Page 45 of A Taste like Sin
may be fueling your newfound lust to experience the forbidden.”
I have to laugh at that. “No,” I say, shaking my head—for my own benefit, not his. “I…I’ll play your
game, Mr. Villa. Iwantto.”
“Then play you shall.” He lowers his mouth near my ear. “You will star alone tonight,” he says,
dropping all pretense. No more word games. This is real. “Just you in front of a full audience—but I
want you blindfolded. I’ll let you wonder as to their faces. Their identities. Their reactions. Because
none of them matter to you, do you understand? This performance is forme. Show me who the
sheltered girl is behind her mask. Reveal to me what she needs. In a sea of these pretentious fucking
people, you listen forme.”
He draws back as his words ripple down my spine.
“Daphne will assist you from here,” he calls to me while advancing toward the viewing rooms. “I
look forward to your performance, Ms. Thorne. I do suggest that you followallof her instructions.
Adios.”
“Hello.” Daphne is a smiling blond in a slimming black dress who appears as if conjured. “Follow
me, Ms. Thorne,” she says before heading in the direction opposite Damien. “Mr. Villa has made all
of the arrangements.”
I don’t know what I expect to discover when she finally ushers me into a small room. An elegant
vanity and a wooden wardrobe would be far down on my list. It’s an intimate, surprisingly tasteful
setting adorned with a ruby color scheme similar to the theater-like atrium I viewed the last time he
brought me here.
“You can undress,” Daphne says. Then she crosses the room and points out a door opposite from the
one we entered through. “You can leave through here when you are ready,” she explains. “It opens to
the stage.”
“Is that where…where I’ll be blindfolded?” I ask.
Daphne shakes her head. “No. Once you are ready, I’ll be waiting on the other side.” She nods to the
door again. “There, I’ll blindfold you as well as relay Mr. Villa’s final instructions. There is a robe
you can put on until then,” she adds as if sensing the nerves crawling up my throat, robbing me of my
voice. “Whenever you are ready.”
She slips through the door, leaving me alone, and I eye my reflection in the vanity’s mirror.
I look so young. So tired. Purplish bruises encircle my eyes, and my ratty hair is in dire need of a
