Beauty & The Biker

I peer inside, becoming perked up at the sight of the black claw foot tub. I go to tell Tristian I love his bathtub but he has disappeared from my side.

He is further down the hall standing outside of another door. This huge house is so quiet. I guess we are the only ones here. The article didn’t mention any other family. But I don’t detect anyone else as I pass by the closed doors.

“This is your room. You are next to me. My room is off limits and you are never to go inside it. Understand.”

How odd. But whatever. “Sure, whatever you say.” I can respect his need for privacy.

“You won’t wear clothes like this any longer.” He jerks on my loose, blue frock dress. “Your new dress is on the bed. Change into it then meet me downstairs in the kitchen.” He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything, leaving me alone. His steps echo through the walls loudly.

I look down at my clothes. I don’t see anything wrong with the way I dress.

I feel out of place as I glance around the grand room.

My suite is fit for a queen. It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a large bed before. I run my hand over the large knob post of the footboard. Sheer curtains hang from the ceiling, drawn back at the headboard. The comforter is a gorgeous shade of periwinkle blue. Everything in here looks royal. And way more expensive than anything I have ever owned.

There is a dressing chair and small table next to the window by the fireplace. Fresh blue roses are displayed next to the bed on the nightstand. Picking one out from the dozen, I prick my finger on the thorn. An image clouds my vision momentarily; a small pale hand is placing a blue rose in mine.

Blinking, my blood drops onto the blue rug. I hope it doesn’t stain. I will never be able to afford to replace it.

Wrapping my finger with my other hand, I rush down the hall to the bathroom in search of a Band-Aid. The medicine cabinet doesn’t have any so I settle for running cool water over it instead. That thorn was like a razor blade or a dagger.

I gaze longingly at the tub making plans to enjoy soaking in it once I have given it a good scrub. Lost in my daydreaming, I remember Tristian is waiting for me and scurry back down the hall.

Back in my room, I look at the dress Tristian wants me to wear. What an odd choice, it’s white, plain other than the eyelet lace trim. Pretty but not very practical for cleaning in. It looks a bit tighter than I normally wear. Closing the door, I strip out of my dress.

Digging around in my purse for a hair tie leaves me coming up empty. I walk over the vanity and see he has a brush for me, but no hair ties. I close my eyes as I brush through the tangles from the ride here.

This brush is awesome, much better than the one I had at home. I just hope no one else has used it, but it looks new enough to me. When I open my eyes, I am startled to see Tristian standing behind me, holding my dress. The stark contrast between us is impermeable. His tattoos come alive next to my untouched olive skin.

“You were taking too long.” He avoids my eyes as he brushes my dark hair away from my neck and slips the dress over my head. He doesn’t seem to notice I am practically standing here naked in my white lace bra and white cotton briefs.

It’s funny that I shouldn’t want him looking at me but the fact that he isn’t bothers me for some reason.

Mortified, I push my arms through the armholes and pull the rest of the fabric down over my body. The fact that it fits me perfectly strikes me as peculiar. How does he know my size?

I turn to slip my flats back on and he is already thundering down the stairs again. I get the feeling he knows so much more about me than I ever will of him.

It takes me three tries to find the kitchen. This place has so many corridors and wings I don’t know if I will ever find my way. I need a map.

I find Tristian waiting for me impatiently. He shoves me down into a chair telling me there are rules to my living here.

“Rule number one, I don’t like to be kept waiting.

Rule number two, if you break my rules I will punish you as I see fit.

Rule number three, until your father’s debt is worked off you belong to me. I will take care of you as long as you do what I ask of you.”

“How much does he owe you? I…we never discussed that part.” I feel stupid, why didn’t I ask him something so important before agreeing to this. I am coming into this situation blind and with a stranger.

“Three year’s salary,” he says coolly.

Surely, he doesn’t expect me to live here for three years, as his maid.

“You have questions and I have answers but right now the dishes need washed.” He grabs my elbow and shoves me toward the sink.

I turn to tell him he doesn’t have to be such a jerk to me but he is already gone. How did I not hear him walk away? I have a sinking feeling he finds pleasure in making me uncomfortable.

“Oh, gross!” I throw my hand over my nose and mouth trying to escape the putrid smell of a cup of spoiled milk sitting in the sink. I should have known he would have horrible habits. I rinse it out and sit it to the side on the counter. I am going to have to clean the sink before I can even wash anything.