Velvet Sin

The curtains open exactly at eight, as they did every morning. Sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows and landed directly across my face, as if the house itself had decided I’d slept long enough. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head.

Fuck mornings.

The quiet hum of the automatic curtains stopped, leaving me with absolutely no excuse to pretend I hadn’t noticed them. Eight o’clock. Not that it mattered. My schedule had never belonged to me anyway.

I eventually pushed the blanket down and stared at the ceiling. Boa had given me a beautiful room. That was his thing—beautiful rooms, expensive clothes, jewelry, anything shiny enough to make captivity look like luxury. As if silk sheets somehow made them mine.

I was drowning in thought when three knocks came from my door. I already knew who it was.

“Come in,Mitte,” I called, my voice muffled by exhaustion.

Mitte slipped inside my bedroom, carrying a garment bag over her left arm and her makeup bag over her right.

My eyes settled on the garment bag first.

“What time?” I asked, pushing myself upright against the headboard.

“Eleven.”

I glanced toward the clock on my nightstand. Three hours.

Plenty of time to shower, get dressed, have Mitte work whatever magic she planned to work on my face, and become whatever version of me was expected downstairs.

“Do you know who?”

Mitte shook her head as she crossed the room and laid the garment bag carefully across the chaise near my vanity. “He didn’t say.”

Of course he didn’t.

I pushed the covers from my legs and sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing the last bit of sleep from my eyes. There was no point asking anything else. If Mitte knew, she would’ve told me.

“Did you eat?” I asked.

She paused while setting her makeup bag on the vanity. “Berlin.”

I looked at her, expectantly.

“Yes, I ate.”

“What?”

Her shoulders dropped with a quiet sigh. I waited.

“Toast.”

“That’s not breakfast.”

“It literally is.”

“It’s bread.”

The corner of her mouth lifted; mine did too.

“What do you want to eat?”

Mitte’s smile disappeared. “I already ate.”

“You ate a piece of toast.”

“Two pieces.”

I stared at her.

“With butter.”

“Oh, well, shit. Never mind. That’s practically a four-course meal.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile as I pushed myself off the bed.

“I’m not hungry,” she insisted.

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry. I asked what you wanted to eat.”

“And if I say nothing?”

“Then I’ll decide for you.”

Mitte sighed behind me, but I could hear the smile in it.

“Pancakes.”

I stopped halfway to the bathroom and glanced over my shoulder. “Plain?”

Her nose wrinkled.

“That’s what I thought.” I continued toward the bathroom. “Strawberry?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Mitte scrunched her nose. “Chocolate chip.”

“With strawberries?”

She scoffed as if I’d just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “Obviously.”

I shook my head, fighting a smile as I continued toward the bathroom. “You’re going to have cavities before you’re twenty.”

“You’re a succubus. Heal them.”

A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.

“That’s not how that works.”

“Sounds like a skills issue.”

I turned around slowly. Mitte was already unpacking her makeup bag like she hadn’t said a damn thing.

“Keep playing with me.”

Her shoulders bounced with the laugh she was trying to hide. I left her to it and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I made my way to the shower, pulling my shirt over my head. Three hours wasn’t much, but it was enough. I’d gotten ready in less. I tossed my clothes into the hamper and turned on the shower, holding my hand beneath the stream until the water reached the temperature I liked. Steam began gathering against the glass as I stepped inside.

The heat felt good against my skin. I tipped my head back beneath the water, closing my eyes as it soaked through my curls and ran down my back. For the first time that morning, everything was quiet.

I stayed beneath the water for another minute before reaching for my body wash. There was no reason to rush. Mitte still had to eat, and I wasn’t letting two pieces of toast count as breakfast no matter how hard she tried to convince me otherwise.

I worked the loofah over my skin, already mentally going through what I could make with whatever was downstairs. Pancakes were easy. Chocolate chips, strawberries, maybe some eggs on the side—

My hand slowed when the loofah passed over my left shoulder. The rough texture dragged across raised skin. I stopped. For half a second, my fingers hovered over the scar. Then I moved on. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t need to.

I know exactly what was there.

I finished rinsing off and shut off the water. By the time I stepped out, the mirror was covered in a thick layer of steam. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around myself, then grabbed another for my hair.

When I walked back into the bedroom, Mitte had already transformed my vanity into her personal workstation. Brushes, palettes, bottles, and Goddess only knew what else covered almost every inch of it.

“Damn,” I muttered, tightening the towel around my chest. “You planning on doing makeup or performing surgery?”

Mitte glanced at me through the mirror, completely unfazed. “Sit down.”

“Bossy.”

“Sit.”

I laughed under my breath but did as I was told, dropping into the chair in front of her.

This was one of the few times I didn’t mind being told what to do.

Mitte stepped behind me and began working the towel from around my hair. My damp curls fell down my back; she immediately started separating them with her fingers.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked.

I watched her reflection in the mirror. “Enough.”

Her eyes met mine. I knew that look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mitte.”

She lowered her eyes to my hair and carefully worked through a knot near the ends. “You were talking in your sleep again.”

My smile faded.

“What did I say?”

“I couldn’t tell.” Her fingers slowed. “You just sounded scared.”

I looked away from her reflection. For a few seconds, the only sound between us was the brush moving through my curls.

“You could’ve woken me up.”

“I tried.”

My eyes found hers again. Mitte gave me a small shrug, but there was nothing casual about the concern on her face. “You didn’t wake up.”

I swallowed and turned my attention back to the mirror.

“Well.” I forced a little lightness into my voice. “I’m awake now.”

She didn’t answer immediately. I could feel her wanting to ask more. She always wanted to ask more. And I almost never let her. Mitte knew enough about this place. She didn’t need everything else I carried dumped into her lap too.

“Now,” I said, tapping one of my makeup brushes on the vanity, “are you actually going to use all this shit, or did you bring half the beauty supply store upstairs for decoration?”

A tiny smile finally broke through her concern. “Keep talking, and I’ll make your eyebrows uneven.”

I gasped and twisted around in the chair. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Sit still and find out.”

I turned around before she could make good on her threat. Mitte stepped closer, tilting my chin towards the light before reaching for one of her brushes. I closed my eyes, relaxing into the chair while the soft bristles swept across my skin. She worked quietly, humming some song under her breath as she moved from one product to the next.

I never understood how she kept track of all that shit. Concealer, powders, creams, little bottles that looked exactly the same to me but apparently served completely different purposes. I just sat still and let her do what she did best.

“Look up,” she instructed.

I opened my eyes and tilted them towards the ceiling while she worked beneath them.

“Not your whole head, Berlin.”

“You said look up.”

Mitte sucked her teeth. “Your eyes.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “Then say that.”

She caught my chin before I could move again, fighting a smile of her own. “Please shut up.”

“So disrespectful.”

“And yet you keep letting me near your face.”

“Because you’re good at it.”

Her hands stilled for half a second. I watched the smile spread across her face before she tried hiding it by reaching for another brush.

“Don’t get emotional on me,” I teased.

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.”

“Close your eyes.”

I laughed but obeyed. By the time she finished, my curls had dried enough for her to work them into shape. She fluffed them around my shoulder, rearranging a few stubborn pieces until they fell the way she wanted.

“Okay.” Mitte stepped back and admired her work. “Now you can look.”

I turned toward the mirror. There I was.

My curls framed my face and fell well past my shoulders, nearly swallowing the thin towel wrapped around me. Mitte had kept the makeup softer than I expected. My hazel-blue eyes stood out beneath dark lashes, and she’d done something to my cheekbones that made them look sharper without changing the softness of my face. I leaned closer to the mirror and inspected myself from one side, then the other.

“You did good.”

Mitte planted a hand against her chest and stared at me in mock offense. “Good?”

I bit back a smile. “Amazing.”

“Thank you”

“Don’t push it.”

She rolled her eyes and walked toward the garment bag still stretched across the chaise.

My smile faded a little as she reached for the zipper.

Right. I almost forgot about that damn thing.

Mitte pulled the zipper down slowly and folded the sides of the garment bag open. A black dress lay inside. Of course it was black.

I stood from the vanity and walked closer, taking in the dress Boa had chosen for me. Black satin made up most of it, smooth and glossy enough to catch the light whenever Mitte shifted the bag. The neckline plunged into a deep V, stopped low enough between my breasts that there wouldn’t be much left to anybody’s imagination. Thin straps crossed over the shoulders, leaving most of the back exposed, and the waist narrowed sharply before the fabric widened over the hips.

It was short too. Not indecently short, but close enough that sitting down would require some thought unless I wanted whoever was across from me getting a free show. A slit climbed high along one thigh, edged with delicate black lace that softened absolutely nothing about it.

Sexy. Expensive. Deliberate.

Boa never picked anything by accident.

Mitte lifted the dress from the bag and held it against herself, examining it with a slight tilt of her head. “Well,” she murmured, running her fingers over the satin. “At least it’s pretty.”

“It usually is.”

Pretty had never been the problem.

My attention drifted back to the back of the dress. Or lack of one.

My stomach tightened.

“My hair stays down.”

Mitte’s eyes lifted to mine immediately. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll keep it down.”

I nodded once, looking back at the dress. With my curls falling far enough down my back, most of the brand would stay hidden. Most of it. That would have to be enough.

“Turn around,” Mitte said, lifting the dress from the garment bag.

I turned my back to her and dropped the towel.

The satin was cool against my skin as she helped guide the dress over my head. I slipped my arms through the thin straps and pulled my curls free, then smoothed my hands down the front. The fabric hugged every curve like it had been made specifically for my body, which, knowing Boa, it probably had.

Mitte moved behind me, adjusted the straps, and carefully arranged my curls down my back. She pulled a few sections forward, frowned at them, then pushed them back again until she was satisfied.

“Can you see it?” I asked.

Her hands paused.

I watched her reflection in the mirror.

“A little.”

My jaw tightened.

“Wait.” She stepped closer and shifted more of my hair toward the left, spreading the curls across my shoulder blade. “There.”

I turned slightly, trying to see over my shoulder.

“It’s covered,” she assured me.

I looked at her through the mirror. “Completely?”

“Completely.”

Some of the tension left my shoulders.

“Thank you.”

Mitte gave me a small smile. “Always.”

I slipped my feet into the black robe waiting near the bed and tied it loosely around my waist, covering the dress before heading toward the door.

Mitte blinked at me. “Why did we just get you dressed if you’re putting a robe over it?”

I looked back at her like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Because I’m not getting pancake batter on this dress.”

Her face lit up. “We’re still making pancakes?”

“I’m making pancakes.” I opened the bedroom door. “You’re eating them.”

She hurried after me. “Same difference.”

“Not even remotely.”

By the time we reached the kitchen, Mitte had already started negotiating for extra chocolate chips. I ignored her and tied my curls back loosely, careful not to disturb what she’d done to them. The kitchen was massive, with white marble counters, dark cabinetry, two ovens, a refrigerator big enough to feed a small army, and an island stretching through the center with more stools than anyone in this house ever seemed to use.

Mitte claimed her usual one while I opened the pantry.

“Extra chocolate chips,” she reminded me.

“You’ve said that.”

“Just making sure.”

I grabbed the flour and looked at her over my shoulder. “Keep making sure, and you’re getting plain.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully before she settled onto the stool, folding her arms across the counter.

I gathered the rest of what I needed: flour, sugar, baking powder, eggs, milk, vanilla, and lined everything along the counter. I didn’t bother measuring most of it anymore. I’d made pancakes enough times to know what the batter should look like. Cooking for Mitte had become part of our routine.

I couldn’t remember exactly when it started. Maybe after the third or fourth time I’d caught her trying to call crackers a meal. Eventually, making sure she’d eaten became as normal as her doing my hair.

I cracked two eggs into the bowl.

“Strawberries,” Mitte said.

I slowly raised my eyes.

She pressed her lips together, already trying not to laugh.

“Say strawberries one more time.”

Her shoulders started shaking

“I dare you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

A laugh burst out of her, and I couldn’t help joining her as I reached for the whisk.

These were my favorite moments with her. Nothing special. Nothing important. Just normal.

I poured the first scoop of batter into the heated pan and watched it spread into a circle. Mitte had started telling me something about a video she’d watched when a familiar scent reached me.

Tobacco.

Expensive cologne.

My smile disappeared before I heard the footsteps. Mitte’s voice died with it. I kept my attention on the pancake.

“Well, isn’t this domestic.”

Boa’s deep voice rolled through the kitchen. My grip tightened around the spatula. I slid it beneath the pancake and flipped it anyway.

“Good morning, Boa,” I said evenly.

His footsteps drew closer.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

A large hand settled against my waist.

Every muscle in my body wanted to stiffen. I didn’t let them. Boa leaned down beside me, the thick scent of his cigar clinging to his clothes as his beard brushed lightly against my temple.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

Before I could respond, he pressed his lips against my temple.

Soft. Familiar. Almost tender.

I kept my eyes on the pancake sizzling in front of me.

“Thank you.”

His hand slid from my waist to my hip, squeezing gently before his thumb swept once over the satin beneath my robe.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

I swallowed the disgust crawling up my throat and forced my shoulders to remain loose. Boa lingered beside me for another moment before finally releasing my hip and moving toward the other side of the island. Only then did I breathe.

“Eleven o’clock,” he reminded me.

“I’ll be ready.”

“I know you will.”

I finally looked at him.

Vittorio Bonadetti filled a room without trying. Broad shoulders stretched beneath the dark button-down covering his heavy frame, the sleeves rolled high enough to expose thick forearms dusted with dark hair. His beard was freshly trimmed, his black hair swept neatly away from his face, and an unlit cigar rested between two fingers.

Handsome.

He’d always been handsome. It would’ve been easier if monsters looked like monsters.

Boa’s eyes moved over me slowly before settling on my face.

“Eat something when you’re finished feeding her,” he said.

Not a suggestion.

“I will.”

His gaze lingered for another second.

Then he smiled.

“Good girl.”

My stomach turned. I looked back toward the stove before he could see it on my face. Behind me, Boa continued talking as though nothing had happened. And the pancakes started to burn.