Ilaria

Sometimes you lie to yourself so much you begin to believe it’s the truth …

 

I can do this.

My hands trembled in my lap, and I intertwined my fingers to hide it. Tucked in the back of a limousine, decked out in the most expensive black lace dress I’d ever thought I’d wear, and my hair and makeup styled by a professional, I couldn’t truly grasp what was happening. I’d receive forty thousand dollars a month to be a “companion” for just twelve months. Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. At the end of my time, I’d have almost half a million dollars, free and clear, to do whatever I wanted with it. That sort of money would allow me to start a life somewhere else as someone else and be safe.

Karen had been sure to make me aware of how important companionship was. Infidelity did not sell sex, and any expectation of providing that to the client could be reported to them and result in the dissolution of my agreement. I understood it, but who would pay so much? And I knew, by listening to Karen and watching others in the building, I wasn’t the norm. These were people with degrees and trust funds, bank accounts chock-full of cash, and an understanding of a world I didn’t know. I’d barely earned my GED after being homeschooled by my mother, and college had been out of the question. My thick, sable hair had never been dyed or cut, and makeup for me was of the drugstore variety.

Why would anyone want me?

The limo continued silently outside of inner New York City and headed toward La Guardia, where I’d take a short charter flight upstate. I’d never been on a plane, my nerves jangled in my belly, and there were no answers to my questions. Why am I doing this? For the money and for my mother. Karen told me my mother’s burial had been paid for, and when I was ready I could make those arrangements. Without the agreement, however, all financial support would end. I let them doll me up, dress me like a mannequin, and then I exited the limo to the waiting plane.

The locket I’d found in my mother’s bedroom was warm in my hand. For some reason, I couldn’t let it go. Everywhere I went, so did the medallion, and I had a little coin purse I could put it in if I needed to tuck it in my bra. Once I was settled, I’d find out what I could about Oren Demetri and make plans to meet him. Until then, I had to focus on who my partner was for the next year. Would he be kind and elderly? Would he expect me to eat meals with him, go to parties and events, and then allow me free time otherwise? I wasn’t sure how any of this worked, and Karen had been vague at best.

“Do whatever they need you to do, within reason. This is a job, and you’ve passed the qualification round and meet the needs of one of our clients. The oddness of the request has been accounted for with the terms you’ve agreed to. Call the number on this business card if you are harmed in any way.”

And that was it. I glanced down at the slender card that was blank except for the bold, black printed phone number. Do whatever they need me to do, within reason. I snorted. I’d do whatever I needed to do to make sure I was never in this predicament again. Whatever that may call for. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and tried to rest as the plane lifted off the ground and into the sky.

I was a bit groggy when the flight attendant opened the hatch for the plane and woke me up, but I got my feet under me, tucking the medallion into my bra, and exited the plane. Just beyond the red carpet, a familiar luxury car waited with a familiar woman standing at attention.

“Ms. Paolo, my name is Natalie. I’m here to retrieve you for Mr. Wilmington.”

Mr. Wilmington. At least I knew his last name, not that it helped much. “You were outside the bar that night.”

She inclined her head. “Welcome to Ithaca. You have reservations.”

“I’m not going to his home?” I was unsure if I could keep my nerves in check in a public dinning situation.

Natalie smiled. “You will be dining at home. If you would?” She waved her hand to direct me into the car. I slid in, still confused.

Ithaca was different than New York City, more sprawling, with sudden snow pelting the windows as we drove. I looked down at my bare arms and legs. They hadn’t dressed me for the change in weather, but I was warm for now. It was only a short drive before we pulled up to a massive wrought-iron gate with an intricate “W” in the center. A few seconds later, it swung open soundlessly to allow us entry. I gazed out the window as we continued up the tree-lined drive, tasteful lights hidden in the leaves lighting the way until we came to the home of Mr. Wilmington.

“Jesus …”

This wasn’t a home or even a mansion. It was an architectural feat of glass, exposed brick, and steel. Each outward-facing wall was made of glass and steel support beams. I could see inside to inner walls of red bricks and bright-white grout. Each room—from a large living room to a parlor and a few of bedrooms—was exposed to the natural lighting of outside.

Natalie got out of the car and opened the door for me. I stumbled out on my spiked heels. I’d never seen a house like this.

Natalie smiled at my reaction. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”

“Breathtaking.”

“Mr. Wilmington designed it himself, based on drafts of a brilliant architect from the eighties. She was an NYU grad he admired, and she never got a chance to get as famous as she should have.”

“That’s a shame,” I commented.

“Quite. If you would follow me?”

What was it like to have money? Even with what I’d earn with this Infidelity job, there was no way I’d ever have a life like this. It made me more aware of my humble beginnings and the life I’d lived until just a couple days ago. At the front door, it opened before Natalie reached it, and the devil I’d met before stepped out, his white, collared shirt tucked into slate pants. He had his sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and a shock of black hair fell over his brow. But his expression, dark and annoyed, brought me up short.

“Did they not see the weather?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Natalie stepped in front of me. “I wanted to get her in as fast as possible.”

“Inside, quickly. Natalie, get her winter weather accessories immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Um, hi.” I rubbed my hands together.

“‘Good evening, Sir’ is the appropriate greeting,” he returned.

I stood taller. “Do you have a name?” For some reason, it felt like his idea of sir meant more than respect, and I hesitated to use it. I didn’t want a repeat of the night in the bar when he’d controlled me. This was my job, and I’d see it through, but I wasn’t a doormat for some rich boy to trample on.

Mr. Wilmington cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed for a moment, and then reached for me. His long, graceful fingers closed around my throat and pulled me inside before he slammed the door behind me.

“Good evening, Sir,” he repeated.

Tingles spread from my neck down to my toes, and I arched. I didn’t know why, but my body pushed closer to him. His fingers tightened, a warning, and I gasped. Did someone turn off the lights? Everything dimmed, and the only thing that mattered was him, so close, brighter than the darkness around him.

Sir. Call him Sir.

“I won’t repeat myself again, Ilaria.”

“Good evening, Sir.” It rolled off my tongue, honey-coated liquor that left me drunk and swaying. I didn’t understand any of this. Why did his touch alone make me want to curl at his feet?

His thumb caressed my skin, right over my pulse, and I swallowed reflexively. “Good girl. My name is Elliot, but for you, it is simply Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” His fingers tightened again. “Sir.”

“You will learn.”

This was just a job. How silly of me. As he left me there, swaying on my heels, I realized the lies we tell ourselves to feel better are the worst.