27. London
Chapter 27
London
I 've been crashing with Grace for the last three weeks, and if I stay another day, I might go insane.
Her father is a narcissistic, controlling prick, and he shows up unannounced whenever he wants, demanding the most outrageous things from Grace, as if she's his personal errand runner instead of his daughter. He reminds me too much of my father, and that alone sets my nerves on edge every minute that I remain here.
Despite saving most of the money I've earned at the bakery, and working every available shift they will give me, it still isn't enough to cover the deposit to get Camille's place. I thought it would be my saving grace but instead it's just a temptress I can never have because my father left me nothing other than trauma.
"How are you dealing?" Grace asks me from overtop the mug in her hands. Aside from her disturbing dad, she's been a fantastic friend, letting me sleep on her couch and cry on her shoulder. She's let me tell her the parts I've wanted to and hasn't pried when I've been vague about things. I don't know how she does it, because I know damn well I'd be asking for more information to fill in the blanks and make sense of things. There's a small part of me that wishes she would, that way I could have someone help me rationalize what happened and tell me what to think about this entire situation.
"I'm fine," I lie. "How are you? How are things with Leo?"
She rolls her eyes. "Leo is great, really. But it's like every time we're out, I can't help but think he's scanning the crowd to see if there's someone else better out there. Does that make sense?"
"No, it does. I can see that."
"Right? Okay, so I'm not being paranoid." Grace bites the corner of her chocolate croissant.
"Not at all. I mean, I can see where you have fun with him. Not to mention he's super hot. But he seems like a playboy through and through. Maybe he's not looking for anything serious."
She swallows the mouthful and continues. "But here's the thing. I don't think I am either. Don't get me wrong, the idea of having a boyfriend, a partner, sounds great, but it also sounds suffocating. I have too much going on, a career to focus on—I don't have time to worry about whether someone is cheating on me. I don't know why I'm so pressed when I wouldn't even know what to do if he wanted to be serious. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."
"A self-aware queen, I love it." I raise my coffee mug to her. "Cheers to that."
She grins and clangs her mug against mine, the front door to her apartment blasting open a second later, both of us almost dropping our coffees.
"You haven't changed yet?" her father says the second he's through the door, his gaze trailing up and down the two of us.
I cross my arms and cover my chest, hoping it will conceal me from his prying eyes.
"Don't bother," he tells me. "You're not my type." Mr. McCallister continues into her apartment, taking thecroissantshe was eating and snatching it off the table. "You're going to gain weight if you eat like this." He tosses it into herkitchentrash can and continues around the space. "This place is a disaster. What did I tell you about keeping tidy, Gracie?"
Grace stands from the table, folding the robe she's wearing over and hugging it tightly. "What can I help you with, Father?"
Mr. McCallister snaps his attention at her, walking directly toward her and backhanding her. "Don't take that tone with me, young lady."
I bite my lip to hide my reaction, my breath catching at witnessing him be so blunt. If he's willing to treat her like this in front of me, what's he capable of when no one is around? Still, nothing good ever came from me voicing my opinion, so I keep my mouth shut and stay firmly in place.
Grace holds her cheek, her eyes welling with tears.
"And if you must ask, you must not be very good at your job." Mr. McCallister breathes deeply and exhales. "This gala. I need your support. This election is coming up and I can't afford to lose any votes, especially not because of my darling daughter. That wouldn't bode well for the family, would it? You want me to keep footing the bill for this place." He motions around the room. "Then I suggest you consider your options." He flits his attention to me only briefly, then back to her. "You do love charity, don't you?"
The rhetorical question goes unanswered as he leaves without another word, enough of them lingering in the air in his absence.
I rush to the freezer and grab a frozen bag of peas to give to Grace. "Here. Put this on your face."
She takes it, wincing as she presses it against her cheek, and doesn't say anything.
"You don't have to be embarrassed," I tell her. "My father was worse than yours."
Grace scoffs. "I doubt that."
I raise the corner of my shirt and show her the scar from the time he almost took my life. "See this here. That was him." I point to another one. "And this." And then another. "This." I lower my shirt and sit in the chair next to her. "Remember the casts when we first met?"
"That was him, too?"
I nod. "Twenty-three years of torment. Countless broken bones."
"Is that why you're hiding out here?"
"Sort of," I tell her, unsure of how much I'm willing to admit.
"He's gone now, dead. But not before he made sure I'd have to hide forever."
"He sold you to someone."
"Yeah."
Grace chews at her lip. "He wants to do the same thing to me."
"What?" I ask her, shocked by her response.
"He claims it will be good for his political career. That I'd be doing the family a favor. That it isn't asking for much. That it's standard of a politician’s daughter and that I should be grateful I have a father looking out for my best interest."
"Your best interest?"
Grace chuckles dryly. "It's funny how he twists things around to make it seem like I'm the bad guy. That I'm doing something wrong."
I reach out and grab her forearm. "You know that's not true, right?"
Grace shrugs and it's strange to see her this way. She's a strong, independent woman, not afraid to call a single man out on their shit, but when it comes to him, her father , she folds completely. I guess she and I aren't that different after all, the only difference is that my oppressor is dead and hers is tugging her strings like a puppet master.
"It's not true," I tell her, hoping she understands the weight of my words. "Your life is yours. Your body is yours. I don't care what kind of favor he thinks he's doing you; he isn't. You get to call the shots, not him."
"It's not that easy," she says, a million things hidden within the depths of those words.
"I know." Because things were never easy with my father either. Every single time I thought I found my way out, he would sink his claws back in and drag me to the depths of hell with him. There was no escaping him, not really. Even in his death, he still has his hold on me, both with Joe Vito thinking I'm his bride and Archer Sin hating my guts. Neither fate is one I can ever escape from. I'd offer to help Grace, but the thought of Madison lying there, bleeding out, comes back in full force. All I wanted to do was help her, and yet I was too late, the maid getting rid of her body before I ever got a chance to say goodbye, to tell her I was sorry for letting her down.
"Thanks for being here," Grace tells me. "It's been fun having a friend around."
"It has, hasn't it?" There's no denying that I have enjoyed staying with Grace, but it's been a strange kind of terrible, too, bringing back far too many memories that are way too fresh for me not to feel completely exposed. Her father is too much like my own, and every single time that front door opens, it's like I'm getting whiplash, never knowing if it will be her dad or mine that walks through that door. It's the most uneasy I've felt in a long time, and despite how things were left with Archer, I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish I was back there, living under his thumb and having him watch every step I took. At least I felt safe there, with him, even if I had no privacy.
But living with Archer is a thing of the past and there's no coming back from how badly I hurt him, and if I'm honest, how much he hurt me too, when he threw me out without even giving me a chance to explain the situation. I didn't know when Silver sent me there that things would unfold the way they did, and maybe I handled them poorly, but still, he could have given me a chance to process and think things through.
You had a chance , my mind reminds me, knowing damn well I had time between finding out and that fateful night to come clean. It's my fault things ended the way they did, and I have to accept that, even if it kills me in a way my father never could.
"I should probably get ready for work," Grace announces, wiping a tear that rolls down her swollen cheek. "Throw this back in the freezer for me?" She hands me the bag of peas.
"Yeah, of course." I take and return it to the freezer, the very least of what I could do since she's let me crash here for three weeks. I never expected I'd find such a good friend when I came to New York, but I'm grateful our paths crossed. I just hope I can repay her someday, no matter how long it takes.
Once I've thrown the bag into the freezer and returned to the table, Grace is in the bathroom, turning the faucet to the shower on. I scroll through my phone, my finger clicking on the text thread with Archer that ended what feels like yesterday and years ago. I hate how much I miss him, how I'd give anything to see him one last time and at least tell him I'm sorry. For the lies, for the truth, for everything I put him through. I'd like to think that I would have done things differently if given the chance, but it would have ended the same regardless and if that's what it took to give me that momentary heaven with him, I'd probably do it again just for the same outcome.
I read through the texts until they hurt worse than they bring me relief, and scroll mindlessly through some other apps, never quite finding what I'm looking for to scratch the itch I can't seem to appease.
That's when a text notification pops across the top of my feed, my heart skipping a beat thinking it might be from Archer but my brain knowing better that he'd never reach out to me.
Camille: Hey, sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Timeline changed. Apartment is yours when you're ready.
Nausea courses through me. Not only can I no longer afford that apartment, but it's right next door to Archer. What kind of person would I be if I moved in next to my…I almost call him my ex, yet things were never serious enough for us to even have a label.
I read and reread her text at least a dozen times, noting the use of when and not if. Maybe it was a typo, or maybe I'm reading far too into it.
I thumb a response, deleting it over and over, unsure of what it is I want to say. I decide to go with part of the truth.
Hey, Camille. Thanks for thinking of me. Unfortunately, things changed and I can no longer afford the rent. I'm sure you'll have no issues subleasing, though. Best of luck!
I hit send and shut the phone screen off, not wanting to see the dots appear if she decides to reply. I steady my breath and glance around Grace's lavish apartment, desperate to find something to distract me from the reality that I'm forced to face.
But my phone dings, vibrating on the table and drawing my attention.
Camille: Archer paid through the year. Didn't he tell you?
Camille: Shit, I hope that wasn't supposed to be a surprise.
Camille: OMG, if it was, I totally didn't tell you.
Camille: My bad.
Camille: But yeah, let me know when you're ready and it's yours. I'm leaving town later today, but I can leave the keys with Archer if you're not free.
My jaw drops open, unsure of how to process what she's telling me. There's no way. Archer would never do such a thing, not when he hates me as much as he does. Unless…unless he did it before things went bad. Which wouldn't quite make sense either, since he was such a control freak in wanting to keep me close and under his constant watch. There's no way Archer would willingly pay for me to move out of his apartment, let alone the entire year.
Only…what if Archer didn't want me there to begin with? He did tell Ivy that I was a means to an end and that he couldn't wait for me to be out of there. Perhaps Archer was only trying to make his life easier, and I never meant to him what he meant to me.
For the first time in weeks, I feel something other than sadness—I feel anger. Anger laced with betrayal. How could he have fooled me so badly that I thought I mattered to him? That I wasn't just some random hookup?
But when I think about his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, the way he looked at me, cared for me, loved on me…how could I have been so fucking wrong?