Only Pretend (9 page)

But the rest of the week, four or more women baking bread and chattering sweetly?

Something is going on.

One day, after finishing lunch with Leonide, a thought hit me. Covertly, I studied him as he sat across from me in the muted sun. His pale green dress shirt had the top button undone. I glimpsed the dip of his throat, trailed it down where it stopped. He always looked so clean-cut. "Sir?" I asked gently.

He watched me from under his lashes. "Hm?"

My gaze bounced to the women working, then to him again. "I was wondering. Will the man I'm going to marry—ah. Will he be Russian, like you?"

The slight way he narrowed his eyes set my veins pulsing. "Oho, so you think I'm Russian?"

"I..." I hadn't expected that response. I thought I was being clever, trying to decipher for sure where I was in the world. If my buyer spoke Russian, too, then surely... "But you told me the language you were using was Russian."

"That's true. It is." His fingers spread across the table like fans. "Does speaking a language reveal a person's heritage? If you learned it, would that make you Russian? I could teach you—well, perhaps." Chuckling, he propped his cheek on his fist. "It's a beautiful, difficult language. You'd need to be very clever to pick it up. Your new husband might request I teach you."

My confusion was warring inside of me. "Then he
will
be Russian."
Is Leonide really not? Did I just assume? But his accent! That doesn't just show up when someone learns a language, it's part of him as much as his own flesh.

"You look upset, Celeste." Leaning across, he trapped my hands on the table where I'd left them folded. Under his palms, my balled fingers felt like frail birds. "You ask too many questions. When you do that, you risk not getting answers and being disappointed." His smile was erased, a deliberate, emotionless mask replacing it. "I'll tell you something. The man who marries you, he may be anyone. My clients are varied. It's interesting how many men desire women like you."

I went very still. "Will you tell me where you're from? I want to understand who you are."
Where am I? Where is this house? Give me answers!

"I'm the one you must listen to." His hands slid away, tracing mine as they went. "The one who will make sure you leave here, ready to become a dutiful wife. Ready to not be tossed aside by a husband who finds you wanting. That's all you need to know about me."

I tightened my chin, disheartened.

"Celeste. Listen well to this. Every person has their secrets. Do not feel so inclined to probe."

The resentment was battery acid on my tongue. "Yes," I murmured, thinking about my growing brunette roots. "Every person has their secrets."

He furrowed his brow suspiciously.

Quickly, I collected up our plates to drop them in the sink.

Everyone has secrets.

What will happen when he discovers mine?

****

W
andering around the house became more common for me. I started dressing myself, approaching Leonide in the morning in the dining room to get his approval. Looking pretty, cooking food, cleaning whatever room I was pointed at; my routine was solid.

The one morning I slipped into a light blue, pleated dress and didn't find Leonide waiting for me in the kitchen...

It changed everything.

Flustered, I turned in place, stared at the women. "Where is he?" I asked. One of them glanced up at my voice, then looked away. "Leonide. Where can I find him?"

A heavy-set girl with curly brown hair peered at me, lips pursed. Whatever she said, it was clipped and exasperated. All of their backs were to me, acting as if I was invisible.

Invisible.

Turning, I stepped quietly from the kitchen. I'd never explored the house on my own before. It sprawled all around, hallways and doors that could have led to anything. My own footsteps began to make me nervous, the only sound in my ears.

Sliding my shoes off, I hooked them on my fingers. They kept me company while I explored, turning right down a long hall I'd never seen. The deeper I went, the lighter it looked at the end.

The pattern of my heart was erratic. There, in a wide room with two other staircases, was a set of windows and a door. I could
see
the outside. The sun waved to me, coerced me forward.
Is this a trick?
My eyes shot behind me, at the gradient of shaded hallway.
Someone is going to jump out and stop me. They have to.

My hand quaked as it touched the door knob. The click of it turning, opening, put bass drums in my chest. This couldn't be. It was fucking impossible.

Dropping my shoes on the front step, I took one giant leap out into the world.

And I ran.

Nothing existed but the wild fire in my veins. It kept my limbs flying, carrying me down the long driveway. Not once did I glance back. I wouldn't—couldn't take that risk.
Eyes forward. Keep going. Keep running, Celeste!

I was on the top of a slope, the cobbled road leading me to the cluster of buildings below. Thick trees dotted the land, a spread of sparkling blue water far in the distance. A lake, or an ocean?

My lungs threatened to shatter by the time I stumbled into the town. I didn't need to know where I was to grasp that it was
foreign
to me. The architecture was simple; clean, well made in spite of how quaint everything felt.

Police, I need the police!
Clutching my chest, my bare feet throbbed from running on the hard ground.
I need someone!
In the middle of the day, sun shining so sweet, my eyes fell on a small crowd outside of a fruit stand.

I was shouting before I drew near. "Help! Someone help me, please!" All of them turned, gaping at me with open mouths. They stood there, looking like goldfish while I grabbed for one of them. Clawing at the shirt of a stranger, I sobbed. "Please! I need help, a man kidnapped me!"

Some of them ran backwards. Others lifted their hands, seeking protection from... what? Not me, surely! In the reflection of a shop window, I caught me frantic expression. "I—I need the police," I said, releasing the man. "Please. Call them!"

Everyone around had frozen, staring at me—staring at each other. They whispered, some of it sounding Russian, the rest slightly different. The longer I hung there, waiting for anyone to help me, the faster my fear blossomed. Every sign on the buildings was unreadable to me.

"English." I twisted on the spot, hands on my head. "Oh god, please! Does anyone speak English!? I need
the police!
" I was ready to start bawling. "A man kidnapped me! Does anyone understand? He lives up the hill, his name is Leonide!"

The wave of their heavy silence slammed into me. The unease on their paling faces matched my own. These people, whoever they were... were they scared of Leonide, like me?

Up ahead, by a curve in the cobbled street, I spotted a man at a phone booth. Adrenaline shot me to him in seconds. He saw me coming, eyes like eggs in his head, voice short and fast on the line. "I need you to call the police! Please! My name is Celeste Barstow, I was captured!"

On the phone, I saw how white his knuckles were.

A sickening knot formed in my guts. It grew to tennis ball size by the time I heard the rumble of a car, saw the shiny silver vehicle rocketing down the hill. I didn't need to see the driver to know who it was.

Leonide.

Run. I had to run again. If he caught me after I tried to escape, he would—I didn't want to even guess.

Wheezing as I went, my legs pushed to carry me deeper into the town. I didn't know the place, though. Every door I ran to, the handle jiggled with a lock. In windows I saw people staring at me fearfully. At
Me.
They were afraid of helping me.

I took a corner too hard, partially fell and dove down an alley. The other side was so clear, so welcoming. That car rumbled like a lion on the prowl. I was sure it was behind me. So sure.

Silver paint pulled up short outside the alley and in my path; I slammed into the front, hands on the hood. Through the windshield, Leonide and I met eye contact.

The pure rage in his inky pupils sent me tearing off again.

To my credit, I got out into the main square, people dotting the sidewalks, before he grabbed my dress from behind. "No!" I screamed. "Stop! Let me go!" I appealed to everyone looking on, frustrated tears on my cheeks. "Help me! God dammit, you assholes! Help me! Please!"

"Celeste!" he grunted, iron fists on my elbow. My body wrenched, threatening to tear my arm from the socket just so I could escape.

It was not to be.

He took me to the ground, flattened me on the dust of the street. The sun-warm rocks burned my skin, but I didn't care. "Get off of me!" I shouted, mud caking to my forehead. "Someone help me! Why won't you stop him!?"

Leonide rolled me over, stunning me with a crisp slap to the face. My ears rang, eyes stuck on the villagers standing around. None of them were looking at me. They acted as if they weren't seeing what was happening.

He dug his fingers in my scalp, pinched my wrists in his other hand. "You stupid fucking girl." He sounded like the engine of his car. "Did you actually think you could just run away like this?"

My chest thrummed, but I would not let myself cry anymore.

"You thought you'd get here, and that these people—
my people—
would choose you over me?"

I went limp listening to his disgust.
His people?
Peering at the crowd, thinking of the man on the phone, I understood.
They called him. They told him I was here. That's how he found me so fucking fast.

These people were in his pocket. They would never help me.

Leonide throttled the veins in my wrist until I couldn't bite back my shout. "Stop it, please!"

Roughly, he rolled me forward. "Kneel," he snapped, violence glowing in the pits of his eyes.

Wiping at the dirt on my cheek, I sat up as he asked.

Amazingly, he slapped me down again. Colors danced in my brain, blinded me. "You keep fighting me, Celeste. Do you really not understand by now?"

I don't. I don't understand any of this.
Closing my eyes was cut short. He yanked me by my hair, forced me to sit on my heels. "Please, just stop this! I'll behave!"

"You'll behave?" He barked a laugh, turned me so I faced away from him on the street. Still he held my blonde strands, worked them like a leash. "
Now
you'll obey? Do you think I keep you hidden away, train you in private, for
me
, Celeste?" I said nothing; groaned as he shook me. "No! You stupid fucking girl, I train you in private for
your own good!
Yours!"

Leonide pushed me again. I had no strength to catch myself, I toppled onto my elbows. Around us, the people avoided their eyes.
Yes,
I thought sullenly,
don't look. You wouldn't want to see what you're allowing to happen under your nose.

His shadow fell, stretched over me and predicted my defeat. "Kneel, Celeste." Hanging my chin, I once more did as he bid. All I could see was my own hands in my lap; they were scuffed and cut from the street. I hadn't even felt the pain.

"Turn around."

Inching on my bruised legs, I did. I saw his polished shoes, my own face staring back at me. Over my head, something metallic cut the air. I knew the sound, but the situation was so out of place, I just...
No. It can't be.

"Look at me, Celeste."

Pure terror moved me. Arching my neck, I saw what he was doing. He had his hand on his zipper, ready to pull his erection free. My tongue turned to ash. "Please don't," I whispered. He arched an eyebrow. "Sir! Please don't, sir!
Sir!
"

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

There was no sympathy in his face. "Oh? You're begging me not to use you where everyone can see? Not to take what any man can, at any time he chooses, from a good little wife?"

I came close to blurting that I wasn't his fucking
wife
.

What I did instead was no better.

Crumbling forward, I wrapped my arms around his leg. Every atom was shivering, my body hot and cold and too unsteady for anything logical. "Please," I said against the cloth. Under it, I felt the firm edge of his strong calf muscle. "Not here. Anything but here. I'll be good, I won't run again. I promise."

"A promise from you means nothing." I clung to him even tighter. “I want you to hear me, right now. These people are my people. They know me, they know what I do for them, and they will always protect me as I protect this town. You aren't the first girl to run. You certainly won't be the last.” I hung on until the sound of him zipping his pants brought a burst of relief to my heart. "Get in the car."

He didn't sound happy. That was fine. I didn't need him to forgive me, I just needed him to not humiliate me in front of a group of strangers. Scrambling, I climbed into the passenger side of the car.

Leonide stood outside, waving someone over from the crowd. I recognized him as the man at the phone booth. They bent heads, whispered, then finally shook hands. The sight confirmed my suspicion, added to what Leonide had said. With it, the last of my hope began to fade. There was no doubt. I was in an unfamiliar place, somewhere that no one spoke—or dared to speak—the only language I knew. I was as trapped as if Leonide had thrown me in a cage.

He climbed in beside me, not sparing me a look while he turned the key. Strangling the steering wheel, he drove us from the town and back up the hill. I could see the house... the mansion... as we approached. Dark brown and crimson, pale grey shingles and lovely stone work. It was a splendid home.

If only it weren't my prison.

"You know you'll still need to be punished," he said under his breath.

Sinking in the seat, I nodded. "Yes, sir."

In the mirror, he glanced at me. "This is partly my fault, too." His admission of guilt felt out of place, turned my neck warm. "I should have trained you better. Letting you be alone so soon... well. Situations happen. I was distracted today."