26. Abigail
26
ABIGAIL
D read is a lead weight in my stomach as we drive through the familiar gates of Montgrove Plantation.
Why didn’t I think to ask Dane where the wedding would take place?
“What’s wrong?” He touches my chilled cheek, attuned to my shifting moods as always.
I turn pleading eyes on him but keep my voice low. I don’t want the driver to hear the tone of panic that I’m struggling to suppress.
“I didn’t realize that your friend is Meadows Coatesworth.”
I should’ve realized. It’s not exactly a common first name, and Charleston is a small place when it comes to local families.
Dane’s heavy brows draw together. “Do you know him?”
Nausea tightens my gut, and I swallow hard against the burn at the back of my throat.
“Not well, but our families are in the same social circle. This isn’t the first time I’ve visited their plantation.”
My family’s own planation, Elysium, is just another hour’s drive down the coast. The beautiful, haunted, rotten place where I was raised is far too close for comfort. Years of distance have allowed me to see how fucked-up it is that my family lives in a place where so much evil took place, even if they hide it under the guise of a proud history.
“Meadows was six years ahead of me at school. I knew of him, but I rarely spoke to him,” I continue. “But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
I try to summon up my sunny smile, but my lips barely twitch.
“You’re upset,” he observes, eyes dark with concern. “Why?”
“My family will probably be here,” I say, forcing the words through my constricted throat. “I haven’t seen them in a long time.”
The last time I spoke to my parents, it ended in a screaming match, and my father said he was cutting me out of his will. I told him that I didn’t care, and I never wanted to see him again.
My mother called every day for a month after that, begging and then scolding and then threatening to get me to come back into the fold. To spare the family the embarrassment of an estranged daughter.
What am I supposed to tell the women at bridge club? she’d demanded. What will I say when you don’t show up at the next cotillion ball?
I told her that was her problem, not mine.
Now, we haven’t spoken in two years. We avoid one another, and I’ve been careful not to do anything that might attract their unwanted attention.
It’s why I didn’t report the thief for stealing my purse.
And it’s part of the reason why I didn’t go to the cops after the masked man attacked me.
That, and my shameful physical response to being violated.
“Abigail.” I flinch when Dane touches my hand. He frowns and folds his fingers firmly around mine. “You don’t look well. I’ll take you home.”
“No!” I protest quickly. Dane can’t miss his friend’s wedding because of me. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he warns, but his voice is soothing rather than threatening. “If this is too much, we’ll leave. I don’t give a fuck about Meadows’ wedding. I’m here because it’s expected of me. I only care about you.”
I draw in a shuddering breath, finding comfort in his fierce declaration. I squeeze his fingers in a pulse of reassurance.
“You saying that makes all the difference,” I say. “But I can handle this. I won’t run away from my family.”
He captures my tilted chin between his fingers and gives me a proud smile. “That’s my stubborn pet.”
“Dane!” I scold under my breath and shoot a significant glance in the direction of our driver.
He chuckles and kisses me. “It’s just a Yorkshire endearment, darling. No reason to get all hot and flustered.”
I release an exasperated huff, and his grin widens.
Oh.
He’s baiting me to distract me.
My heart gives an almost painful squeeze, and I crush my lips to his. He’s still for a moment, surprised at my boldness. Then his hand firms at my nape, and he deepens the kiss. For a blissful minute, I lose myself in him, and all of my anxiety melts away.
“Thank you,” I whisper when we finally come up for air.
“I’ve got you,” he promises. “Say the word, and we’ll leave.”
I straighten my shoulders. “I want to be here with you,” I declare, finding strength in his staunch support. “I won’t let them control me ever again. I’m not going to run away.”
The car comes to a stop in front of the antebellum mansion. It’s undeniably beautiful: a three-story manor with white columned porches and classic navy shutters. Live oaks surround the circular driveway, and Spanish moss drips from their elegant branches. The azaleas and hydrangeas are in full bloom, festooning the manicured gardens in shades of pink, purple, and blue.
It's a lovely day for a wedding, even if the setting disturbs me.
For a moment, I consider leaving on principle; plantation weddings shouldn’t be a thing anymore, my own damage aside. It feels wrong to celebrate love here and pretend that nothing bad ever happened on this land.
“Are you sure you want to stay?” Dane asks, lingering with me in the stopped car. “We can go straight back home if you’re uncomfortable.”
I shake my head. “I am uncomfortable, but we’re staying. I’m here with you. I can do this.”
His eyes flash in response, and he lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. I swoon for my dashing hero all over again. This gorgeous man has chosen to bring me to his colleague’s wedding. I’ll focus on that to get me through the event.
He gets out of the car first and then holds my door open for me. I don’t protest his gentlemanly treatment as he holds my hand to steady me.
I’m perfectly capable of getting out of the car on my own, but I’m starting to like leaning on Dane. He clearly derives pleasure from taking care of me, and I’m becoming addicted to his satisfied smile when I allow him to do so.
His hand spans my lower back as he guides me around the house and into the gardens. Hundreds of white chairs have been arranged in neat rows facing the back porch, where it seems the happy couple will say their vows. We’re early enough that only about a third of the chairs are filled, and scores of other guests are milling around the green space.
A table is set up near the huge magnolia tree, and silver cups wait with mint juleps to keep us cool during the hot day.
“Do you want a drink?” Dane asks.
“No, thank you. I don’t want any alcohol.” If my family is here, I want my wits sharp.
He nods in easy agreement, and we find two seats on the final row. I know Dane should make a show of sitting closer to the front, given his close relationship with the groom, but he’s making a silent gesture that I have an out if I need it. We can leave at any time, and it’ll be easier to slip away unnoticed if we’re behind the crowd.
The string quartet starts up, signaling that it’s time for everyone to find their seats.
By the time the bride glides down the aisle, I finally start to relax. My family isn’t here.
Dane’s thumb brushes my palm in a pulse of comfort, and I lean into him. I know he must be hot in his tux, but he looks as cool and handsome as ever: an untouchable, perfect sculpture of male serenity.
I find that I’m grateful for the beautiful, lilac dress he purchased for me. The sweetheart neckline is modest enough for a wedding while still giving my smaller breasts a feminine curve. The waist is fitted perfectly to my measurements, and the full skirt flows down to my ankles. Tiny, subtle lavender flowers are embroidered into the lightweight fabric, spilling down the skirt like delicate wisteria.
In this stunning dress, I almost feel worthy of my dashing white knight.
And knowing that my ruined panties are in his pocket while I’m bare for him underneath the dress makes my pulse race. We’re the picture of refinement, but we have a filthy, perverted secret that binds us together.
I touch my fingers to my throat, searching for the leather band of the collar that marks me as his. Of course, it’s not there, so I drop my hand and place it back in his firm grip.
His keen eyes noted my gesture, and they glitter with desire. I wonder if he’s thinking about my panties in his pocket too.
People are cheering. The ceremony is over.
I laugh, giddy at the intense connection I share with Dane and the fact that we made it through the ordeal without seeing my family.
He captures the sound of my joy on his lips, sweeping me up in a kiss that rivals the couple on the porch. But if anyone notices us, they don’t comment. Everyone is too polite to stare. Besides, they’re supposed to be focused on the bride and groom.
It’s only when the guests are dispersing into the garden that I hear my mother’s voice, and my stomach drops.
“Abby, honey! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
She sounds absolutely delighted to see me, but I know that falsely sweet tone.
I close my eyes and struggle to master the anxiety that rises up my throat like a choking vine. I should’ve known that she would be here; she was simply so late that she missed the ceremony.
She won’t miss the opportunity to enjoy a night of gossip and an open bar.
I look into Dane’s eyes and manage to arrange my features into my sunny smile before I turn to face her.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Aw, sweetie,” she practically coos, drawing me in for a hug. We barely make contact. Then she places her hands on my shoulders, and her pale blue eyes scour my face. “Your lipstick is smudged.”
The criticism about my appearance comes under the guise of concern. It’s all carefully calculated to set me off-balance at the outset so that she can politely eviscerate me.
“I think that’s my fault,” Dane says.
I blink up at him, surprised at his genial tone. He fixes my mother with a broad smile and reaches out to shake her hand.
“I’m Dane. Abigail is here with me.”
Mama’s eyes go wide. “Oh!” she exclaims. “I just love your accent. You must be Dr. Graham, Meadows’ associate.”
He nods, and it’s almost a formal half-bow. I’ve noticed his imperious air many times, and the man standing beside me is every inch the perfect prince.
“I can see my reputation precedes me,” he remarks.
She waves her hand, as though to dismiss any concern. “All good things, don’t you worry, Dr. Dane.”
“Just Dane is fine,” he assures her.
I’m staring at them like they’re both alien creatures. They’re so natural together, their genteel exchange perfectly polite and impeccably charming.
“Abby.” My father’s voice is gruffer on my name than my mother’s. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He steps up beside her, joining our nightmarish little circle.
And, oh god, my Uncle Jeffrey is here too.
“What a happy occasion to see your daughter,” Dane says, all warmth despite the fact that it’s almost a command. As though he can will my family to be happy to see me.
“Oh yeah, it’s always a pleasure to see our little Abby.” Uncle Jeffrey grins at me, and I suppress a cringe.
Dane angles his body slightly in front of mine. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met.” He extends his hand toward my uncle. “I’m Dane Graham.”
“Jeffrey Carpenter,” he replies, squeezing Dane’s hand in his usual macho style. “I’m Peggy’s brother.” He tips his head in my mom’s direction. “But I’m more like a second father to little Abby, if you don’t mind me saying.” He glances at my dad, who nods absently. “We all spent a lot of time together when she was growing up. I live at Elysium with the family.”
“Elysium?” Dane asks, managing to sound almost bored with a single, drawled word.
My mother’s chest swells with pride. “Our plantation. It’s just down the road, Dr. Dane. You’ll have to come visit us sometime.”
“I’ll have to see what works for Abigail,” he equivocates. “We’re very busy in Charleston at the moment.”
“Oh?” Mama’s eyes fix on me, a shark sensing blood in the water. For two years, I’ve denied her any information about my life. Now, she’s going to find some way to hurt me, a piece of information she can weaponize to punish me for my defiance. “What have you been so busy with, honey? Did you open that gallery yet?”
I try to ignore the stinging slash to my heart.
One of my final retorts to her was that I didn’t need her money, and I’d find a way to open my own gallery one day.
Instead, I have a stall at the market and sell my paintings to tourists.
I lift my chin. “Not yet.”
“Well,” she says, all saccharine sweetness. “Let us know when you do. We’d love to attend the grand opening. You know how much your father loves your art.”
I hate the tiny spark of hope that pings in my chest when I turn my gaze on my distant father.
Then I take in his slack, bored expression and the way his eyes are drifting toward the mint julep table.
My chest feels like it’s caving in, but I keep my shoulders straight through sheer force of will.
He’s never cared about my art. He only cares about how my success reflects on the family.
And now, he cares about getting a cocktail more than he wants to reconnect with me.
“Excuse me,” he says. “I need a refreshment.”
He doesn’t wait for anyone to reply before he ambles off to get a mint julep.
“What have you been up to, Abby?” Uncle Jeffrey asks. “We sure have missed having you at the house.”
“Abigail has been busy with her art,” Dane says, sparing me the burden of a falsely cheery reply. “Her landscapes are stunning.”
“Oh yes, our Abby is very talented,” my mother says, and it almost sounds as though she means it.
Which makes it hurt so much more that I know she doesn’t give a shit.
“But I’m sure you must be very busy too,” she says to Dane. “I hear your practice is doing very well. I might have to come in for a treatment.” Her judgmental gaze rakes over my face again. “We could go in together, Abby. A mother/daughter day. I’m sure Dr. Dane could remove that freckle in no time.”
“Abigail is perfect just as she is.”
I stare at Dane. His voice has gone ice cold, and he’s looking at my mother like she’s a fruit fly he’s found in his drink: insignificant but disgusting.
My mother takes a step back, and a beat of terrible silence passes before her high-pitched giggle grates down my spine.
“Aren’t you the charmer?” she gushes. “Hold on to this one, Abby. You don’t know when another man will come along who feels the same way.”
“There won’t be any other men in her life.” Dane says it like a matter of cold, hard fact. “Excuse us.”
His hand settles at the small of my back, and he steers me away from the awful scene. I lean into him, unashamed that I’m seeking his support in the wake of the painfully polite altercation.
Abigail is perfect just as she is.
The memory of his fervent declaration warms my heart, chasing away some of the chill that frosts my skin despite the warm day.
“I’m taking you home,” he says, a decree rather than a question.
“I don’t want to run away from them,” I protest, even though I’m longing to do just that.
“You’re not,” he replies firmly. “I’m taking you away from them. Because if we have to breathe the same air as those people for another minute, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I’d rather not make a scene at my colleague’s wedding.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
His fierce mood is shocking but deeply gratifying.
My steps quicken as we exit the garden. I’m eager to get away from this place. It’s everything that I want to leave firmly in my past.
I’m ready for my future, and I want to share it with Dane.