Big Daddy Wants Me

4: Dolores.

When I wake up, it’s about mid-day. At least, that’s what I figure based on my incredibly, ultra-amazing abilities of judging the location of the sun.

I find two bags of groceries on the table with a note:

I hope you cook.

“Yeah, why’s that, Fred?” I say to no one. “What am I? Your cook? Your wife?”

I manage to make myself dry scrambled eggs with toast and marmalade jam and eat out on the steps. Despite the fact that this is now technically my prison – one surrounded by people-eating wolves and managed by a massive, would-be murderer with a celebrity-child name, it’s actually beautiful.

My life is normally quite hectic. Having to show up places with my father and smile to give off the impression that we are a nice, happy family is simultaneously exhausting and soul-sucking at the same time.

We are anything but happy, and that’s why I doubt my father’s even worried about me right now – if he’s even noticed I’m gone yet.

Fred is right; politics is a dirty game filled with liars and crooks, and I must have spent hundreds of nights wishing that one day I would wake up to find myself in a fairy tale where my family lived in a cute little town and my dad ran a cute little furniture shop and my mom helped out a few hours a week and I went to a school with all the other kids instead of going to a private school with the children of society’s elite.

But alas, it was not meant to be.

Instead, I was born to a power-hungry man, a narcissistic, manipulative mom and have now been kidnapped by a man sent to kill me.

So much for being awkwardly asked to prom by the geeky guy in my math class.

But then again, is that what I really want? To get all dolled up just to uncomfortably slow-dance with an 18-year-old guy who isn’t sure how to make a move on me?

“I bet Fred would know how,” I say to myself as I wash the dishes. I stop and frown. “Why did I just say that?”

Sure, he’s handsome, but should I really be thinking about him in that way? He did steal me away from my house at gunpoint, after all.

“Well, maybe he’s my Prince Charming.” I shrug with a laugh as I set the dishes in the drainer. “And my mom is the evil witch, and my dad is a scary ogre.”

I go out to the porch and stretch and take in the fresh air. It is undeniably beautiful, but the cottage itself looks as though no one has lived in it for years. The bedroom was clean – relatively—but the living room is a dust factory. Either Fred doesn’t have a significant other in his life, or he’s never brought her here, because no woman would put up with this.

“I guess I’m your cook and your maid,” I say to myself as I find a broom and dustpan in the closet and get to work. I leave the doors and windows open and cover my face with one of Fred’s T-shirts I find in his bedroom. It takes me just over an hour, but once I’m finished, the place looks almost good as new. Almost.

How strange is it that I’m now doing chores for the man who took me here by force? But for some reason, I’m actually anxious for him to get home so he can see what I’ve done. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, but he better show it. It’s hard to imagine any kind of approving look on that stony face of his.

Without anything else to do, and not wanting to be eaten by the wolves, I spend the rest of the day cleaning. I wipe down the stove and the kitchen countertops, as well as the table. I throw out the expired food in the fridge and even take the living room rug outside and beat the dirt out of it.

I’ve never done anything like this before. My parents may both be nightmares, but they’ve always paid for a maid service to handle things like this. I don’t even know how I know what to do to be honest, but it feels good and I can’t wait for Fred to get back from whatever it is he’s doing.

I’m just finishing up my shower when I see his headlights flash in the kitchen windows.

“s**t,” I curse as I hurry to dry off. I stub my toe on the vanity as I pull open the bathroom door and race for my room but end up running straight into Fred, who’s already in the living room.

It’s like running into a brick wall.

“Ow!”

I bounce off of him like a tennis ball, and as I raise a hand to my throbbing nose, my towel falls completely off of me and onto the floor.

And for some reason, I don’t even bother to pick it up.

No. I know the reason…but I’m too embarrassed to admit it.

“You dropped something.”

Now I’m blushing. Fred isn’t even looking at me. I mean – he is, but he isn’t looking. You’d expect most guys to take a glance, even if it was just for a brief second and they were trying not to get caught, but Fred’s eyes never waver. They simply hold on me like two pieces of perfectly calibrated equipment.

More embarrassed than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, I bend down and snatch up my towel, but as I’m standing, I notice Fred has both of his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

I take a step back. “Are you – going to hit me?”

“What?” For the first time, some kind of emotion shows in Fred’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“Your…your hands,” I mutter with a nod. “I just thought—”

“I don’t hit women,” he replies, unclenching his fists. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get some sleep.”

Fred moves to walk past me, but I step in front of him. “Wait, aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Say anything about what?”

His reply burns into my chest, which seconds ago was exposed, for the first time ever, to a man. And he’s going to act like nothing even happened?

Okay, if he wants to play that game, I’ll play it too.

“Your house,” I snark back. “I cleaned it. Or didn’t you notice?”

“I did. But it’s your house now too, so I would expect you would keep it clean.”

Again, he tries to move past me, but again I step in his way. This is dangerous. Fred could snap me in half like a twig. But he won’t, right? He saved my life, why would he want to hurt me?

“Get out of the way,” he growls. In the corner of my vision, I see his hands clench into fists again.

“Or what?” I ask, getting right up in his face. “You’ll shoot me with that gun of yours?”

At this close, his scent is powerful. It fills my nose like a drug, intoxicating me, igniting a plethora of sensations within me like thousands of different flowers blooming all at once.

I like the fierceness when it rises in his eyes.

I see his muscles going tense and can practically hear the rough skin on his hands twisting as he clenches his fists.

At least I’m getting some kind of a reaction out of him. But it’s not enough. For some reason, I want more.

Fred opens his mouth to speak but thinks better of it. When he puts his hand on my hip and moves me out of the way, my heart skips a beat, and I gasp.

Yeah, this is really happening…I’m crushing hard on my would-be killer.

“Fine,” I say to his back as he goes into his bedroom. “I guess I’ll just spend the rest of the night by myself.”

I turn around and stomp toward my room, but as I’m about to shut the door, I hear his footsteps – hard and heavy behind me. Before I can react, he has a hand around my arm. He spins me, like we’re a couple showing others how to dance, and I slam against his hard chest with a force that takes my breath away. I barely have time to gasp before his lips crush against mine and something snaps inside me.

A panic. A realization. A terrible truth that I didn’t want to acknowledge until now.

I want this.

I want this man. The man who was sent to kill me.