Page 112 of The Secrets We Bury
For dinner, I choose a close-fitted black cocktail dress with ruching along the side of one hip. Every step I take will part the fabric and reveal the skin of my thigh all the way up to my panty line. The material over my chest and stomach clings to my skin, allowing no room for a bra, not even a strapless one.
As I stand in front of the mirror in my bathroom, I dab on a little more foundation over the line of visible bruises on my throat. The skin-toned powder was enough to hide the last of Lex’s bite mark, but for the imprint of Lex’s belt still on my neck, all they do is lessen their visibility. The final accessory, however, will do what the cosmetics can’t.
I swipe one last stroke of mascara over my lashes, lengthening and darkening them before I drop the tube onto the counter with the rest of the mess I’ve left behind. A thick diamond choker sits inside of a velvet-lined box, practically mocking me from its perch. It appears too much like a collar for me to appreciate its beauty.
I’d found it a day or two into my stay here—once I’d slept through the worst of my exhaustion and started poring through the room out of sheer boredom. The jewelry had been sitting amongst the manygiftsthat Morpheus had left for me inside themassive walk-in closet attached to my bedroom on a pedestal of honor. As if he wanted me to choose it for his return. It’s only a coincidence that it works out well as a distraction.
Somewhere in the house, a bell chimes and on cue, there’s a knock on the outside of my bedroom door. I drift back into the main room and stare at it for a beat. Will it be Morpheus himself or one of his servants sent to fetch me to his side? There’s only one way to find out.
I open the door and find that I’m both annoyed and relieved to see Stuart standing there, glaring at me from behind his still somewhat crooked glasses. Oops. The book must’ve bent the frame. As if reminded of my lost reading material, I glance at the floor, but of course, it’s gone. No doubt picked up by a passing maid and returned to the house library.
“Mr. Calloway has returned,” Stuart states. “Your presence is required for dinner.” The announcement is practically a repeat of what he’d said earlier and I don’t bother to resist the eye roll. His propriety makes him sound like such a fossil.
Turning my back to him, I march to the foot of my bed and pick up a pair of black red-bottom pumps. Slipping into them, I straighten my back and march for the door. Stuart moves back as I step into the hallway and turn towards the stairs.
“I’m glad you decided to pay proper respect to Mr. Calloway’s dinner invitation tonight,” he comments.
A snort leaves me, but I don’t respond as we descend the grand staircase to the lower floor and turn towards the hall that leads into the formal dining room. For the first fifteen years of my life, this house had felt as much like home to me as my own. I used to climb over each railing, run through every room, and pilfer through all of the cabinets. If Morpheus really did frame my father for embezzlement, then I’ll find the evidence.
Just before we enter the dining room, I pause and glance over my shoulder at the short, skinny man dressed in a poorman’s excuse for a suit. “I have a question for you, Stuart,” I say, offering him a taunting smirk. “You do everything for Mr. Calloway. I’m just curious, do you suck his dick when he needs it, too?”
Stuart’s sharp, offended inhalation is all the answer I need. With a quiet chuckle, I turn from him and start walking again. “Well, you can keep at it,” I call back to him. “Because I’d rather drink bleach than whore myself for your fucking master.”
I enter the dining room and as soon as I do, Morpheus rises from his seat at the long table that dominates the space. Spine straight, stomach sinking, I walk down the length to the only other place setting waiting to the right of him. I would have preferred to sit at opposite ends, but I suspect being choosier about which battles I fight will help me more in the long run than throwing a tantrum now.
Morpheus’ eyes widen as he takes me in. From the sweetheart neckline of my dress that plumps my breasts up to the long length of my legs that are revealed to the glittering diamonds of his choker around my throat, he eats me alive with his gaze. A wave of disgust rolls through me.
“You look beautiful this evening, Juliet.”
“Thank you.” The response tastes like ash on my tongue. My eyes cut to Stuart as he steps into the doorway, pushing his bent glasses up his nose as he glares my way. His flushed face brings an actual, genuine smile to my lips. “I was told I needed to dress appropriately for dinner.”
Morpheus reaches for my hand, his skin hot against my cold fingers as he lifts the back of my knuckles to press a kiss there. “Well, I’m quite surprised and flattered by the effort,” he says. “Shall we sit?”
He releases my hand to pull my seat out and I deftly wipe the back of it against my dress, but even that doesn’t erase the slimy feel of his mouth on my skin. I lower myself onto the chair,expecting that Morpheus will shift and take his own seat next. Instead, he cups my shoulders and bends low, pressing his lips to my ear.
“Seeing you wearing the clothes and jewelry I’ve picked out for you makes me very happy, darling,” he murmurs, his voice low like a lover’s. “You always looked best when you were dressed properly.”
Suddenly, I feel as if I’ve made a grave mistake. The dress. The jewelry. The heels. I’m a fish out of water, laid out on dry land and gasping as air steals the last of my life.
Morpheus releases me and takes his seat at the head of the table and though it’s just a few feet of distance, I’m grateful for the space. The second his hands are off me, I can breathe again. A side door opens and servants begin to enter, carrying platters of food that they set atop the table and lifting away their tops.
Steamed vegetables. Smoked meat presented in brown and red sauces. Thinly sliced and well-seasoned potatoes. The smells should make my stomach growl. I’ve eaten very little in the last week as I tried to hide away in the bedroom and cover the marks that would have ousted Lex’s clandestine visit. The food has the opposite effect, causing nausea to swell up and choke me.
Stuart walks down the table and quietly says something to Morpheus as one of the servants begins to spoon helpings onto the plate in front of me. A water glass is filled and I reach for it immediately. My fingers close around the cool surface, stopping when Morpheus speaks.
“Thank you for that report, Stuart,” he snaps. “You may leave.” He turns his head to the rest of the staff. “All of you may.Go.”
All of the air in the room evaporates as, one by one, all of the staff backs away from the table. Even Stuart blinks in surprise at Morpheus’ sharp tone, but he leaves with the rest of them. Though the doorway leading from the main hall into the diningroom has no actual door to close, we’re as alone as if there were no one else here within minutes.
My heart beats a rapid tempo against my chest. I stare down at the mix of food on my plate, only half piled with the potatoes and vegetables. Morpheus is quiet for a moment and in an effort to pretend nonchalance, I reach for my fork.
“I apologize for being away so soon after your return,” he says, breaking the silence. “But the problem has been resolved now and I shouldn’t have to leave again for quite some time. I do hope Stuart was helpful to you while I was away.”
“Stuart was an asshole.” I don’t mince my words. I don’t give a shit if it gets the uppity dickstain fired or not. I stab a potato with my fork.
Morpheus shifts in his chair, the wood creaking under him as he pulls one of the platters closer and then lifts a steaming slice of meat onto his plate. “I’m afraid he can be quite conservative in his views,” Morpheus murmurs. “He expects things to be in their place at all times. A wonderful quality in an assistant, I assure you, though perhaps not a great one in a caretaker.”
“Babysitter, you mean?” I lift my gaze to meet his. “Or does Stuart know that he’s more than that? That he’s my prison guard as well?”
