Page 24 of Wicked Games

When you become an actress, it’s partially because you want to live in an imaginary world. You want it to be real. You want to wear the dramatic dress with sweeping train and come running out of the castle into the knight’s arms. Unfortunately, you are not fully prepared for the dress reeking like moth balls and body odor. For the castle entrance to just be the door to the backstage lot with the details filled in by computers later. Or for the knight’s costume to be made of such thin aluminum you’re told to only pretend embrace or you’ll dent it.

I was not a fool, I knew all of it would be fake props when I got into acting, but I couldn’t help wishing everything was just a little more realistic… a little more in keeping with the fantasy.

And now my wish had been granted.

Everything felt… real… authentic… yet it wasn’t.

This was the dream, not the reality.

Wasn’t it?

As I approached the large pair of polished wooden doors, two footmen who were standing at attention on either side immediately leaned over to open them wide.

Crossing the threshold, I took a tentative step into the massive dining room. The room was dominated by a magnificent table of veneered satinwood. In the center was an ornate silver urn filled with orange blossoms and fruit flanked by two tall silver candelabra ablaze with candles. The table easily sat over fifty people. At the far end, I could only get a glimpse of two place settings.

Heading in that direction, I finally saw the elegant display of crystal, silver, and china placed over a runner of lace.

In the center of the plate was a single perfect white rose. I reached out to caress one soft petal, needing to feel the silky texture to be assured it was real.

“I see you have found my small token.”

Turning with a start, I placed a hand over my chest to somehow calm my beating heart as Richard approached me.

As always, all the oxygen seemed to leave the moment he stepped into a room. He was dressed in similar black attire but this time his silk waistcoat had been changed out for a cobalt blue one, identical to the silk of my dress.

Unable to move, I trembled in place as he came closer. I was now used to the possessive way he placed a single finger under my chin, forcing my gaze to his own.

Leaning forward, he placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. I half expected his touch to scald my skin; instead it felt cool and almost impersonal.

“Turn around.”

It angered me to think it didn’t even occur to me to disobey. Turning on my heel, I felt a frisson of primal fear as my back was momentarily turned to him. A heightened sense of awareness of his nearness.

“Slowly,” he commanded, his voice dark and low.

I turned more slowly for him. A doll on display. Perversely, I hoped he liked how I looked in my dress.

As I once more met his gaze, I didn’t see appreciation, the typical male expression when looking upon a beautiful woman. I saw something deeper and far more dangerous. I saw the dark light of obsession glow from his obsidian eyes. The type of deep satisfaction that only came from attaining a highly prized possession.

“Perfection,” he intoned. The single word sent a chill down my spine.

Is that what was happening here? Had I somehow become his new possession? His prize?

Grasping the back of the nearest chair, he pulled it away from the table and turned an expectant eye on me. When I didn’t move, he raised one eyebrow in disapproval.

“Elizabeth… sit,” he said sternly.

Reaching for the folds of my dress, I shifted the fabric around the seat of the chair and gingerly perched on the edge as he pushed it beneath me. Richard took a seat to my left at the head of the table.

I needed answers to questions I was too afraid to boldly ask. I would have to play this by his rules.

The game of cat and mouse had begun.

Before we could speak, Jack, still dressed as a butler, entered with a glass decanter of wine.

He poured a small amount for Richard’s approval. After raising the glass for a taste, he nodded. Jack leaned in to fill the glass and then turned to me.

Placing a hand over the rim of my glass, I said, “No, thanks, Jack.” I needed to stay clearheaded if I was to survive this meal.

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