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you expect defiance, Jeremy? You provide me with everything that I need.”
    He smirks. “Yes. You might say that.” He glances over his shoulder. “Shall we eat?”
    On his word, a young man in a tuxedo bustles in from the sitting room. He wheels a tray of food with him. Delectable scents waft from the covered platter.
    He sets up the table with practiced efficiency. Stonehart does not acknowledge him until he’s done, and I take his cue. We both wait in silence.
    When the young man is finished, Stonehart gives a curt nod of dismissal. The man bows, turns, and walks away.
    When we’re alone again, Stonehart smiles. “How was your day?” he asks.
    I stare at him as my brain goes blank. I nearly forget myself enough to let my jaw drop. How was my day? Is he fucking serious ?
    “Lilly,” he notes, “it’s customary to reply to a polite inquiry at dinner.”
    “It was fine,” I sputter, shaking my head. “How was yours?”
    Stonehart’s eyes narrow. The movement is so slight it’d be imperceptible to most people. I pick up on it. I know better than to let my guard down around him. Not when so much depends on his moods.
    “Need I remind you of the rules governing your behavior?” Stonehart asks, his eyes growing hard. “Rule three, in particular: You are not allowed to question my desires. Questions pertaining to your situation are prohibited,” he quotes.
    My stomach instantly twists into a knot. “No, Jeremy, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry. It just—slipped out.” I lower my eyes to my plate. “Please don’t punish me,” I whisper.
    “Now, now, Lilly.” Stonehart speaks with rich, mocking warmth. “What need would I have to punish you? I’m not immune to your situation. I understand some of your social abilities have dulled over the course of your stay. That just adds one more item to the list of things we need to work on.”
    “I’ll do better,” I promise, silently cursing myself. Groveling goes against every bone in my body, but it’s what I must do if I want to play my role right. “You’re right. I’m rusty.”
    “Of course I’m right,” he tells me. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a situation in which I’m wrong.”
    Except about me , I repeat in my head. You’re wrong about me .
    Stonehart smiles. I’d call it a greasy smile if it were on a face even a tenth less handsome. But he has clearly mastered the art of presentation. Everything about him flows from a place of cool confidence. “Shall we eat?”
    “Yes,” I agree, glad for a distraction. “Yes, let’s.”

    ***

    The rest of dinner goes by without much in the way of conversation. I don’t know my place yet, so I don’t speak unless Stonehart asks me a direct question.
    That attitude fosters a growing silence between us. It has me on edge. Stonehart, on the other hand, looks right at ease. As he eats, he directs a polite smile at me every once in a while. The quiet does not bother him.
    Then again, why should it? I imagine he has dealt with situations that were orders of magnitude more stressful—and important—than a dinner with his… plaything . To him, this dinner means nothing.
    But for me, interactions like this are of utmost importance. One-on-one time with Stonehart is the only chance I have to learn about him.
    This is his mask , I realize just as I’m taking my last bite. This is the face he shows to his colleagues. To the public. This is the face of Jeremy Stonehart, mega-millionaire, CEO of Stonehart Industries.
    It gives no hint of the monster lurking underneath.
    After our plates are taken away, Stonehart leans back. He still hasn’t said anything. He smiles, and I feel his eyes taking my features in. They dip past my neck, to the hemline of my dress. Being openly ogled like that makes me uncomfortable. I want to tug the straps up, and hide more of my skin, but I am sure that doing so would irritate him.
    So, I sit perfectly straight and pretend not to notice.
    Eventually, the silence