, no underwear. He didn’t speak but roughly engaged her movement. At first, she thought she would suffocate. She attempted to fight, to back away, but he entwined his fingers in her hair and directed her as he found fit. From there, the evening continued until about one in the morning.
When Anthony finally left the room, Claire threw back the blankets, grabbed the robe, and rushed to the door. Her hand gripped the smooth gray lever and pulled with all her strength. It didn’t budge. She formed a fist and pounded again. Her hand throbbed, yet no one responded. The only answer was an eerie stillness.