CHAPTER TEN
>A New Dawn
...The Donovan's Estate
The morning light slipped into the room, waking Muse from her slumber.
She was disoriented for a moment as she sta up in the huge but soft bed.
Her mind quickly caught up to the fact that she was no longer in prison.
"Freedom," she thought as she looked around, "should not sound so strange."
Muse lay back against the dozen of flufffy pillows beneath her head.
She hadn't meant to sleep when she had climbed into the bed last night.
She had only meant to rest but exhaustion had swallowed her whole.
Afterall it had been the first night in days without the metal bars of prison
When they had arrived the previous evening, Pierre had introduced her to the staff.
He had been precise when he said that she was the soon to be Mrs. Donovan.
Silence had fallen as the workers had looked at her with unreadable eyes.
Still, the chef had bowed in welcome and the butler had called her Madam.
She hadn't know wether to laugh or to cry after the strange treatment came.
The staff were dismissed after and Pierre had turned to look at her
"We should talk," he said.
She had nodded tiredly because she had been expecting the words all day.
But she was worb out.
She heard nothing when he began to speak though she had her eyes on him.
The words just managed to sound foreign to her in her depleted state.
And when Pierre had noticed her yawn, he had arched one eyebrow at her.
"I think you should rest first," he had said. "We will talk when you are awake."
She had wanted to insist on the conversation but her body had betrayed her.
Reluctantly, she had thanked him and followed as he had led her to a huge bedroom.
"This is your bedroom, for now."
She had looked at him through her side eyes.
She wondered why he had added the last two words.
Why was there a limitation?
Was there any special meaning to that?
She had shrugged and managed to trudge to the bathroom after he left.
She had been in need for a hot shower.
The shower which had felt divine had left her feeling much refreshed.
But she was certainly drained of energy from standing there.
She slipped into a robe hanging there and it was her exact size.
But she didn't notice.
She had lay on the bed to catch her breath.
But the moment the bed had welcomed her, she had fallen into dreamtopia.
She blinked.
As she stretched she noticed the faint scent of roses.
Her darting eyes found them arranged in a large vase just beside her bed.
She heard nothing footsteps approaching.
Then a knock came on the door.
Her head turned towards it.
"Come in," she called.
Her voice was still hoarse from her sleep.
The door opened.
Pierre stepped into the bedroom and his broad frame filled the door way.
He was like one of those Vogue models with a white towel hanging around his neck.
It fell over his bare but toned chest.
Her gaze went over his wash board belly to the loose pants that sat low on his hips.
She almost started salivating at the view.
Sweat made his skin to glisten faintly as they ran down his abs.
He was craved to perfection.
He looked like a Greek god in that moment.
Muse forgot how to breathe.
And for a moment she just simply stared.
Pierre saw the way her gaze lingered and he stared back at her with an unbothered gaze.
She didn't miss the confidence behind his eyes as his mouth curved into a slow and dangerous smile.
"Do you like what you see?"
She blinked hard.
Her eyes looked away from his body and met his own questioning pair.
He tilted his head at her.
"I can only see a man that is simply incapable of knocking twice."
Pierre chuckled, clearly amused.
"This is my home Muse. And you happen to be my wife to be," he teased.
Blood filled her cheeks at his words.
"You know you are being ridiculous, right?" she managed.
He gave her a smug grin.
"People have referred to me as worse."
She scrunched up her nose.
"Really?"
Her voice was mocking.
He let out a deep and rich laugh that echoed throughout the bedroom.
She didn't know if she should be irritated or intrigued by his dark chuckle.
"You sure you were asleep?" he teased lightly.
"I was till you came into my room half naked," she hissed.
He leaned casually against the doorframe.
"If you feel like you need to return the favor," he began, "I really wouldn't mind."
She gaped.
Her jaw grew slack.
It took about half a second before she could recover from his words.
Heat coarsed through her traitorous body.
He grinned wickedly.
Tension filled the air between them and neither of them noticed.
"You're insufferable," she mused.
He didn't mind her word.
Infact he seemed to like it.
"And you're blushing," he pointed out.
"No, I'm not!" she snapped defensively.
She crossed her arms over her chest even as her cheeks were growing warm.
Pierre tilted his head in amusement and watched as her cheeks colored intensely.
"If you say so."
Muse crossed her arms.
She tried hard to look unimpressed with him and failed.
Pierre scoffed.
"Are you here to invite me for breakfast or just to test my patience?"
"Breakfast?"
She nodded.
"Lunch," Pierre corrected her. "It's well past noon, darling."
Her eyes widened.
She began to search for her phone and saw the gadget sitting on the bedside table.
She reached for it.
It lit up when she tapped it.
She gasped at the time.
Then she turned to look at him in disbelief.
"You let me sleep that long?"
"I did try to wake you," he confessed.
He shrugged, pushing his body off the doorframe.
"But you looked like you hadn't rested in years, so I let you be."
Something softened in her chest.
And she instantly hated that.
She swallowed.
"Wait outside," she said briskly. "I will be down in a moment."
Pierre inclined his head.
"Alright," he said.
Then he stepped into the hall.
Muse moved quickly.
She went to the bathroom, washed her face in the sink, and brushed her teeth thoroughly.
She didn't have time for a shower.
She stepped out of the robe she had on because it was short and made especially for the bedroom.
So she went to get another one and chose a purple robe in the closet.
It was modest and more appropriate for breakfast.
She noticed rows of clothing already hanging there when she pulled it on.
There were dresses and even shoes.
It felt like they were precisely costom made for her.
Each was tailored to suit her taste.
She paused as her fingers brushed over the sleeve of a navy blue blouse.
The closet was filled with that colour and it was her favourite.
She began to wonder.
Did Pierre make all of these arrangements knowing fully well that she would say yes?
Or was he simply efficient and capable enough to do all these in a short time?
Either answer unsettled her.
He was there when she stepped out of the bedroom.
He stood in wait by the stairs with the towel now settled over his right shoulder.
"Let's go," he said.
She followed.
He led her through the corridors to the dining room
She seized the opportunity to admire his broad back.
Her eyes took in the ripple if muscle as he raised the towel to his damp hair.
He dried it while he walked.
Her eyes were drawn to his flexed biceps against her will at the motion.
She wondered if he would sit for breakfast with her half naked.
The question hung on her lips.
But the moment she opened her mouth, a maid appeared at the landing.
Muse noticed the insane timing as she presented him a crisp white T-shirt.
"Sir."
Pierre nodded in thanks.
He handed the towel to the maid.
Then he slipped into the shirt with one fluid motion.
The fabric stretched across his tantalizing chest before settling into place.
Muse looked away, heat rising in her throat.
He turned to her.
"Hungry?" he asked as he adjusted the shirt.
"Starving," she murmured.
The dining room was large with glass walls and floor to ceiling windows.
The vase in the table had fresh orchids.
The staff moved around setting down plates and pouring juice as Pierre drew out a chair for her.
"Mrs. Donovan," one of them greeted her with a bow as she sat down.
Muse froze at the sound of it.
The title felt foreign to her.
It was like wearing a borrowed coat that didn't fit yet.
She forced a nod.
"Thank you."
Pierre took the seat across from her.
She quickly helped herself to some breakfast.
She was famished after skipping meals the entire day before.
For a while, only the sound of eating and spoon on silverware was heard.
Pierre watched her as she ate, noting everything she was eating.
The file on her had been correct.
He had asked for breakfast to be prepared based in her preference there.
He broke the silence first.
"You prefer your eggs soft-boiled, don't you?"
She looked up sharply.
"How would you know that?"
He smiled faintly.
"I know who I was rescued."
Muse stabbed at a strawberry.
Her eyes bore into him.
He didn't meet them.
"You make it sound like an acquisition."
Pierre's gaze lingered on her.
He was unbothered.
"Perhaps it is."
Their eyes met this time.
Her sharp gaze was a good match for his unreadable one as tension built.
That palpable current between them was like a dangerous voltage.
"Tell me, Muse," he said after a beat, "what is your favorite color?"
She hesitated.
Suspicion of his simplicity gripped her.
"Navy Blue."
He smirked.
She rolled her eyes.
"You noticed."
"I notice everything."
The words hung between them.
The conversation carried on between them for the next few minutes.
They slipped between blantant teasing and that quiet interrogation.
She realized that he was definitely trying to peel her open like a banana.
But she deflected him with precision.
Yet beneath it all, something else built that she didn't want to name.
It was the undeniable tension of two people who had seen too much of each other too soon, and not enough at all.
Pierre finished his meal first.
He set his napkin down and straightened.
He regarded her in that unnerving way with half interest and half admiration.
Suddenly, heat washed over her and her appetite for food was instantly gone.
The house was silent but for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere.
Then Pierre spoke softly as if he was deciding something within himself.
"We need to talk.
Muse's fork paused halfway to her lips.
There was a ripple of unspoken unease which instinctively ran through her.
She met his gaze.
Her pulse quickened.
This should have happened last night if she hadn't gone and fallen asleep.
She couldn't avoid it anymore.
"About what?"
He didn't answer right away.
His eyes were steady.
It was cool with its assessment.
And suddenly, she knew.
She knew that whatever came next would redraw the lines between them.
Be it freedom, power, or ownership.
She set her fork down and it clinked lightly against the almost empty plate.
Her spine straightened.
"Then talk," she permitted him.
Pierre's lips curved faintly at her confidence.
It was just the ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
But Muse?
Muse already felt that there was a storm underneath all if that calm.
And when his next words came, she was already braced for war.