Someone was fucking with him, but at least it was a painless sort of fucking. Whatever Madame’s motives were for keeping him locked up in the bedroom all day, they didn’t seem all that sinister. He wasn’t being tortured, wasn’t being starved. Around two, Polly brought him a late lunch. She even stayed after to keep him company. When he explained he was bored to tears, she brought him a paperback to read. Though he enjoyed reading, that wasn’t quite what he had in mind to pass the time.

“You have to save your strength for tonight,” Polly said, staying out of arm’s length. She was wearing a clingy blue dress that made it hard for him to make eye contact. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Save my strength? For what?” Kingsley said.

“For Midwinter tonight.”

“Yes, but what precisely am I doing at this Midwinter party of yours?” He reached for her, but she swatted his hands away. No playtime today, alas.

“Didn’t Leon tell you?”

“He told me I would be the guest of honor.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s not true.”

“So I’m not the guest of honor?”

“No,” she said.

“Then what am I?”

“You,” she said, coming to stand between his knees. “You are the gift to the guest of honor.” She poked the tip of his nose with the tip of her finger.

“The gift?”

She nodded, grinning. Rather maniacally grinning.

“You’re being cryptic to torture me,” he said.

“You like being tortured,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

“If there’s human sacrifice at this party, I’m never letting you fuck my ass again.”

Polly sighed and shook her head. “Don’t be so vanilla.”

“I won’t be insulted like this,” he said. “You take that back.”

Polly’s head fell back, and she laughed.

“You wonderful boy,” she said and bent to kiss his cheek. She smelled like Madame, like lavender soap. He wanted to bury his face between her beautiful full breasts and breathe her scent for hours. But instead she pinched his nose.

“You won’t give me any idea what’s happening tonight?” he asked as she stepped away to leave him.

“You’ll like it,” she said. “Promise.”

“I’m trusting you. Now go. I have to read…” He picked up one of the books she’d brought him. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.”

“It’s a classic about a very naughty little boy, just like you.”

“Any sex in it?”

“You’re cute,” she said. “I wish I was Colette. Lucky girl.”

“Will I ever get to meet this mysterious lady?”

“Tonight,” she said.

“I meet her tonight and then we…” Kingsley waited, hoping for Polly to fill in the blank.

She didn’t.

“Enjoy your book,” Polly said.

“It’s not very long. What do I do when I finish it?” Kingsley asked.

“You could shave,” she said.

“I already did this morning.”

Polly stood at the open door and smiled at him.

“You don’t mean shave my face, do you?” he asked.

“See? You are catching on.”

“I could escape, you know,” he said. “It would be easy.”

Polly shrugged. “Then escape.”

“You weren’t supposed to call my bluff,” he told her.

She smiled and shook her head. She’d turned into his babysitter again, amused by his antics while trying to maintain a modicum of authority over them.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” she said. “I’m asking you not to leave the room, politely asking. Not an order.”

Kingsley sighed heavily. “Why did you have to ask politely? Now I can’t escape.”

“You’re so easy,” she said. “If you get to stay, I’m going to chain you to my headboard for a week.”

“What about the footboard?’

“The week after,” she said with a wink. Then she left him alone and, as promised, didn’t lock the door after her.

Alone again, Kingsley collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “This house is bizarre,” he said to himself.

He paused.

“I like bizarre.”

Kingsley did sit-ups and push-ups until he’d made himself sweaty enough to earn a bath. He bathed while reading, read while bathing and, because Polly told him to, he shaved. It left him feeling quite breezy and exposed afterward, not that he minded. He finished his bath and took his time with the cleanup, since he had nothing else to do but try to eavesdrop. All day he’d heard voices in the hallway—laughter, whispers, even little Jacques crying a couple of times. It did sound like the household was hard at work preparing for a party, but nothing anyone said gave him any clue about what was really happening tonight.

He was, frankly, annoyed to be left out.

By sunset, Kingsley was nearly out of his mind with boredom. When the knob of the bedroom door finally rattled and turned, he was ready to bolt from the room like a horse from a starting gate.

It was Polly again. She was carrying a garment bag over her arm.

“Ready?” she asked.

“For what?”

“We have to get you dressed. You must look your best.”

“Now, will you—please—tell me what you’re getting me ready for?”

“For Colette, silly. I told you that earlier.”

“Yes, but what am I doing with Colette? Or for Colette? Or to Colette? Or onto Colette?”

“Oh,” Polly said as she lay the garment bag on the bed. “I guess I did forget to tell you that part.”

“You did. So will you tell me now what is happening tonight with me and this Colette person?”

Polly unzipped the garment bag and inside he saw a suit. A beautiful suit. Not just a suit but a formal suit—cravat, tails, vest. In fact in looked just like a…

No.

No.

No.

Polly grinned. “You’ll make a very handsome groom.”