“Your knit brows, pursed lips. Shall I continue with telltale signs of your facial expressions and body language? Even now you’re pretending interest in a bush to avoid my confrontation. Surely you do not believe she should have paid more.”
She dropped her hand. She didn’t want him to think her cheap, but the auction prices seemed absurd. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m just not a fan of mirrors.” Not a complete lie. She hadn’t liked them even before her accident. The accident only made them more difficult to deal with—a necessary evil in her book.
“Strange. I assumed a woman of your beauty would be quite fond of her reflection.”
Then he hadn’t looked close enough, and she hoped he wouldn’t anyway. “Ah, but we’ve already discovered you have a tendency to judge too quickly.”
“Well put.” He inclined his head and turned toward the auctioneer, allowing her a pleasant view of his strong profile. He was obviously not a native Italian and yet he appeared right at home in a country where Roman gods and goddesses prevailed. A defined jaw and thick brows. The sensual shape of his mouth softened his other features.
As if sensing her stare, he turned. She shivered, sure she could lose herself within the infinite darkness of his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay for now.” Or at least, she hoped to convince herself she was. The night air held a frosty edge to it but the garden atmosphere astonished her with its beauty. Wind whistled through the trees and down toward them, carrying occasional scents of jasmine and lavender. Above them, stars littered the clear night sky. She wasn’t searching for a romantic atmosphere but here she’d found it, making her feel more lonely.
She pulled up her shawl around her shoulders and lifted her chin. This wasn’t a time to feel sorry for herself. “What’s next for bidding?”
“Handcuffs.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Very funny.” Stretching her neck, she tilted her head to get a better view. Beside the auctioneer, a male held up a pair of gold handcuffs. Large emeralds, rubies and diamonds covered the surface. “They’re handcuffs.”
“As I noted before.”
She frowned and rubbed the crease between her brows. “I guess I thought it a strange item to auction. Are those jewels real?”
“Of course. It is not such an unusual piece. Those with money are accustomed to control. Submission is an expected reprieve for some.”
Based on what she’d seen so far, he would probably know a thing or two about the rich. “I’ve never seen this type of display. It’s dark.”
“It can be, yes.”
She swallowed. Those attending the auction didn’t appear the types to have whips and chains locked away in their homes—even if they were diamond encrusted—but everyone had their secrets, especially the rich. And this crowd had money. Rich and beautiful. Even Luke possessed a surreal kind of beauty and given his offer of one hundred thousand dollars for four weeks, she didn’t doubt he had money.
“And you? Do you like control?” The question was almost a dare and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she’d asked it.
He remained quiet, and for an instant she thought he might not answer. “Yes. I would not have it any other way. Surrender requires trust, something I do not easily give.”
His words gave her pause. What could have caused him to lose trust? She thought of Ben and his betrayal. Was there no goodness or truth left in their world?
She played with the beads on her purse.
The following auction items included an absurdly priced wooden paddle with an intricate design on one side, a gold chastity belt and a leather whip with a diamond encrusted handle. The last piece sold to a good-looking older man. His distinguished exterior contrasted sharply with the suggestive sexuality of his purchase.
“I don’t see what he would use a whip for,” Savannah said and brushed the skin along her arms.
Luke shifted beside her. “I can think of quite a few things.”
She licked her lips, which had gone dry, and turned to face the platform as gasps of wonder became fevered whispers.
“Ladies and gentleman.” The auctioneer’s voice rose above the murmurs. “Allow me to present one of our most unique pieces. This painting is called Mortuaria Benedictus.”
Savannah turned. “What is that?”
The side of Luke’s lips lifted in a smirk. “I believe he called it a painting.”
She frowned and gave him a slight shove with her elbow. “I heard.” Didn’t mean she’d ever seen anything like it on canvas. And considering how many art museums she’d dragged Ben to, she’d seen her fill of exotic paintings. A dark background enveloped three nudes: two males and one masked female. This was nothing exceptional, but the males’ submissive positions and the female’s blood drenched lips and fangs were something to take note of. Vampires? The word alone made her tremble. “I meant, what does it mean?”
“In English the painting is called Blessed Death,” he said. “What do you think of it?”
“Frightening, dark, lustful, perverse.” And at the base of it, oddly sensual, for some reason.
“And?”
What more did he expect her to say? “I’d say it’s fairly fantastical. I mean vampires, come on. Although, you could say such fantastical creatures give it an erotic air.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Sometimes it depends on who you ask.”
“Any other bidders?” The auctioneer scanned the room.
Several arms went up, which didn’t surprise her, but she hadn’t expected Luke’s to be one of them. “You’re not thinking of getting the painting, are you?”
He lifted his arm again, confirming a higher bid. “Why ever not?”
“I don’t know.” She turned away, her faced as heated as if she were a teenage prude. “Where would you put it?”
“The living room, above the sofa.” He stroked his chin. “It is quite a conversation piece. Do you not agree?”
“Going once, going twice, sold.” The auctioneer smacked the wooden gavel down in excitement. “To the gentleman next to the young lady dressed in gold.” His gaze lingered a moment on Savannah. “What excellent taste.”
“I could not agree more.” Luke had spoken so low, Savannah thought she might have imagined the words and yet she trembled as he braced her lower back with a hand. “They will most likely take a break. I must arrange payment and delivery of my purchase, but I have what I came for tonight. Are you ready to leave?”
The women surrounding her stood, tall and willowy, and the men gave off an almost ethereal handsomeness. The view seemed an air brushed backdrop from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. Beautiful, wealthy people lost inside their own selfish world, too perfect to be true. She should know. She used to be part of such a perfectly arranged scene, but no more. “Yes.” She nodded, cupping her yawn. “I’d like to go.”
5
Society is a masked ball, where everyone hides his real character, and reveals it by hiding.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Lying back on a living room sofa, Savannah polished off her second bowl of strawberries and cream then licked her fingers. Delicious. At least she’d gone halfway healthy with fruit. She rarely indulged in cream so one day wouldn’t hurt. She placed her bowl in the kitchen sink then went down the hallway