My Billionaire Captor

Arabella was alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“Oui, oui, please do not mind me.” Nana sounded terribly and strangely excited. “But is it true, what you said? You met with the master?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what do you think of him?” Nana held her breath.

“What else would I think of him?” Arabella couldn’t help asking blankly, confused by the hopeful look on the other woman’s face. “I’m a prisoner here.”

“Oui, oui.”

Arabella blinked. That was a been-there-done-that voice if she ever heard one. Was she being patronized here?

“But what about beyond that, mademoiselle? What about how he looks?”

Now Arabella was even more confused. “I don’t care what he looks like.”

This time, Nana looked like she was about to swoon for joy. “You do not?”

“He bought me, Nana. He turned me into a slave—-”

“Oui, oui—-”

“Stop with that oui, oui!” Arabella was having a hard time holding on to her temper now. “You make it seem like my captivity is normal when it’s not!”

Only when a shamefaced expression fell over Nana’s face at her words did Arabella realize that her temper had struck again.

Oh, darn it!

Guilt filled her, and she apologized quickly, “I’m so sorry, Nana.” It was Arabella’s turn to look shamefaced. “I’ve always had the most horrible temper. And normally I can keep it together, but I guess—-” Arabella expelled her breath in frustration.

“Je comprends, mademoiselle.” Nana patted Arabella’s arm soothingly. “And I, too, must apologize. In my excitement, I have become insensitive to your situation, and for this – je suis désolée.” The maid started down the stairs again. “But let us not talk of such things for now, mademoiselle. I’m sure you must be starving so we should feed you without delay.”

After being given a choice between the breakfast room and dining hall but opting for the service kitchen where the rest of the staff had their meals, Arabella was then introduced to Nana’s other co-workers. There was Mrs. Bouilloire, the head housekeeper, Mr. Aliment, the head chef, followed by a dizzying set of French names for the other kitchen workers and housemaids. All of them smiled at her welcomingly, but none appeared inclined to free her from captivity.

Oooookay.

This was beginning to feel like a Stepford-controlled mansion, but she was going to let it be for now. If she wanted her mind working properly, she had to feed her growling stomach first.

The food was sumptuous. It was French cuisine at its finest, more delicious than anything she had ever eaten her entire life, but it also made Arabella feel weak and guilty for enjoying it so much. She had to remember she was a captive here and not a pampered guest!

When she was finished with her meal, the housekeeper asked kindly, “Would you like to have coffee or tea, mademoiselle?”

“Coffee, please.”

“You heard the lady, Mr. Aliment,” Mrs. Bouilloire said while clearing away the dishes.

“Oui, madame.” The stocky-looking chef left his station and took out a leather folder from one of the steel drawers. “Have a look, s’il vous plaît,” he said with a smile as he offered the folder to Arabella.

Opening the folder, she found a menu in it that easily put Starbucks’ own list of caffeinated drinks to shame. She pointed to the one highlighted as the chef’s specialty. “What is this – kopi luwak?” The staff started snickering as she said the words, and Arabella was confused. “Did I pronounce it wrong or something?”

The chef cleared his throat. “Ah, no. But that one is an acquired taste.”

Oh. Did that mean she wasn’t refined enough to appreciate it?

“Perhaps a latte for now, mademoiselle?”

“I guess.” Arabella told herself not to be insulted. Maybe it was a French thing, never mind if the words didn’t sound French.

Nana asked her if she would like a tour of the front gardens while having her coffee, and Arabella was surprised. “I may leave the mansion?”

Nana looked equally surprised. “Of course.”

“But what if I try to escape?”

This time, her words had most of the staff looking away and pretending to be busy.

“Mademoiselle—-” Only the housekeeper was able to look at her in the eye, and the older woman’s gaze was sympathetic. “There is no way to escape this island.”

She stiffened.

“It is not what you would call an ordinary place—-”

“No kidding,” she muttered. “It has bonsais in the shape of unicorns and fairies.”

The housekeeper coughed to hide her amusement. “Those are, err, a whim of the former master, the father of Monsieur Sauvage. He wanted—-” The old woman seemed to choose her words carefully. “He wanted the world to be reminded that not all that was different was ugly or scary.”

Oh. Arabella could see the point in that, but even so – it didn’t make the whole place any less strange.

“I know this is hard for you, mademoiselle, but could you please consider giving the island – all of us, the master included – a try? Why not think of this as a vacation—-”