Chapter 16 Clara
Clara
My idea of feathers instead of flowers excites the wedding planner, but I know if Trips’ dad had been there, he would have squashed the notion. Luckily, wedding planning must be under the ‘women’s work’ umbrella in his archaic brain, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Things hit a snag, though, when the planner admits she can’t find my parents and asks for my help. I need to find another way to communicate with the guys—RJ can find them now that Trips’ dad has taken their home from them.
I try not to worry about it, to think about it at all, but it’s hovering at the back of my brain no matter what I do. Because how many more people’s lives do I have to ruin with the choices I make before I give up and sacrifice myself to make it all go away?
It’s a question that, a year ago, I wouldn’t have spent more than a second contemplating before doing exactly that.
But I can’t think that way anymore. Yes, my choices affect others, but it’s not a one-way thing.
The whole world is full of people making the best choices they can, and while most of those choices have little in the way of consequences, that doesn’t mean that my choices don’t have a right to exist alongside theirs.
I chose this knowing the risks. The guys agreed to the plan, helping me build it into something I could hardly have imagined when I first sat them down around the fire and explained what I hoped we could do.
And while Emma didn’t know exactly what she was risking by helping, she knew enough to know there would be consequences she couldn’t foresee.
My parents, however, had no warning. And while I’m still not sure where I stand with them, I’m also certain that they’ll figure it out. We were never homeless as a kid, nor did we ever run out of food.
There was always a roof over our heads and snacks in the cupboard, even if full meals weren’t common.
There weren’t vacations, and both of the cars were always one rusty bolt from falling apart on the road, but we were fine.
I just have to hope they can scrabble together what they need now, just like they could then.
Or maybe, it’ll give them a chance to reevaluate what they want from life.
I know what I want from mine. It’s just currently impossible.
So, I promise the planner that I’d get her their new address while Jessica watches me with a question in her gaze.
The second hitch in the meeting hits when she mentions the wedding party.
Only Trevor for Trips and Mattie for me.
That’s it. She immediately sees my anger, and tries to backtrack, but I don’t know if she should.
I glance at Jessica, wondering if I should push on this.
Not having anyone from outside the house stand up with us was one of the contingencies, but things will be easier if we have more allies inside.
Jessica chews on her lip in response to my silent question, which I take to mean that she doesn't know if I can ask for additional attendants. “I’ll have to talk to Mr. Westerhouse,” I say, wondering how I can charm him while still getting the guys through the front door.
Damn, do I wish I had access to a computer.
The dress fitting goes fine. It’s not my dream dress, but it’s not terrible either.
It has sheer sleeves that balloon wide before catching beneath my elbows, a lace bodice that hits a shallow V-neck at the front and a deeper one at the back, and a simple A-line skirt I can run in.
The whole thing allows for an excellent range of motion, which was one reason I chose this dress over any other.
Not that I’m explaining my reasoning to anybody else in this house.
They don’t need to know I might have to run on my wedding day if things fail miserably.
After the fitting, I’m left standing next to my assigned guard for the day. “So, about that meeting with Mr. Westerhouse?”
He clears his throat. “He said he’ll meet you for dinner. I’m supposed to escort you to your room to get ready.”
Right. Because it’s going to take me hours to get ready for a simple dinner with the man. “I was hoping I could go for a run,” I say instead.
The guard looks terrified to say no, and the myriad of reactions I’ve gotten over the weeks piques my curiosity about the guards’ gossip about me.
“I’ll see if Falk is available,” he answers, his phone in his hand but his gaze locked on my core, like I'm a second from pouncing on him. A moment later, he lets out a sigh. “He’ll meet you at your room in about half an hour.”
I’m changed and antsy when my door’s unlocked again, Falk tilting his chin, inviting me out with him.
The storm has faded to a drizzle, and the cold rain against my skin leaves goosebumps pebbling across my arms, my breath coming in clouds in front of me.
This kind of cold is welcome, though. It’s a reminder that I’m moving, I’m breathing, I’m alive.
Once we’re deep in the woods, I start my now standard series of questions about Trips.
No, he’s not out yet; no, Falk doesn’t know when he’ll be let out; yes, he’d tell me the second he knows anything.
It’s been two weeks. My single week was near torture, and I was still let out to run a few times with Falk.
I need this meeting with his father to go well.
We hit the second patch of woods, and to keep my mind from worrying, I ask what I’d wondered earlier. “Why do the new guards alternate between thinking I’m just some spoiled rich girl and like I might kill them if they answer a question wrong?”
Falk laughs, and I startle to realize I haven’t heard that from him before.
This place really is toxic. “That’s because there are two camps of thought about you.
One is that you were forced to kill Smith, that it’s against your nature, and that you’re just a girl caught up in a shitty situation. A lost little girl locked in a tower.”
“And the other camp?”
“They’re certain you’re a perfect match for Archie, er, Trips. That you’re a sociopath with a murderous streak, and that’s why you’re locked up. It’s prevention, so you don’t stab everybody in their sleep.”
I chuckle. “What camp are you in?”
“I’m in a camp all by myself. I think you’re a smart girl who got in over her head, but still somehow thinks she stands a chance at winning. And that makes me curious about what cards you’ve got close to your chest but aren’t willing to play yet.”
“You know what they say about curiosity,” I say.
“That it killed the cat?”
“Would you consider yourself more of a cat person or a dog person?”
“Can’t say I know anymore. You?”
I shrug, missing Prince Fluffington, but not wanting to dwell on another missing loved one. “I’m just banking on the ‘satisfaction brought it back,’ part of the rhyme.”
This gets another laugh from the man, and we finish our run in companionable silence.
Trips’ father has a small table set up in his office within view of the rose garden, the drizzle bringing night early, streaks of rain against the panes beside us like a never-ending stream of tears.
“You asked for a meeting.” He lifts the tumbler of amber liquid and sniffs it, his focus purely on the scotch, my presence obviously superfluous.
The last thing I want to do is charm the man opposite me. Everything he is, everything he’s done, clings to him like the mud that’s still coating my tennis shoes from earlier. “Yes,” I say, still uncertain what tack to take now that my cover as a sweet, simple girl has been blown wide.
“If it’s about my son, I’ve decided to release him later tonight. So, if that’s why you’re here, you can save your breath.”
Relief courses through me. “Thank you,” I say, knowing that the courtesy is the bare minimum effort I have to put in if I want him thoroughly distracted from our plans. I’ll need to do more. Even if it makes me sick. “I’m glad you’ve decided we’ve paid our dues.”
His breath comes hard out through his nostrils. “Don’t bother sucking up. I know it’s fake.”
“True. But I’m still grateful that you’re letting him out.”
He looks over at me, taking in my fussy blouse and my attempt to contain my hair in a French braid.
I’d debated straightening it, like I used to do back when I let Bryce’s ‘suggestions’ become standards I had to meet, but I just can’t do it.
I’ve always been a bit unruly, working extra hard to look and act perfect to make sure no one knew how deep my ambition went.
It went deep enough for me to end up here, and if the rest of me still has to squeeze into a picture of perfection, I’m holding onto the one part of me that has never cooperated.
“Why don’t you know how to play chess?” he asks, a question that has to lead somewhere, even if I can’t see the destination right now.
“It’s not commonly taught where I’m from.”
“What is taught there, then?”
I think back to the kinds of lessons I’d learned growing up, knowing honesty will go a long way with this monster of a man.
“I learned that most people are just trying to make it through the day. Very few people give a damn about you, and when you find the ones that do, you should hold on to them tight. I learned that there are very few paths out of there, but that it’s not as impossible as it can feel.
Although a single misstep can fuck you over for years, so every move you make has to be carefully calibrated. ”
“Those are just good life skills. Work hard, trust few, be better than average, and don’t tolerate mistakes.”
A shiver runs under my skin, but I keep it from showing. “You seem disappointed with my answer. What sorts of things did you think I learned?”
He runs the tumbler against his bottom lip, setting it back down and taking a bite of his salad, his nostrils flared like the romaine is a personal affront.
He washes it down with water. “Not that you’d tell me, but maybe you ran drugs for a boyfriend, or conned other kids out of their lunch money. ”
“Did you do those things growing up?”
“Of course not. My father raised me right.”
“So did mine. Yet here we sit.”
I take a few bites of my dinner, wondering where to go from here, realizing that my silence is probably the best course, at least until I figure out if I should distract him with flash or subterfuge.
So the rest of dinner passes without conversation, the mutter of the rain accompanying the scrape of forks and knives against the plates.
The dishes are whisked away, and I sit there, at a loss with my attempts to read this monster the way I figured I’d be able to.
He seems to want my honesty, which I can give, to a point, but I don’t see how it will be enough of a distraction for everything I need to happen over the middling amount of time I have left.
I risk a question, feeling him out further.
“I was wondering if I could ask about the wedding party.”
“You want your little pink-haired friend there? I’ll have you know, giving me her name will guarantee that she’ll find out what happens to people who practice medicine without a license.”
“She’s not my only friend.”
He just looks at me, like he knows I’m lying. She might be my only close friend, but Jasmine and Summer both could be friends if I hung out with them. Or at least, I hope they could be.
“Also, if you think those other boyfriends of yours are even getting an invitation to the wedding, let alone standing up with my son, you must believe I’m a fool. And the blond one is as good as dead.”
“Maybe we could make a deal?” I ask, wondering if I’m tying my own noose.
He laughs. “I’d like to see what kind of deal you have on offer, Ms. McElroy. So far, you haven’t given me the only thing I want, so I’m curious what other prize you think you could acquire.”
“You need a liver,” I say, showing one of my cards.
A slight tick in his jaw is the only reaction I see, but it’s enough of one. “You’re not a match. And you’re better positioned to give me an heir than a liver.”
“I’ll help you find one.”
My heartbeat is a rapid, faded echo, the hum of white noise too loud in my ears for me to give it more than a passing acknowledgment.
“And how would you do that?”
“The same way I knew you needed one.”
He glances at the liquor, barely a flash of movement, but still a reaction. Then he stands, throwing one arm toward the door, his demeanor shut down and tight. “Good evening, Ms. McElroy.”
Shit. Was that a bad choice? I stand, dipping my head at him as I step past. Then, knowing how much he likes to make others break, I pause.
“I shouldn’t have asked. I just want to say goodbye to them.
” The pain in my voice isn’t an act. I miss each of my guys so goddamn much that just thinking about them, like I am now, makes tears threaten.
I let them fall, a tool that I’ll gladly use. Glancing over my shoulder at the monster, I let him see them, swallowing hard and shuffling toward the door, the picture of defeat.
I’m almost out when he says what I’d been hoping he would. “I’ll think about it.”
Good enough. At least for now.