Giving In (2 page)

I looked toward the doorway. Lou was still standing there, smiling. I opened my mouth to say something, but he simply bowed slightly and wished me a pleasant night.

Pleasant.

The word must mean something else in Venice, I thought.

* * *

In the morning, I hurried to Sasha’s room. I wanted to talk to her, to ask her questions, to find out what was going on. Were she and Stefan lovers? Had she really been with Lou? What was the true reason she’d brought me with her on this trip? Why had she never told me about the goings on at the villa before? But when I got to Sasha’s, the room was empty. The bed was made with hotel preciseness. Carnival roses, which I knew were Sasha’s favorites, bloomed in bright pinks and oranges in a vase on the bedside table. All of her clothes were hung neatly in the closet. The black, hardback brush she’d been spanked with the previous evening lay innocently on the bedside table. My stomach tightened at the sight.

Where was she?

I wandered down the stairs, listening. Would I stumble upon a scenario as decadent as the one I’d found the previous night? Or had I possibly imagined the punishment scene? I felt disjointed and disoriented.

When I entered the kitchen, a white-clad chef told me that the others were waiting for me on the veranda. She spoke English with a British accent, and she was pretty in a slightly smudged way. Her crisp shirt had one too many buttons open in the front, so that I could see a peep of her scarlet lace bra. Her eye makeup, shimmering charcoal around beautiful green eyes, seemed too dark for so early in the morning, blurred as if she hadn’t bothered to take it off the previous night.

Outside, Sasha looked same as always. Except, on second glance I realized that was not entirely true. She was wearing her traveling clothes—a more dramatic version of what she usually wore in the city. Her hair was down and straight, instead of up and pinned, and her eyes looked more alive, aglow.

“We’re sightseeing, Ellis,” she said excitedly. “Right away. I want you to love Venice.”

I wanted something else. I wanted to ask her what the fuck was going on. But I couldn’t, because just then Lou joined us on the terrace. Had she screwed Lou the night before? Had the debauchery I’d witnessed in the wee hours continued—or even occurred?

“Come on,” she said, grabbing one of my hands in hers. “We’re starting at my favorite museum.”

“What about Stefan?” I asked. I was surprised at how normal my voice sounded. “We haven’t been properly introduced,” I continued, wondering who did I think I was, the Queen of England? Clearly, Sasha had invited me into a fairy-tale land where dirty dreams came true, and I ought to enjoy the program.

“You’ll meet him later,” she assured me. “He’s busy this morning.”

Busy punishing other guests? Busy paddling his staff? The chef came outside and handed me a cup of coffee and a plate of crisp buttered French bread and artfully arranged fruit. I set the plate on the stone railing, and I gratefully devoured the exquisite breakfast. Why was I so worried? My alternate choice in life was nothing. That concept
Be Here Now
? I had no other options.

Maybe Sasha would tell me what had happened while we were out. I decided I wouldn’t ask any questions. She might not even have known I had seen her. Could I confess to spying without coming across as a pervert? All of these questions flickered through my mind as Sasha led me out of the villa and we began to stroll through the streets.

I had been to Venice years before, with a group of students from my university. We’d raced through Italy—not staying in any one place for more than 24 hours. But I still remembered the overwhelming beauty of the Piazza San Marco, the feel of riding beneath the bridges in a
vaporetto
, the magic that is Venice.

Yet although I was seeing The Floating City again, and listening to Sasha describe the sights, I could not fully focus. She chattered happily at my side, telling me of her past visits, the dinner she’d had at a special restaurant, the flowers she’d bought at a stand. I nodded, as if I were part of the conversation—but every time I looked at her, I saw her over Stefan’s lap. This was my best friend. Why could I not simply say that I’d had trouble sleeping the previous night, that I’d found myself outside her room, and see how she responded?

Because I couldn’t.

We arrived at a museum, and Sasha walked us past the glorious bronze statue of an athletic man riding a horse. The man sported an erection any man—statue or human—would be proud of. I wanted to stop and look, to figure out how one might impale herself on that metal sex toy. Clearly, I had fucking on my brain. But Sasha kept us moving. In the gardens stood an olive tree, a wishing tree, Sasha said, like the one in Stefan’s foyer.

“That’s where he got the idea,” she explained. I gazed at the paper-covered tree. “What did you wish for last night?” she asked as I stood there, staring blankly.

I wanted to tell her that she’d made my wish come true. She’d saved me, at least for a short period of time. I didn’t know how to say the fears that threatened to bubble up out of me.

“Write it down,” she insisted.

I looked at the paper. I wrote the same thing I had on the square she’d given me the night before.

I Wish I Never Had to Leave

We moved to the next exhibit, but my thoughts remained on the wish. I couldn’t see much of anything else. I was more aware of the travelers around us, the sounds of different languages in the air, the way Sasha’s hand felt on my arm, the desire to ask her about what had happened the previous night. I walked, as if through water, until finally she seemed to realize that she was the only one paying attention to the art.

“We’ll get coffee,” she said, and she brought me as if I were an invalid to a café on the canal, where I could look at her, or down at the diamond-glinting water, look at the charming little porcelain cup, or at the antique architecture all around us.

“Do you love it, Ellis?”

“The coffee?”

“Venice, silly.”

I nodded. The fears were taking hold once more with a cold fist around my heart. Where would I go next? How would I survive? I felt guilty even being unable to put down the few coins for the espressos. There was nothing in my wallet except a lucky dollar that was stamped NO WAR. At least, that’s what I’d thought, but when I fumbled with my battered wallet—in that habit people have of pretending they’re going to pay for a check—I saw European notes filling the interior.

“Don’t think so much,” she said, when I tried to ask what was going on. Who had put the bills in my billfold? “I promise, everything is going to be okay.”

Sasha had always lived life like this. With a confidence and an assuredness. I took a sip of the coffee, and I vowed to try, at least for the few weeks we’d be here, to be more like her. Including her kink.

When we returned to Uncle Stefan’s, she suggested we nap before dinner. I slipped on the headphones of my new iPod and reached for the brand-new vibrator that had been thoughtfully left for me the previous night. So Sasha hadn’t said a word about what her true relationship was to the men in the house. Maybe that would come out later. I hadn’t told Sasha the true level of my miserable existence for months. Some things are difficult to share, even with the best of friends.

That didn’t mean I simply slept. I pressed the new sex toy against my pussy and fantasized about the night before. I didn’t close my eyes after coming twice, the toy still clutched in my sticky fingers.

* * *

Waking up was one of those surreal moments. I couldn’t immediately tell from the light if it were dawn or dusk. At least, I knew where I was. The bed was becoming more familiar—the room felt like my own. I thrust the vibrator under my pillow, slid into my old shoes and rubbed my eyes. In the mirror, I saw a girl I recognized, but different from what I normally looked like. My hair was loose, curls flowing. I was actually starting to appear relaxed. Transformation. Was that the true magic of Venice?

I took a moment to write in my travel journal. I didn’t want to forget what we’d seen today, what I’d wished for. I wrote quickly, my handwriting dancing across the page, comforting in its familiarity even if what I was describing was entirely foreign. Then I set down the notebook, stood and stretched.

I’d find Sasha and talk to her, I decided.

But when I looked, she wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t in the main living room or in the kitchen. I wandered through the halls seeing no one, hearing nothing. Finally, I found a door I hadn’t seen before. I put my hand on the knob, and then I stopped. From within, I heard Lou’s deep Irish brogue, although I could not make out his words. This must be his room, I decided. I swallowed over a lump in my throat, imagining what I might find if I opened the door. Was he fucking her the way Stefan had described? Had he bound her down, tormented her in the most delightfully decadent ways imaginable? My fantasies ran wild, but I couldn’t muster the courage to turn the handle.

What if I walked into a scene like the one I’d witnessed the night before?

“Miss?” I looked and saw the chef coming toward me.

“Yes?”

“Sasha’s retired for the evening,” she said, “You’ll have dinner with Stefan. Tell me what you like, and I’ll bring you whatever you desire.”

The way she spoke the words made me think she was talking about more than food. Whatever I desired?
What
did I desire?

I heard a loud groan from inside the room. I could tell that Sasha had made the noise, even if I’d never have expected so guttural a moan from her lips.

What did the chef mean…
retired for the evening?
I was reading into everything. But I hadn’t yet asked Sasha about what her true relationship was to Lou and Stefan. Now, it looked like I wouldn’t find out until the morning.

* * *

I shouldn’t have been so pessimistic. I began to learn more about the villa at dinner. The table was set with candles and pretty pastel plates. Stefan sat opposite from me. He looked casually cultured in his crisp white shirt, black jacket and emerald silk tie. I felt as I had felt so often lately: underdressed and underdone. I was wearing a black tank dress that I hoped looked elegant in its simplicity rather than simply simple.

I wished I had dressed better.

“What did you wish for?” he asked, almost immediately as I’d had that thought.

I stuttered my answer. “What do you mean?”

“The tree…” He motioned to the one in the foyer. I realized what he was talking about and sighed. I didn’t have to tell him about the clothes. Then I thought about what I’d written, and I wasn’t sure if I should say that, either.

“You can tell me later,” he said. “I’m pleased that we’re having this chance to dine on our own.”

The chef came in then and served us from a painted wooden tray—starting with caviar on small rounds of toasted bread. The plates were as stunning as the artwork we’d seen earlier in the day. I didn’t want to disturb the arrangement, but I was hungry. Each bite was delicious. I’d been on rations for the past month. The closest I’d come to caviar was tuna salad on special.

Stefan smiled as he watched me eat. I’m sure my appetite showed on my face, even in the candlelight.

“What do you know about me?” he asked.

I knew he was wealthy, and that he didn’t officially have to work. I knew he was handsome and that he had spanked my best friend. I knew he had good taste in clothes, décor and food, and that he had stuck his pointer up Sasha’s asshole. What did he want me to say?

“This isn’t the world I’m accustomed to,” I ultimately managed to respond.

“What do you mean?”

“Elegance,” I said, made slightly more confident by the wine.

“You deserve elegance.”

Again, I wished I were better dressed, wished I could behave the way Sasha did, so refined. She always seemed to know exactly what to say in any given situation. I’ve always been better with words on paper. “What do you know about me?” I decided to ask, because the way he was looking at me made me think he had already acquired certain knowledge.

Stefan smiled, and I instantly envisioned what kissing him would feel like. He looked so different this evening. My first glimpse had been of him spanking Sasha, and his face had been set and stern. Now he appeared relaxed and magnanimous. “I’ve known you for years,” he said, and the surreal quality that seemed to follow me in this villa settled on my shoulders like one of Sasha’s fancy scarves.

“I don’t understand….”

“Ellis, I had an ulterior motive to inviting you to stay here.”

I thought about the spanking and didn’t lift another round of caviar toast. I would say my heart began to beat faster, but actually it was a different part of my anatomy that responded. When I reached for the glass of wine, my hand shook.

“I’ve been reading your words for the past fifteen years, and I am a fan.”

“My words?” I asked the question before I could stop myself.

“Sasha’s sent me your writing—the articles, the copy. You have a flow.” The fact that he’d like my work—that made me blush. “I want you to write something for me.”

“I’d love to,” I said too quickly, before knowing what he wanted, what he could be asking.

He looked at me carefully. “I’m not ready to tell you the assignment yet, but I will soon.”

The rest of the meal seemed to pass like a movie I was watching by not starring. We spoke, I know, about his life in Venice. About where I had grown up and the different careers I’d tried. I worked not to let him know about my failures—about how low I’d gotten myself right before the journey. He didn’t ask pointed questions. But the whole time we spoke, all I could think of was
a job
. I might have a job. The box under the bridge seemed like a distant threat now, as if I’d managed somehow to knock the cardboard flat.

At the end of the meal, Stefan led me to my room. I felt like a girl coming home from the prom, wondering if her date was going to try for a kiss. I hoped he’d try, but he didn’t.

* * *

That night, I heard the same sounds as I had the previous evening…clapping, or what I realized now was spanking. This time, I wasn’t surprised; I was excited. I followed the noise, not nearly as nervous as I had been on the prior evening. I felt as if someone was calling out to me. I had to respond.