Page 200 of Morally Gray Daddies

I love how she follows me so closely as I lead her through her room into the bathroom. She’s not saying any words, but I feel her excitement about having a bath. Looks like I’ll be buying every bath bomb, bath foam, salt soak, and every other bath accessory I can find in the city of Seattle. Maybe even the world.

Thankfully, it’s spacious in here with a full shower, double vanity, soaking tub, and a separate room with a toilet. The last thing I want to do is crowd her. This might be a small step forward in getting her to trust me.

After I plug the bathtub, I turn on the taps to get the water going. Once it’s to a good temperature, I straighten and go to the switches on the wall.

“There’s a dimmer here if you want it somewhat dark while you bathe. This turns on the heated floor.” I press the button so the tile will be nice and warm when she gets out. “Now, for the bath bombs.”

She watches me closely, a mix of anticipation and nerves laced on her face. I wish I knew what I could do to get her to trust me, but I have a feeling it needs to happen naturally.

I reach into the cupboard under the sink and pull out a large wicker basket filled with all kinds of supplies. Picking up one of the powdery balls, I show it to her.

“Smell this one.”

When she doesn’t immediately do it, I reach out. “Here. You can hold it. If you don’t like that scent, there are others.”

Slowly, she takes it from me and brings it to her nose. As she takes a deep whiff, she closes her eyes, her shoulders lift, and then the corners of her mouth tip up into a smile. When she looks up at me, she nods.

I offer her another one to sniff, but as soon as she does, she wrinkles her cute little button nose and shakes her head.

No eucalyptus. Noted.

“Let’s go with the purple one, then. It’s lavender. All you have to do is drop it into the water and watch it do its thing.” I motion toward the tub.

She hesitates for a second, looking from me to the bomb like she’s worried it’s a trick. Then she goes over to the tub and drops it in, gasping when it starts to fizz.

“Ohhhh,” she murmurs. “Pretty.”

There’s something so fucking pure watching her. So innocent. It feels like a gift being able to experience this first with her.

“There’s one more thing to make it even prettier.” I move back to the switches on the wall. “This one on the right turns on the lights in the tub, and then you turn the dial to whatever color you want.”

When I switch it on and turn it to purple, her mouth drops open as she stares at the glowing water.

I chuckle softly and lean against the doorframe. “Enjoy your bath, Anastasia. I’ll be gone early tomorrow.”

“Patrick.” Her tone is soft, and when I turn to look at her, she bites her bottom lip. “T-thank you.”

“You’re welcome, little one. Sleep well. You can lock the bedroom door before you go to bed if that makes you feel safer.”

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t have to. The way she brings her hand to her heart and smiles at me says it all.

When I get to my bedroom and strip out of my suit, my mind races at a million miles an hour. There are so many questions I don’t have the answers to, but the one thing I know without a doubt is that Anastasia is mine. Even if it’s only platonically. I’m never letting her go. She’s too special. And I’m too fucking selfish.

Chapter Ten

Ana

Bath time has become my favorite thing in the world.

Even though I’m a prisoner, I feel like a princess. This past week has been strange, but it’s also been amazing.

Every morning when I wake up, I find that Patrick has left me a note to say he’s gone and will be home for dinner. He also reminds me that there’s breakfast and lunch in the fridge.

His housekeeper has shown up three times, and each time she’s here, I stay out of her way, even though she tells me I don’t have to. We don’t talk other than a few words here and there. Despite that, she gives me this warm, motherly vibe that makes me feel safe. Instead of getting irritated with me when I don’t speak, she just keeps up a steady stream of chatter anyway as if we’re having full conversations.

Every night, when Patrick comes home, we sit in near silence as we eat together. He always brings two meals to the table while I have one. Then he shares his with me. Sometimes, I feel like a raccoon, gobbling up everything in sight. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. Actually, I think it pleases him. There isn’t a scale in my bathroom, but I’m sure I’ve gained at least five pounds since I’ve been here.

I should want to leave. To run as far away as I can. He bought me, after all. And for some insane reason, that doesn’t bother me. The thought of leaving has me in a panic.

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