Continental Life (5 page)

Two tediously slow
days after her and Xander’s private appointment in his office, she prepared for her meeting with the DDTC heads. She would be facing a panel of her prospective instructors, including Xander, for an in-depth discussion regarding the questionnaire she had received the day before, and to discuss the
strict guidelines
alluded to. After that she would be taken on a tour of the property and given her course syllabus. The nervous energy coursing through her veins made her feel as if she would piss her pants. She hadn’t been so anxious since her interview with Xander five years earlier.

She had begged him to give her a hint of what kinds of
responses they wanted on the feedback form so she could word her answers appropriately, but Xander stated it would be an unfair advantage and that she just needed to respond truthfully. That was easier said than done. After all, she wasn’t only representing herself, but her future husband – Professor Pettifor. Fear of disappointing him was more prevalent than the nervousness and she suddenly felt lightheaded and nauseous.

This was even more
troublesome to think about than when she faced the medical board of the University for her admittance interview.

Dressed in the navy blue, nautical, retro pin-up dress and matching platform shoes that Xander had set out for her, she exited
the Rolls and thanked Dante. With so much of her time spent at school and doing clinical hours, it wasn’t often she got the pleasure of being chauffeured around like the old days. Upon starting school, she had pled her case to Xander and explained that being driven to the University in a Rolls Royce Ghost would only be counteractive to being taken seriously by her peers and professors. Though she may have been his ‘Princess,’ she most certainly didn’t want to come off as one. After presenting all of her reasons in a calm and clear-headed manner, he gave his consent and allowed her to drive herself to school. In an uncharacteristically passive gesture, he even permitted her to choose her own vehicle; after laying out the five options he had deemed
acceptably safe
, of course. After much contemplation, she chose the least flashy of the choices – a Lexus 600h L.

Clutching her wristlet, she s
tood outside the enormous mahogany, double-door entrance and scanned the premises. There were no other buildings near and the secluded spot only added to the intrigue surrounding the DDTC. The four-story structure sat neatly tucked into one of the coves that she had eyed just a few nights ago, but it was no ordinary building – it was a home. The architecture was modern-Victorian and exuded nothing less than majestic grandeur. The serenity enveloping the area was astounding. Perhaps it was the San Francisco Bay just within view or the perfectly manicured lawn and floral greenery. It was hard to put her finger on exactly what it was… Bella peered down at the lawn beneath her feet. Not a single blade of grass was out of place. She bent over and touched a calla lily- just to make sure it was real.
It was. When she rose, she pinched her arm, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t.

The
bulky wrought-iron gates clanged shut behind her as Dante drove away and the damp sea air whipped her hair all around her face. The magnificent sunset reflected off the amber tinted windows of the renovated residence, nearly blinding her as she continued to soak up the ambiance. It was odd, but she had expected something…
different.
She had dreamt of this place several times, but in her dreams, the edifice was gothic and foreboding, larger and menacing with endless halls and dark dungeons in the basement filled with sexual tools of torture. This place was nothing like that. It was astonishingly beautiful and tranquil, at least on outward appearances. Hopefully the interior was just as peaceful.

Xander was already at The Center waiting for her.
On nights when he taught, he drove himself in what he deemed to be “a less conspicuous mode of transportation”; his version of less conspicuous being a pearl white Rossion Q1. She was marrying a man with unabashed extravagant tastes, she reminded herself.

Just as she lifted her hand to touch the door chime, a voice came over a small intercom and the doors unlatched.

“Please enter and seat yourself in the foyer. The Lords will see you shortly.” The faceless voice on the other end was soft and feminine.

Lord
s.
Is that what Xander was - a
Lord
to his students? Her belly roiled with a mixture of lust and jealousy. She didn’t like the thought of him being anyone’s Lord except hers. She took a quick inventory of her appearance to make sure everything was in place and fingered her hair, pushing a few loose strands back into the tight bun she had knotted at the back of her head. Just as she began to smooth her dress over her thighs, she heard the heavy footsteps of a man approaching her. She lifted her smiling face expecting to see Xander, but was instead greeted by a hard looking middle-aged man with a long, deep scar that reached from the corner of his mouth to underneath his eye. Wearing dress trousers, a charcoal-colored Victorian frock coat with a vest underneath and a silver, silk puff tie, his appearance was reminiscent of photos she had seen of the Victorian or early 19
th
century era. Regardless of his eccentric outfit and scar, he was undeniably handsome. Or maybe it was just the control and dominance he was radiating.

His
white-blonde and gray, layered-cut hair caught the light of the overhead chandelier as did the whites of his eyes. His sky-blue irises scanned her body, starting at her four inch heels, resting on her chest briefly, and then moving up to her eyes. It was difficult to decipher his expression. Uneasy with his unflinching stare, she widened her smile, stood and reached a hand out to greet him.

“I’m Bella…”

“I know who you are,” he replied blandly. Without taking her hand he spun on his heel and began to walk rapidly away from her. “This way,” he barked.

With her
small bag tucked under her arm, she kept a safe distance as the unnamed man began climbing a winding staircase. Gripping the decoratively hand-carved banister, her eyes darted around at each landing between floors as she tried to take in all the details. The interior of the home was even more impressive than the exterior. The halls were lined with various photographs of young women and men, all neatly dressed in uniforms. Each photo had a corresponding year, making it evident that these were graduation pictures.

At the final landing, six large photos hung on the wall facing the stairs, each with a brass name plate underneath
bearing their names. Above the ornately framed photos another brass plate read: Lords of Discipline. So that’s what Xander was Lord of. She browsed the pictures quickly as she passed but did a double-take when she saw Xander’s haunting, green eyes staring back at her.

Lingering too long in front of her fiancé’s
stoic photo, she heard a door open and a stern voice. “Stop dawdling, Ms. Darcy.”

Without del
ay, she moved past her guide as he held the door open for her. Upon entering the large room on the top floor of the old home, she came face-to-face with five men, including Xander, sitting at a long antique, slab table with a wrought iron table base. The scarred man who had led her in seated himself in the empty chair next to Xander. He then leaned in to whisper something to another older man dressed in similar fashion who was sitting on the opposite side of Xander.

It was hard not to miss the
look of distress on her lover’s face. Although he was trying to appear cool and unaffected, she knew this look well. As they all addressed each other, she kept her eyes on Xander, waiting for a verbal acknowledgement from him, but none came. Shaking his head only slightly, he blinked long and hard and averted his gaze to the men next to him.

As they all spoke
, her eyes shifted to the wall behind them. More photos lined the wall and each one with their own name plate underneath. Some of the snapshots were old black and white images, some newer, and even a few were women.

Next she focused on each
male seated across from her, taking in all the details of their faces and clothes. When her eyes rested on Xander, she noticed he was wearing the same Victorian-style vest and puff tie as the others, but his coat was laid over the back of his chair. She had never seen him in this particular outfit and she guessed it must be garb set aside for The Center. And what a look it was for him. Seeing him so prim and proper stirred arousal within her and a bolt of fire lanced through her heart and a throb sprang up between her legs.

Sitting very still and with her hands in her lap she tried to decode the look of upset on
his face. He was refusing to speak with the other members as they tried to engage him quietly, making it obvious, at least to Bella, that he was thoroughly pissed off at them. On more than one occasion she had witnessed Mr. Pettifor ostracize those who had irked him. Rather than reacting with volatility or harsh words, his silence was his way of dealing with his anger, something she had learned from him. When she saw him begin to chew the corner of his lip, Bella knew whatever these men had done or said to him, had really gotten under his skin. That little tell-tale sign was reserved for when his temper was nearing its boiling point and all hell was about to break loose. When she suddenly felt the urge to take him in her arms and make him feel better, she forced herself to focus by closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

After several minutes,
the chatter abruptly halted and their eyes converged upon her. The silence was deafening and Bella didn’t know how to react to the disgruntled looks on at least half of their faces.

The man seated in the first chair flipped through a stack of papers.

“Xander delivered your questionnaire and we’ve had time to go over it. I just want to confirm that you in no way had help from Xander in compiling your answers and that these responses are yours alone. Is that correct?”

Bella’s eyes
rounded with surprise and immediately put up a wall of defense. Sitting up straighter, she pushed her shoulders back and looked the man dead in the eyes. “That’s absolutely correct. In fact, Mr. Pettifor stated that helping me would give me an unfair advantage.”

The man’s fierce expression
never faltered. “What exactly has he told you about the DDTC?”

“Only that he teaches
here and what its objective is.”

“And what would that
objective
be?” The gentleman who had led her into the room cut in.

Confused by the line of questioning and the hostile glare
directed toward her, she answered, never letting on to her building agitation. “To help educate those individuals who seek to lead a domestic discipline lifestyle, and to assist them in living that lifestyle in a healthy and productive manner.”

She glanced at Xander to see his previously dark eyes, now bright with mirth.
Apparently her response pleased him.

“May I respectfully ask a question?” she directed her eyes back to the board members.

The man in the first chair nodded his approval.

“Is this an interview or an inquisition, because I thought I had already been accepted?”

Silence enveloped the room. Two uncomfortable coughs from two different men across from her and a shifting in their seats finally broke the spell of quietness.

“You have, Ms. Darcy. Based on Xander’s statements, we accepted you in good faith, before reading your responses, which is uncustomary,”
the thin, dark-haired man with luminous, slightly protuberant, coffee-brown eyes in the first chair finally responded with a less harsh tone. “However, your answers seemed staged.”

“I’m not sure what y
ou mean,” she countered.

Again the white-blonde haired man
interrupted. “It means all of your responses sounded rehearsed; like you had been given the answers by someone who knows what this board is looking for in its potential students,” he shot an accusing glance in Xander’s direction.

“Well, I suppose
technically, I have had an unfair advantage,” she admitted, causing a stir amongst the members. “What I mean to say is: I’ve been with Mr. Pettifor nearly five years and from the very beginning he’s been training me in some form or another thus making my answers seemingly fit your requirements, albeit unintentionally. If I had answered that questionnaire five years ago, my answers undoubtedly would have been different. But there’s no turning back time or going back to a previous frame of mind, is there? I’m a different person because of Mr. Pettifor and my way of thinking and attitude is what he has molded them into.”

Again… silence.

“Shall we move on, gentleman?” The man in the first chair asked, leading Bella to believe this was the leader of the pack.

“Yes, shall we?” Xander growled.

***

The air in the room was thick with tension as Xander’s fellow professors began to question Bella on everything from the way her parents interacted together to her past relationships
to her opinions on homosexuality, religion, and everything in between. He tried his best to drown out the stories of her past lovers, but the words kept seeping in.

He was still seething
about having been accused by three of the instructors of helping her formulate her responses. More than that, he was livid at what they were requiring him to do. He wondered how Bella would take the news. Would she reject or accept their stipulations? On one hand, he hoped she would tell them to
respectfully
fuck off, but on the other, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction and he wanted to see her succeed.