Page 15 of Madam Alana

He might even find me appealing…until he saw the marks on mythighs.

I clenched my teeth and lifted the gown to my waist. Thejagged scars marring my inner thighs were ugly but not nearly as grotesque asthe way I’d received them. I ran my fingers down the sides of the raised skin,the memory turning my stomach.

You survived hell on earth, Alana. Always remember youare a survivor… Never to be a victim again.Celine’s impassioned chantthreaded through my mind, giving me strength.

I firmed my spine and dropped the nightgown back into place.Most of the men I’d had sex with for money ignored them altogether, preferringto enter me the second they were erect and to rut like a dog until they weredone. Maybe Christophe would be the same. Yet something told me with theattention to detail this man had already paid to me, I’d eventually have toaddress them. Until that time came, I would forget about it. I would distracthim with my body and my touch for as long as possible.

Content with my plan of action, I brushed my teeth, washedall the makeup off my face,lotionedmy entire form,and finished with a brush to my hair. It shined like black oil gliding over myshoulders and chest.

“This will have to do. I hope my husband likes what hesees,” I said to my reflection, then sighed before opening the door and turningoff the light.

The room was dark. Christophe lay under thecovers,his upper body clad in a white T-shirt. The coverswere pushed back halfway in invitation beside him on the bed.

“You are a vision, Alana,” Christophe said as I slowlypadded over on bare feet.

“Thank you,” I responded while standing next to the bed.“Would you like me to remove my nightgown?”

He frowned. “Do you want to remove it?”

I licked my lips and twisted my fingers together as I shookmy head.

“If sleeping naked is not your preference, you needn’t do itnow for my benefit,” he stated cryptically.

“Don’t you want to…” I gestured to the bed.

“Sleep?” he answered, patting the empty space next to him. “Oui,I am exhausted. We had a very big day and I’m filled to the brim with Bobby’smasterful meal. Come,moncoeur. Lie down and get somemuchneededrest. Tomorrow is a new day. The first of our married lifetogether. I am looking forward to its splendor.”

I quietly slipped into bed and held my breath as he slid thecovers over me. Then he wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me to thecenter of the bed where he’d turned onto his side. Consistent with his tactilenature, he tucked me to his body. This time, my back to his front, our bodiestouching. I held perfectly still, unsure if I should even breathe as I didn’twant to disturb him. Christophe tucked his face against the crook of my neckand sighed deeply.

“Relax, Alana. I do not bite, nor am I a restless sleeper.”He nuzzled against my neck and placed a kiss to my shoulder.

I allowed his warmth to ease the tension within me and,shockingly, I did as he said and relaxed fully against him, waiting forsomething to happen.

He hummed and then yawned. “Goodnight, my beautiful wife.Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, husband,” I responded, not knowing what to do,say, or how to react. I kept expecting him to move his hand from around mywaist to between my legs, or up to cup a breast, but the action never came.

He truly meant tosleepnext to me.

I waited until his breath became even and his arm heavyagainst my waist before I allowed myself the security of closing my eyes.

* * * *

A scratching sound invaded a wondrous dream I was having ofdancing with Christophe while wearing a crimson ball gown in a room filled withgold-framed mirrors. My head was tipped back, and I was laughing while theworld spun around me in a series of speckled rainbow colors.

I squinted as light prickled against my eyes. Peekingthrough half-raised lids, I felt a sunbeam streak across my face. I lifted myhand to shield my eyes from the bright rays. The scratching sound continuedfrom somewhere near my feet.

“Bonjour, wife.”Good morning, wife,Christophe said. “Stay still a few more minutes.Merci.”

He thanked me for some strange reason.

I blinked several times and reached out. My handmade contact witha thick piece of paper or parchment ofsorts. I turned my head to the side and noted dozens of pages with black marksall over them.

“What are you doing?” I croaked, my mouthdryfrom sleep.

“I woke hours ago to your slumbering beauty, and I couldn’thelp myself.”

Alarm bells went off in my brain. “What couldn’t you help?”I pushed up on an elbow, a few slips of paper falling to my lap. There werepages everywhere. I reached for one and studied the image.

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