Chapter 50
Clara
Christmas passes in a pageant of political connections and false cheer.
As the wedding draws nearer, the silence from the guys terrifies me.
Having my phone taken away, even if I was barely using it, feels even more precarious now that we’re no longer going to campus.
But I have to trust. There’s no other option.
I overheard Mattie telling a friend that her boyfriend is going to be at the wedding, and I wanted to ask how that was going, how he got an invitation, but she’s still avoiding me.
Trips’ nostrils flare every time she spins and goes in the opposite direction instead of talking to him, and all I can do is grip his hand, trying to convey without words that I’m here for him.
But at night, we hold each other, whispering our hopes for the future, talking about the things we wish for more than anything.
Of all of us together. Of the gigs we’d take, the legitimate businesses that would serve as our cover, how Trips might fit into the relationships I’ve already built.
We dream of stupid things, like going out for coffee, and foolish things, like destroying everyone who threatens our future.
He tells me about how badly he wants to feel my mouth around him when I’m not a bloody mess, and I whisper how badly I want him to chase me and take me again.
Impossible things.
Wishes and dreams.
Until it’s time.
Either it all succeeds, or it all fails.
The day after tomorrow.
The night before my wedding, I attend a groom’s dinner where none of my guests are invited.
Trips’ arm bands my waist, a knee-length, long-sleeved, cream, lace-covered dress scratchy against my skin, while a similarly scratchy cream sweater stretches across his shoulders.
I lean against him, my body exhausted from my continued nightmares, ones I’d figured I’d banished half a year ago.
Long-term stress has always been my downfall. Short bursts give me intention and focus, but months? It’s too much.
Half my dreams are of me weeping over the bloody body of a little girl with my dark hair and Trips’ blue eyes staring blankly over my shoulder.
I know she’s mine, and that she’s dead simply for daring to be born female.
The other half of my dreams have blood pouring from my fingernails, never stopping, never wiping clean, leaving a trail behind me as I stumble through endless halls of this mansion, the shouts of my guys never growing closer no matter how fast I run.
Let’s just say my sanity is questionable right now.
After all the toasts and dinner, after everyone is well on their way to drunk or being shown to their rooms for the night, Trips’ father motions for us to follow him.
Needing support, I cling to Trips’ hand as we weave through the crowd, and when he squeezes my palm back, I almost cry.
If nothing else, I’m not alone. We’re stuck in this hell together.
The path to the office is familiar to me now, and I swallow down my unease as he ushers us in.
He pours three tumblers of scotch, pushing two to the other side of his desk as Trips and I take our seats across from him.
I force myself not to check that the camera I planted is still there.
I tip the cup, letting the peaty scent tease my nostrils, but avoid taking a sip.
The last thing I need when I’m this tired is alcohol.
I learned my lesson.
Trips seems to do the same fake drink, both of us setting the glasses on the desk and waiting for whatever the monster has in store for us now.
“Big day tomorrow,” he says, leaning back, true happiness on his face. “How excited are the two of you?”
I blink at him, not knowing how to respond. He knows he’s blackmailing us into this, doesn’t he?
Trips seems equally confounded, so we both say nothing.
His smile slips a little, and he takes another sniff of the alcohol, inspecting both of us over the rim. He settles his gaze on Trips, and I want to reach over and hold his hand, to give him the same support he gave me on the walk here. But I know that’s not the right move. Not here, not now.
“You’re getting everything you wanted. This girl, one of your little criminal friends standing up with you, free rein of the estate…
all these gifts, even though you two have failed to deliver your half of the deal.
I’m even letting the wedding go ahead before sending you both for fertility testing.
I don’t see how this is anything but overly generous on my part.
So, what is there to be unhappy about?” There’s a bite in his words at the end, but also disbelief at our lack of gratitude. A shiver sneaks up my spine.
Trips drops his chin, but the tightness of his jaw hints at the fury he’s holding back.
“Nothing, sir. I’m sorry. We’re grateful for all you’ve given us.
” He reaches across the space between us, taking my left hand, idly playing with the engagement ring just like he does every time he takes that hand of mine.
“Truly.” He turns toward me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my heart skip a beat, something that makes me want to weep.
If this were another reality, we might actually get married, actually be excited for our future together.
I swallow hard, and his fingers grip my hand tighter, just for a second, before letting go.
“Yes. Thank you,” I add to the monster across from me.
His lips twitch, as if he knows we’re being less than genuine, but he doesn’t want to call us out on it. “Well, on that note, Archie, my boy, you’ll be in the silver room this evening. We can’t have you seeing the bride before your big day.”
The prospect of waking from one of my nightmares and being totally alone has my heart scraping along the inside of my ribs, but I say nothing.
“Of course, sir. Thank you.” He stands, and I stand to join him, to squeeze out whatever small moments of time together we can, but his father pulls one of his expensive pens from the cup, tapping it against the desk.
“Ms. McElroy, if you would stay? We have a few final details to parse out between us. You two will have forever together starting tomorrow. I’m taking one night.”
I swallow my panic. “Of course, sir.”
Trips leaves, the snick of the door forcing my eyes closed, just for a moment.
“Well,” the man across from me says, pulling out a legal pad and scratching down something onto it. “We have to set a few ground rules about how we want to proceed.”
“Do we?” I ask, not sure where this is going.
“Of course. I’ve let you play your games.
You have most of the guards I employ convinced you’re a violent sociopath, you still hold way too much of my eldest son’s interest, and your friendship with my daughter has been on the rocks.
You’ve turned out to be an adequate hand at torture, found me a list of candidates for a new liver, but don’t seem to have the fortitude for cold-blooded murder. At least not yet.”
I say nothing, not knowing how to respond to his uncomfortable evaluation of me.
“You still are not pregnant, and you were perfectly happy conversing with your other boyfriends on that phone I so kindly offered you. My son, however, trusts you, and obviously enjoys your…charms.”
He stops scrawling across the page, sets down the pen, and gives me his undivided attention, his blue irises rimmed by the slightest hint of yellow. “In short, during these last few months, you’ve both surprised me and disappointed me, Ms. McElroy.”
I’m stuck between saying sorry and thank you, so once again I stay quiet.
“Things can’t go on as they are. But I’m uncertain how to motivate you to properly settle into your new life.
While I’d happily send all your boyfriends to jail, I have learned enough about you to know that such an action wouldn’t crush you but instead, it would bring out that tendency to fight that seems to intrigue my son so much.
At best, you’d leave a bloody trail behind you, and I’m not sure I want to deal with the collateral damage nor the bad publicity from either putting you down or hiding you away.
At worst, you’d run, and I don’t doubt that my wayward second son would run after you, yet again. ”
He waits, but I don’t know what he wants from me.
“You’re marrying into this family, taking a name that I’ve spent my entire life building into an empire of unquestioned power.
You will bear my heir, and I imagine you and I will have many nights talking through problems as we raise my grandson, at least until he is old enough to not need a mother anymore.
It’s not like I have time to be concerned with neonatal nutrition or proper language acquisition timelines.
So, you see, Ms. McElroy, we need a better working arrangement. ”
“What do you suggest?” I ask, sensing my continued silence bothers him.
“See, that’s the problem. I don’t know how to control you, not until you bear my heir. At that point, I imagine any threat to your infant would be enough for your compliance.”
“You’d risk your own heir to control me?” I can’t help the words.
He leans back in his chair, turning so he can stare across the expanse of white behind the mansion.
“What looks like risk to you looks like discipline to me. I imagine there’s a lot of space between those points and controlling that delta wouldn’t bother me nearly as much as it bothers you.
At least if what you’ve said about my treatment of Archie holds true. ”
I can’t deny that truth, so I tilt my chin in agreement.
“Until that time, however, I need better leverage. In that vein, I’ll be asking your father to move in with us after the wedding. According to my sources, your parents’ marriage is on the rocks, and he’s the only RSVP from your family. He’s quite excited to walk you down the aisle.”
“You’d take my dad hostage to keep me controlled?”
He doesn’t move, continuing to observe the monochrome night outside. “I will do what I must.”
Taking that as the dismissal it is, I stand, hiding my shaking hands in my skirt.
“Ms. McElroy?” He calls out as I reach the door, and I spin quickly, ready to protect my face, only to find a small smirk on the older man’s face and no projectile in sight. “I look forward to your contributions to the Westerhouse family.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, slipping from the room.
The shivers I’ve been hiding ripple over my skin, and rubbing my arms, I wind through the halls to the blue room.
Tomorrow better go off without a hitch.
I don’t want to contribute another day of my life to the Westerhouse family name.