Page 35 of Captured By Fate

21

KELLEY

Istare out the window of my bedroom, which gives me a perfect view of the horizon. The sun has set, but the remnants of pinks and oranges splattered across the sky remain.

Dusk has always been my favorite time of day. For whatever reason, the setting sun and the colors it displays always make me think of happier times. I used to watch the sun set with my father as a kid.

That was a long time ago, though. Now, all I can think about, as I ring my hands together nervously, is the inevitable moment of Jackson’s return.

I push myself away from the window and the view and pace anxiously around my room. I can’t stop thinking of the night we spent together. And the memories come out in a torrent of tears.

All of a sudden, my door swings open and a maid flutters in. Behind her is a team of people. My room is abuzz with activity now. They are stylists and makeup artists. I’m more confused than ever.

They murmur amongst themselves, their voices like a soft lullaby as they discuss what they plan to do with my hair and makeup. One of them hands me a warm, fluffy robe as they usher me into the bathroom where steam fills the air; it blends into a serene atmosphere created by floral-scented candles burning nearby.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask angrily.

I rip my arm away from a tall, dark haired man with an Italian accent and glare furiously at him. The maid, her eyes shining with excitement and anticipation, takes my hand gently and leads me towards the bathroom.

The air is filled with the sweet scent of lavender and jasmine as she opens the door, revealing a decadent scene before me. Steam rises from a large bathtub filled to the brim with fragrant rose petals, casting a misty glow over the room.

The walls are lined with soft, plush towels warmed by a discreet heater, adding to the cozy ambiance. The floor is littered with even more towels in various sizes and colors, creating an inviting pathway for me to follow. A bowl of silky bubbles sits on a small table near the tub, ready to be mixed into the water at my command.

“Jackson sent us to prepare you for this evening,” she says, kindly.

“What’s this evening?” I ask.

She shrugs, a smile still etched upon her face. She’s a hell of a lot nicer than some of the other maids I’ve come across in this mansion of captivity so I let it slide. I have no idea why Jackson wants me presentable, or what plans he has for this evening. I’m curious, though.

A soft, melodic flute music floats through the air, almost like a serenade. A bottle of expensive-smelling perfume is sitting next to the tub - its stopper uncorked, ready for me to spritz myself with.

My mind is abuzz with curiosity as I step over the plush towels arranged into a path leading to the enormous bathtub filled with warm, rose-scented water. I take a deep breath and the steam caresses my face; it tingles slightly as it travels down my throat.

The water gently laps against the sides of the bathtub, creating a soothing sound that mixes well with the background music. Treading carefully on the soft and squishy towels, I reach for the bottle of perfume, unscrew the cap, and take a deep whiff. It smells divine - rich, floral, and earthy all at once.

Carefully, I spray some onto my wrists and neck, then rub them together before inhaling deeply again. My eyes flutter shut in ecstasy at the heavenly scent lingering in the air.

"Lean down," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Confused but intrigued, I comply. She gently dabs a few drops behind each ear and on my collarbone before stepping back to admire her work.

"There," she says with satisfaction. "Now for your bath."

Without further ado, she reaches for a small bucket filled with bath salts infused with more roses and begins pouring them into the water while humming along with the music. As each grain hits the surface of the water, it makes a pleasant plinking sound like tiny bells ringing together. Soon enough, my bath turns into an enchanting pink hue that matches my curiosity level about this evening's plans perfectly.

"Now," she says after finishing off pouring in all of the salts, "It's time to wash up."

She hands me a loofah sponge made from genuine seaweed imported from Japan which feels surprisingly luxurious against my skin when I run it across my body during my shower.

When I get out, the stylists begin to poke, and prod, and pull. It takes every ounce of self control that I possess not to punch some of them. The make-up artists are just as rude. One of them actually puts their hand on my forehead and pushes my head back.

That’s when I slap his hand away.

“Remember,” comes the quiet voice of the maid. “Your freedom hinges on your performance tonight.”

I swallow hard. Her words ringing in my ears like an echo in an empty hall. I clench my fists, look at the asshole makeup artists and nod once. The woman has a point. If Jackson wants me to do this, I might as well put my all into it.

I need to get away from him…I think.

It’s when they come out with an outfit that would barely cover a five year old child, well, that’s when I put my foot down.

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