Asylum

Chapter 29: A Bit Funereal

I stared at myself in the full-length mirror screwed to the wall next to the dresser and TV. The black, backless cocktail dress that had seemed so sexy and elegant when Ivan and I had picked it out in the store now seemed unnecessarily revealing. Of course, at the time we'd purchased it, I was focused solely on the hungry, approving look in Ivan's eyes when I'd tried it on; I hadn't been thinking about how I would feel being mentally stripped out of it by a serial rapist.

I adjusted my long, loose hair to try to cover more of my chest, exposed almost to my navel by the plunging neckline, but that only left my back and shoulders feeling more vulnerable. The collar around my tanned neck gleamed with smug malice in the cabin's dim light. I pulled on it peevishly, promising myself that I would remove it as soon as the doors closed on Ivan's car tomorrow morning.

He stepped up behind me, looking stunning in a lightweight black suit and black dress shirt, open at the neck. He smiled at our reflection.

"We make quite the pair," he commented.

"So I've been told," I muttered. I noted our monochromatic palette. "You don't think we look too ... funereal, do you?"

"That dress is entirely inappropriate for a funeral," he murmured, pulling my hair back and brushing his lips across my neck just below the ear. I had to admit he was right about that. "Besides, even if we were second-guessing our wardrobe choices, we don't have any other options."

That was true, too. Ivan was very clear on the fact that Esteban Santiago always insisted that everyone dress formally for dinner, and Emilio adhered to that directive even hundreds of miles away from his family's overbearing patriarch. The day clothes we'd boarded in today simply would not pass muster.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Any last-minute tips about what I should do, or how I should act?"

Ivan considered, his eyes locked with mine in the mirror. "Dinner should be fairly simple. Emilio probably won't even address you, as he's not particularly interested in talking to women."

"Charming."

He smiled. "The women usually carry on some quiet conversation, which of course you will take no part in, since they speak no English and you supposedly don't speak Spanish. Emilio will talk about whatever pops into his head, with minimal input from me. Really, your biggest challenge will likely be not reacting to things said that you're not supposed to be able to understand, which you have plenty of experience with by now." I smiled. "And maybe fighting boredom. Let's say I'll touch your leg like this," he slid his fingertips lightly up my leg, exposed by one of the two long slits in the gown, from my knee to mid-thigh, "to let you know if anything else is required."

I smiled. "Just like that, huh? Promise?"

Ivan nodded slightly and kissed me again, his lips like feathers against my sensitive flesh.

"So just act like an oblivious cow for the whole meal, got it. Same for the cocktail hour?"

Ivan hesitated a moment, considering. "Maybe do a bit more then. Try to be solicitous of my needs, perhaps," he suggested. "Don't ask me if I want a drink, but be ready to get me a drink if I tap my glass or look towards the bar."

"And what, exactly, should I bring you when you're thirsty?" I asked with an exaggerated flutter of my eyelashes.

He pulled me around to face him and wrapped his arms around my waist. I leaned back to maintain our eye contact, but he followed me and captured my mouth with his. Impossible to think clearly when he kisses me like this, I reflected, and opened my lips to his insistent tongue. Just when my body was starting to soften and I began to wonder if was okay to be a bit late to dinner, he stopped.

"I'll leave the drink selection to the expert," he murmured, his lips seductively brushing mine. "Anything you bring me will be perfect."

"Or you'll pretend it is," I finished for him.

"Exactly."

"Well, then, let's get this over with. I don't like sharing you with these people."