The Tame (ON HOLD)

Of his mission: He goes wild

The mansion was elegant beyond words. Once inside, Phina thought the hall was some banqueting space: tall, vaulted ceilings and an enormous foyer had greeted her. But she was content now with her own little space as she stood on her balcony and enjoyed the sprawling view.

Her suite was divided into three rooms and a hall. The room chosen for her sleeping place was swathed in neon pink flavorful hues - which she thought too bright for her eyes and had decided to swap paints later. Glowing ebony furniture sprinkled the room in selective vintage upholstery. Her queen-sized bed was a majestic nest of thick cream and eggshell pink quilt, pink pillows arranged atop it. A huge painting of Ave Maria hung above the bed's headboard in quaint colours.

In her green and gold striped-patterned wallpaper bathroom sat a deep end ivory tub that could house at least three people at a go. Her dressing boutique was a room of its own and housed uncountable numbers and shoes which she thought too ridiculous. Some poor people lived in highly indebted countries with no more than sacks on their backs and she was being offered the world. If only you can get full with his child, a voice piqued in her head, and you know he won't make it possible for you.

Sighing, Phina gazed around under heavy eyelids. Sleep was coming hard these days. Her balcony overlooked a small summer house that was connected to the main house by a glass walkway. Behind the summer hut was an empty greenhouse shrouded by wriggling ivy. It wouldn't go empty for long: she loved gardening.

Maybe she could stay for a while and lay out her escape plan. The dock had one yacht, two cruisers and about four steamboats. At night the mansion was guarded by six well-trained Dobermans that knew the scent of every member of the household. The dogs knew her and would not make escape difficult. She knew how to pilot a steamboat at a young age so that held no problem. Everything was fine, except that Brendan was the only one who held the keys to the house at night. How was she going to get the bone out of the dog's mouth?

The aroma of cooking spicy prawns awakened her senses and consciousness. She sneezed.

****
Phina sat across Brendan in the dining room. She looked resplendent in a dress that scooped off her shoulders and across her collarbones in the front, slipping so low in the back that it was almost backless. The royal blue dress nestled so far down the curve of her shoulders that it had to be cinched together by a golden brooch. It was daring than Phina wanted but Meg selected her wardrobe. And when it came to getting what she wanted, Meg could be as strong-headed as Lorraine. So Phina had caved in and now had Brendan down-skimming his eyes over the dress each time he got.

Since that night, Phina hadn't been able to look into his brown orbs. Now she dug into her meal and enjoyed the flavour in silence. Florence had made a dish of Saignon salad with spicy noodles, baby prawns and mint. This time Brendan tucked greedily into his food and left the fussiness to the cats. It seemed he was fond of prawns because he'd cleared his plate of them and fetched for more.

"So what's with the dress?", he asked over the rim of his glass of Beaujolais.

Phina lowered her head and scratched her neck, anything to avoid looking at him. "Meg chose it for me."

"You allow your maids to make choices for you." It wasn't a question; just a statement.

Phina dragged her fork on her plate. She wasn't a prima donna, for crying out loud she'd lived in a convent where all the girls wore long, black robes no matter what season! How does one acquire a sense of fashion at a discipline house? She knew Brendan was baiting her: straggling words into her mouth to gauge her reaction.

She shook her head, "They don't make decisions for me. They only help in selecting my wardrobe."

"And shouldn't that be left to yourself?"

Phina shrugged, her dress scooping lower. She didn't notice, but he did. "Left to fashion I'm as dumb as a monk in an adult club," she said.

Brendan laughed. Actually threw his head back and rocked. She simply stared as tiny holes docked in his cheeks. Phina didn't join in: you don't smile back when a crocodile grins.

He dragged his arms forward on the table and clasped his palms. "I hadn't intended to laugh but you made me. You're one weird girl."

"I'm not a girl. I am a woman."

He rolled his eyes. "Says the girl who can't even select her own wardrobe."

Phina inhaled and cracked her knuckles under the table. She couldn't beat the grand master of sarcasm, certainly not today. Last time had taught her a most humiliating lesson not to talk back at him.

"Anyway," Brendan said, "who taught you that vulgar sense of humour?"

"Je ne sais quoi."

He clicked his tongue and went along with it, "Vraiment?"

"Oui."

He chuckled.

Florence arrived and brought with her a tray laden with crepes and roasted apples. Their conversation ceased.

****

It was late at night and Phina shuffled on the bed. Florence was in the closet putting aside her mistress' dinner dress. Phina glanced at the clock. It was eleven, an hour to midnight. Through her floor-to-ceiling window she could see the distant waves breaking on the rocks. The sound was deafening yet soothing. So very different from the sounds of the city she'd left behind.

She was ready to click off her bedside lamp when Florence strode in with a morose face. She tousled the sheets around her mistress and made sure the pillows were straightened.

"What's wrong?", Phina sat up and asked.

Florence pouted. "Lie down straight or you'll get the covers off you. It's a cold night."

"Florence, what is it?"

"It's Mr. Kincaid."

"Aha?"

"He left for Russia on a massive business project."

Phina bit her lip. "But we just had dinner only a few hours ago. And he didn't inform me of a journey."

"I know. He left on his boat immediately after."

Phina could not help asking, "When will he be back?"

"I'm afraid he won't be back until two years later."

Phina gasped and threw the sheets off her shoulders. Running to the window she rolled open the shutters and creened her neck. Evidently, a fully powered steamboat blazed the ocean, leaving a trail of billowing water behind.

Tears gathered in her chest. The coward! He was escaping: leaving her to live a life of boredom on this cold island. Phina clenched her fists in fury. Screw escape.

A/N: How is everyone? :)Woohoo so he run. I'm not surprised though. Who thinks Mr. Kincaid will come back? Tell me what you think.

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