Mistress Mine

1

The welcome back festive her family threw her was a surprise, and so was the slave boy that stood by the doors.

She hadn't been expecting him, or the festivities that came along with him. She hadn't been expecting the crowd period. All the people she hadn't met for the past year, all crowded in her family's great hall, speaking all at once.

His gaze was unnerving. He didn't blink, or at least she hadn't seen him do. His eyes never left her, following her every move, with that solemn expression of his, never changing.

Her mother had introduced him right before the entered the hall, like she was introducing a friend or an associate, her voice floating, like it was the most mundane thing in the world.

She didn't allow her a reaction, but jumped her in, and left it at that. Letting the crowd take her away.

When it was finally over, she was glad, moving to the kitchen to grab the most her arm could carry and along running to her room. Having conTurning the key in the lock and finally, finally, taking her tight bodice off. It left her breast to the air and she didn't remember feeling this relieved in a while.

In her daze to find bathroom, she opened the seconds door instead of the first, and had to fumble for the lights before she realized this was the adjacent room, the one she used to store her dolls in when she was younger. But the glittery pink surfaces had been traded for a much more subtle decor. A single bed and a closet with a glass sliding door, along with a desk with a chair in the corner.

She closed the door, opening the one adjacent to it, turning on the lights before she turned on the faucet to fill the tub.

She grabbed a robe and waited for the bath tub to fill, she checked the scented oils laid out at the side cabinet and frowned in distaste, noting an absence of foaming bath oil. Good thing she'd thought to bring along bath bombs, although she probably should go shop for some extras soon.

Staring at the wall paper she dialled his number from memory, she discarded the rest of her cloths and sunk into the warm water. He answered on the third ring, his voice just as she'd said her goodbyes to him less than twenty four hours ago. Rich and warm and gentle.

He'd be cooking at that time of the night. He loved midnight snacks when he worked late. "I just put the sweet potatoes in the oven." He greeted.

She couldn't help the grin. "And I just took my cloths off."

"You drunk?"

"You know me so well."

"It must've been really good then."

"Or really bad." She deadpanned, "Depending on who you ask."

She heard the clank of dishes as he moved about in the kitchen, "What did they do?"

She told him what her parents had deigned a good idea to do, and about all the times she had to smile and shake her head in greetings. "My jaw hearts," She complained.

They talked through her bath, and later into the night as she ate what she'd come up with from the kitchen. At one point, there were knocks at the door and she shooed them away, pretending to sleep.

When she did sleep, it was a fitful night, in a bed she hadn't been in for the last three years.

The next morning, she woke up with a headache, her stomach roiling. She barely made it to the bathroom when loud knocks came from her bedroom door. She was ready to ignore them if they weren't making her headache worse. So she moved to the door, unlocking it, then back to the bathroom. Whoever was on the other side could let himself in.

Even after the bath she took last night, she still though she smelt of alcohol, her stomachache didn't help the case. Brushing her teeth and washing her face wasn't going to cut it, she needed a shower.

Dripping wet, she looked for a bath robe, only to realize that she'd left it laying on the bed last night, she groaned in annoyance, turning off the faucet and looking for a large towel to cover her nakedness. A knock on the bathroom door stopped her, she was glad she'd unlocked her bedroom door. "A towel, please." She yelled from behind her door.

The voice that answered startled her. "Right here, Mistress." A male, she'd imagined the knocker to be one of her mother's hands, coming to call her for breakfast.

But it wasn't. Memories of the man sitting in the corner rushed back, and she remembered why she'd drunk so much last night. Why every time her glass had emptied, she'd have it refilled.

"Leave it at the door."

"Yes, ma'am."

She waited a few seconds before cracking open the door, and snatching the towel from where he's left it. She would have to speak to her parents about him today. He was gone when she emerged from the bathroom, cloth tightly wrapped around her middle.

The migraine had subsided, but she still felt her stomach roiling. She found clothing that she slipped on quickly, and it wasn't until she moved over to the mirror to apply her makeup that she noticed the glass of water sitting beside a pill.

She hadn't realized how incredibly thirsty she was til she gulped down the whole glass, and reached for the pitcher to pour more.

The rest of her makeup forgotten, she applied sunscreen and headed out to see her mother. The dining room was empty, but she wasn't surprised, in the good months of the year, they had their breakfast in the veranda. And that's where she found them minutes later.

Her father's bellowed voice greeted her, while her mother, sipping on her tea, inclined her head, smiling behind her cup.

"I trust you slept well?"

She nodded, not bothering to correct her mother, and took the third seat around the table. She reached for juice, not sure she could stomach anything else at the moment. One of her mother's hands came to fill her glass, the woman young and pretty, one she hasn't seen before. Perhaps she wasn't her mother's after all, since the woman liked to keep the older women as they were more experienced.

Her mother filled the silence with chatter about their guests of last night, how she missed her daughter, that they wanted to stay up longer and talk, "Speaking of which, since when do you sleep so early, it was barely midnight."

"My classes are all in the morning, so I have to sleep early. I guess I'm just used to it now."

"But you didn't need to lock the door." Her mother nodded to her left, where a brown haired male stood in a butler's uniform. "Poor Keith had to sleep on a rug with the kitchen boys, Suzanna"

Poor Keith, indeed. The Keith she hadn't looked onto since she sat at the table, purposefully keeping him in her peripheral vision and as she sat turned towards her father.

"Yes." She nodded, moving the glass orange juice away, "About that, dad. I hope you haven't transferred the ownership papers to my name yet."