Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Undress and shower. I will dispose of your clothes.”
I turned to look at him, not even having enough time to absorb this unbelievable room, a space suited for French royalty.
Gilbert continued to stand there, his arms behind his back, staring at me expectantly.
I waited for him to leave.
“Please.” He nodded to me.
“You…you want me to undress right now…in front of you?”
“Yes. I want to get those…I don’t even want to call them clothes…out of this estate as quickly as possible. It’s insulting to the history in these walls just to have them here. And I’m not buying what you’re selling, Melanie…even if I didn’t prefer men for my lovers.”
I did as he asked and stripped down until I was completely naked.
He took it a step further and actually put on gloves before he rushed them out of the room, muttering in French. “Disgusting…absolutely disgusting.”
It was the first time I’d showered with real hair products, high-end stuff I hadn’t even heard of. I scrubbed myself down, shaved everything, massaged my scalp with the quality shampoo, and let the camp rinse off my body.
When I dried my hair, there was an assortment of brushes and hair products available, prepped for any guest who might stay. But I couldn’t imagine Fender having a guest…unless it was a woman, and she would probably have her own clothes.
For the first time, I was actually able to style my hair, give myself a blowout, get the shine back into my strands. My face was free of makeup, but I actually could see a glimmer of my old self in the reflection. I stared for a while, my thoughts immediately going back to what I’d left behind.
I hoped she was okay.
I stepped back into the bedroom and found clothes on the bed. Gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt were there, big enough to make a poncho for a horse, so I assumed they belonged to Fender. I put them on and had to tighten the drawstring and make a double knot just to keep them up. The shirt was more like a blanket.
But it felt like heaven against my skin, because it was the first time I was able to feel clean cotton against my skin. Our work clothes were only washed once in a while, so it was rare to feel a shirt against my skin that felt this weightless, that smelled like nothing except the faint hint of soap.
I took a seat on the edge of the bed, unsure what else to do with myself. Leaving the room didn’t even cross my mind because I hadn’t been allowed to vacate mine at the camp, ever. The door was always locked.
But my bedroom door was actually open, and I could see the hallway.
I still didn’t move.
I wondered where Fender was. Would he come to talk to me soon? Or would he ignore me for a while because he was still angry with me?
Voices sounded from down the hallway, Gilbert’s French-accented words loud and booming. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Most gracious.”
A woman’s deep voice responded. “When Fender calls, we come.”
Gilbert stepped into the room first. “Melanie, come here. Stand straight.”
I hopped off the bed and approached them.
The woman walked in with a younger man behind her, who held a clipboard and a pen. She looked at me the exact same way Gilbert did, visibly disturbed by my appearance, which was saying something because I looked a lot better than I had earlier. She turned to stare at Gilbert, as if this was some kind of mistake.
Gilbert shook his head.
She rubbed her hand absent-mindedly into her chest as she looked at me. “Oh dear…”
I stood there, humiliated once more.
She pulled out a measuring tape from her pocket and wrapped it around my waist, taking a series of measurements. “We’ll need everything, Pierre. The full makeover.”
Pierre started to take notes. “Already on it.”
I spent the day in my room, sitting on the terrace and admiring the grounds of his estate. There were always a dozen men down by the front entrance, guarding the premises with guns. The lawns and grounds were immaculate, with freshly trimmed bushes and beautiful flowers, bright even in the coldness of winter. It was like a watercolor painting.
When the sun set, it turned frigidly cold, so I returned to my bedroom.
Gilbert knocked on the door before he entered with a silver tray. Without looking at me, he carried it to the small dining table in the living room and set it down. He poured a hot cup of tea from the teapot and removed the silver lid over the plate.
I walked over to take a look.
It was fresh pasta with red sauce, an entire loaf of bread, and a side of cookies. The smell hit my nose with a burst, and it was the best-smelling thing I’d inhaled in a long time. “That looks really good.”