Free Only Pretend by Nora Flite Page A

ways."
    He's provoking me . I let my hands fall. "Whatever you want to do, get it over with."
    "There you are, commanding me again." He sighed, but I knew the sadness was false. "Taming you has been interesting."
    "I'm not tamed."
    "I know," he agreed. "Not yet."
    His threat was cryptic. I buried it down with the rest of his comments. If I was going to be tamed it would only be because I chose to pretend.
    That was all I had to do.
    The moment ended, diffused by his quick air-jab at the mirrored sink. "Finish getting ready."
    An easy request to fill. I was burned out by standing around so exposed.
    He stood by while I brushed my hair, gave advice on how I should do my makeup. It was heavier than I would have done, but not a fight worth having.
    The dress was flowing, tight on the bodice, opal in color. It surprised me, the cut more sweet and demure than anything he'd given me so far. The heels were the usual too-tall style that cramped my toes.
    "Spin for me." He waved a finger. On the spot, I turned in place. "Wonderful. Now you're ready."
    "Ready for what?" At his glare, I quickly added, "sir."
    Smoothing his shirt in the mirror, Leonide unrolled the sleeves. I was regretting that; his forearms were like carved marble, easy on the eyes. "Today the girls will teach you how to cook and clean."
    My eyes narrowed dubiously. Cook and clean in this outfit?
    Catching my look, he faced me. "A good wife must look beautiful, be put together, even when she's doing chores. It's expected by my clients."
    I wasn't going to argue. I was too aware that he hadn't added my chains back on. Was it a mistake? No, he wouldn't be so careless. It meant... it meant he was starting to trust me. By not taking the opportunity to slice him up with the razor, I'd passed a hurdle.
    No chains!
    Every bit of freedom was a joy to me.
    It took great effort to not skip after him down the hall.

- Chapter Five -
    Celeste
    ––––––––
    C hores were a welcome respite from being stuck in my room. Leonide still expected me to serve and eat with him, only now I was actually preparing the meals.
    The women were not kind. They were expectant of me, and their efficiency was ruined by my first forays alongside them. They snapped at me, rapidly spit words I didn't grasp. Without language, I learned to read their bodies more and more.
    It was a trial by fire.
    Quickly, I understood to grab what they pointed at. To whisk eggs for breakfast, or knead dough upon chunk of dough. I took a mean pleasure out of it when they began smiling approvingly. And Jones said I was no good at cooking, that I was lazy.
    If he could see me, what would he think?
    Brushing thoughts of my ex aside was easier and easier. It was Leonide who became a prickly rose, thorns clinging inside my heart, petals coating my taste buds. The first time I set a plate of food in front of him, one I had made, and he complimented it...
    Fuck. I nearly swooned.
    Focusing on my tasks kept me sober. I buried myself in the cooking, cupped every egg as if it were fine china. Covered in flour and sweat by the end of each day, muscles sore from the labor, it was nice to be so active. In my attempt to avoid thinking of Leonide, I began to notice something else. Something that had been scratching at me since the first breakfast.
    Why was there always so much food?
    There were days with only me and one other woman. On those, I noted we made meals for a household. I still hadn't seen anyone else besides what I came to think of as the maids. I could rationalize that amount of food, though. Leftovers, stock, whatever.
    But the rest of the week, four or more women baking bread and chattering sweetly?
    Something is going on.
    One day, after finishing lunch with Leonide, a thought hit me. Covertly, I studied him as he sat across from me in the muted sun. His pale green dress shirt had the top button undone. I glimpsed the dip of his throat, trailed it down where it stopped. He always looked so clean-cut. "Sir?" I