Page 3 of Madam Alana

“Moncoeur.”Myheart.A deep, cultured male voice pierced through the invisible mask andshield I had mentally put in place. I looked down toward the audience,foolishly attempting to make out the man behind such kind words. I couldn’t seeanyone through the stage lights clogging my vision, but I couldfeelhim.

I felt his gaze upon my form like a gentle breeze coatingthe surface of my skin.

“Si belle.”So beautiful, he said asthough the words were pulled straight from his soul.

I held my breath, let my mouth fall slightly open, andlicked my lips, imagining Prince Charming coming to save the princess from theforces of evil.

“Mon Dieu. Elleestparfaite.” My God. She is perfection.

I gasped at what the unknown man said. A warmth the likes ofwhich I’d not felt in longer than I could remember spread through my veins. Noone had ever called me beautiful in that breathy, worshipful manner. The voiceand the language were French. Celine and I had spent every day learning tospeak as many languages as possible. It had been a game to us. I wasn’t fluentby any means, but I could carry a conversation with someone who spoke thesing-song language.

“Girl, I said turn around. Number thirteen! Alana!” Angusclipped, anger fueling his tone.

I snapped to attention as I must have missed his verbalcues, my focus coming back to the moment and not the man with sweet words. Igave a half-smile and slowly turned around until I faced the front, then Iwalked back to my place in line.

The last girl was announced, and then the feeding frenzystarted.

“Now that you’ve seen the quality of such treasures beforeyou, it’s time to start the bidding. Number One, please approach the center ofthe stage once more. Let me remind you all, she isuntouched. Pure.Her virginity comes at a high price.”

The audience members started to chatter, sounding like aherd of wild animals ready to be let out of their cages. My stomach clenched,my palms became clammy, and my heart beat an erratic rhythm behind my chest.

“Let’s start the bidding at one million dollars…”

Chapter 2

GoodLuck

For the next hour, each girl walked the stage once more. Thebidding wars began with screaming, hollering, and an enormous amount ofyelling. Shadowy figures waved illuminated paddles each time a new girl wascalled.

They went rabid for Matisse who brought a final purchaseprice of two million dollars. I couldn’t believe they’d started at one million,it made me think thatall ofthe women would get suchhigh payouts, even after Angus took a forty percent commission. We’d beenpromised no less than $250,000 for a five-year marriage contract. More moneythan I’d ever seen.

The second and third girls did well, but didn’t come closeto the kind of bids Matisse earned. The fourth in line ended up securing amillion, but number five didn’t fare as well and was not picked at all. Numbersix then brought in half a million.

The common denominator among the girls whose bidders pledgedseven figures was their innocence. Apparently, if you had your virginityintact, you went for millions. If you were like me and Celine, women in badpositions who really needed the money and weren’t virgins, the odds ofreceiving a larger sum were not favorable. This was disappointing, but if Ibrought in a bid of three hundred thousand and lived with my new husband forthe required five years, I’d leave the marriage far richer than I would havebeen able to otherwise. And I’d be off the streets.

Eventually they got to number twelve, which was Celine.

She pranced onto that stage and owned the audience. Sheshook her ass, strutted from side to side, made kissy faces, and pretended todrop something on the stage, bending over with her booty facing the audience sothey’d get a glimpse of cheek. The bids rose as her confidence soared. She wasalready up to six hundred thousand when I heard the familiar melodic Frenchlilt of the man who’d complimented me earlier.

“She’s too young for you,monami.”My friend.

“I will have her!” Celine’s highest bidder raised his voice overthe others, waving his paddle like a flashlight in a pitch-black forest.

We couldn’t see the men, but I focused intently on theFrench accent and where I thought it was located.

“She’s twenty-five years younger than you,” the gentle voiceadmonished.

“I don’t care. I want her collared and under me. One milliondollars!” the bidder bellowed.

My heart sank. Twenty-five years older. He wanted to collarher?What did that even mean? Fear for my friend blisteredscalding hot through my veins. I didn’t know what to do. We were in animpossible situation—one of our own making—with no fallback plan.

Celine must not have heard what they’d said over the noiseof the crowd because at the announcement of the million dollars, she clappedand blew more kisses toward the audience.

“Going once, going twice… Sold to Mr. Holt for one million.Please exit the stage, Number Twelve, and wait with the others,” Angusinstructed.

Celine walked to me, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it.“You’ll do great. A million dollars!” she whispered withglee,her entire face lit with the biggest smile I’d ever seen on her.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet how my girls support one another’ssuccess,” Angus tutted into the microphone. “Lucky Number Thirteen, Ms. Alana,come on up to the front of the stage, sweetheart. Let’s start the bidding at$100,000.”

---