Chapter Seven
Bella sits upright in a straight-backed chair, wearing the satin corset he gave her when he arrived the day before. It’s hot; no time to be bound so tightly as sticky as the day feels breathing these humid atoms. She’d rather be in the comfortable air-conditioned climate of her inn. But then, Claude prefers it this way, a layer of satiny sweat at her breast to match the shimmery black satin garment.
Already it feels like September, the earth has that gently beating gait like a weary horse being led to the stable. The air vibrates, over-ripe with the sound of cicadas and languishing birds. To stare at the hedgerows is like looking through a hazy fog, nothing is distinct, everything aging and tired. The soft glow of muted colors makes her feel as though she’s slipped inside a
