Chapter Eleven
Sabrina.
The ballroom is loud; people cheer, laughing whilst they gamble away frivolously absurd amounts of ancient blood money.
I run my hands down my simple, satin, black cocktail dress.
There’s a slit that goes from midthigh down to the floor, showing off my heels with butterflies on the straps encasing my ankle.
They’re beautiful. I'll have to burn them as soon as tonight is over. My stomach coils and dives and bounces, but as soon as I put my hand on the banister of the old grand staircase, I swallow it all down, shoving all of those emotions lower, lower, until it’s nothing but a low burning pit of embers.
Parker waits for me at the base of the stairs, once again taking his role as my bodyguard and nothing more.
I hate that. But I find strength in it—that no matter what, at any point in time, he’ll be watching over me.
I may be in control of myself, but everything I do past this point is nothing but a reaction to whatever is said or done to me.
I am the epitome of sophistication. I am pink, and I am sleek, and even though I rage, I am the pink after flares of magenta bloom across the sky.
I am perfect. I am The Duchess. I have come to say hello to my people.
I have come to enjoy the act set before me upon a stage.
I am my husband’s wife. I do this for him.
I am elegance and I am grace as much as I am fury roiling like waves below a tumultuous tsunami rising, set to destroy.
My wedding ring feels as heavy as my heart.
Don’t break.
I just want my husband back. I want to go uppies. I want to make him laugh that annoyed huff. Goddamnit, I want to hear him grunt at me.
I’ve lost my fucking marbles.
And I don’t want them back.
I greet and smile at everyone I come into contact with, thanking them for coming, telling them to check out the authors waiting nearby, to have a grand old time.
Mother watches me from afar, only to join me once I have a non-alcoholic flute of champagne in my gloved hand. She has one as well. “Hello, Tink.”
“Mum.”
She raises her flute to her lips. “The turnout was incredible for being such short notice.”
“Yes, well, everyone wants to be part of something you create. You’ve done very well for yourself, considering most of these arseholes were Father’s colleagues and hunting buddies,” I droll. I’ve been meaning to ask her if he ever truly hunted at all.
She looks me over, a small frown marring her face whilst taking a sip. “You don’t think you have?”
I shrug. “Mum, I currently do not have the mental capacity to have this type of conversation at the moment. I’m afraid I'm bad company, seeing as I’m not allowed to slit Kane’s throat until I have Maks’s location.”
“Alright,” she hums. “Well, if you do get to slit his throat, try to do it on the red rug, not the hardwood. Less mess and a much quicker cleanup. Oh! There’s Theresa.
Hello, Theresa!” She waves at the waif of a woman in red.
“The old hag owes me five hundred pounds,” she murmurs from the corner of her lips.
“I’ll talk to you later, darling.” She leaves me to chase after Theresa as more guests come through, dressed like opulent statues with pinched faces.
I groan, searching the chandelier for patience when I feel them—dread-like fissures crawling over my flesh like tarry leeches in dark water, ready to engulf me.
Ever so slowly I deadpan, only for my gaze to connect with hazel eyes that seem to change from green to blue—like a serpent shedding its skin before my very eyes.
I smile my most flirty smile at Kane, tip my flute to him, take a sip, then send him a wink.
I stride towards the room where the newbie authors are, speaking to each of them, thanking them for coming on such short notice, letting them know to please put aside one book for me as I’ll be purchasing them all later.
I make jokes, I speak to everyone, and I let the time whir around me like grains of sand falling all around me, settling like ash.
I feel his presence as he gets closer every hour, following me.
A memory hits me like a bolt of lightning. It’s so strong I have to dive behind a pillar.
“I’m to marry you, Sabrina. You’ll be my wife. We’ll have four children.”
I halt immediately and turn to stare up at a sixteen-year-old Kane, two years older than me—same age as Charlie.
I laugh, and his smile drops. “I’m too young to think about having children.
And I can’t marry you. I’m going to live in the States and be a world-renowned surgeon.
Charlie’s to be a lawyer at Daddy’s firm in New York City.
I won't have time for a husband until I'm… thirty, at least.”
He shakes his head, a brown curl falling forward. He’s very handsome, but… well, he doesn’t really call to me. He can be a bit of a badger. “You’re wrong. You’ll be my wife. I’ll work for my grandfather—”
“Sabrina!” Kane’s interrupted by Charlie calling my name, catching up to us on our walk home from secondary school.
It’s my first year, but it’s Charlie and Kane’s second.
My brother grabs me by the elbow and yanks me away from Kane, practically dragging me along the pavement.
He finally stops when we’re more than a few meters away and drops my arm.
He’s panting, cheeks pink and slate-blue eyes full of fury.
“What have I told you about not being around Kane alone?”
I search his eyes, rubbing where his grip was harsh, annoyed. “I’m not a child anymore, Charlie. I can make my own friends.”
Charlie scoffs. “You think because you snogged Mason at the funfair you’re all grown up now?”
My jaw drops in horror.
“Oh yeah, I know all about that. Bragged about it in the boys’ changing room after swim. Which is why I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from Kane. Your taste in boys is shite, and Kane is no better than Mason. The fact of the matter is, he's worse.”
“Charlie—”
“Just stay away from him, Bri. Trust me.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him he can’t and won’t be around me at all times, and so what if Mason bragged about kissing me?
Mason kisses like I imagine a dog would—all tongue, no lips—and I absolutely won’t be doing it again.
But the look on Charlie’s face is menacing.
The seriousness makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, so I nod instead and smile up at my most favorite person in the entire world.
“Alright, Charlie-Barley. I trust you. I won’t hang around Kane alone. You have my word.”
Charlie died not eight months later.
And I kept my word… until That Night.
I settle my hand over my stomach and swallow a gasp, not allowing the tear that has formed to drop.
Don’t break.
The ancient oak grandfather clock strikes eleven, and when I'm at the landing portion of the back stairway to go up, I find him in the boisterous crowd. All of them too drunk, too happy, too loud. He’s the only one who isn’t as he stares back at me with interest. I raise my chin, lift a brow, smirk, and continue my ascension, knowing on the other side of the wall is none other than my perfect bodyguard, mirroring each of my steps via the old servants’ corridors.
I grasp the skirt of my dress and keep going.
“Brina?” I hear him call out to me.
Don’t break.
I look over my shoulder and lift it with a little giggle, “Hello Kane…” but I don't stop, continuing my pace into the library where only hours ago Savage was inside of me, pumping roughly, making me ache. Making me come. Don’t break.
I pause in the middle of the room, waiting for Kane to find me, listening to the crackle and pop of the firewood lit in the fireplace.
The exasperation in me rises. Both fear and hopelessness want to drive me away, to hide, to cower, to cry.
But I don’t have time for that.
This is for my husband. I can do this. Every moment has led to this, and I will find my love. I can do this. I am pink. I am glittery. I am the best actress in the world. This is for my husband. I can do this.
The heavy oak door behind me creaks open and softly shuts.
I take a few steps toward the large, arched windows, the pale full moon illuminating the grounds of the estate.
The maze in the center of the sprawling gardens looks eerie and desolate—a ruin surrounded by pretty hybrid flowers manufactured to withstand the brutal winter.
I would have gone there instead, but it’s cold out, and it would have been harder for Parker to track me, and I don’t know every proper turn to get out safely if I need to. Plus, I have no idea the type of mindset Kane is in at the moment.
I hear the soft thuds of his expensive Italian shoes on the old carpet until he’s standing right beside me, hands in his pockets.
Everything about him is wrong. He’s very…
average. Not that average is bad. I mean, he’s not extremely handsome, but he’s not ugly either.
There’s simply no edge to him, nothing that would make him stand out in a crowd to me.
I’ve always thought that. While he was nice to chat with, his personality was very…
droll. Which is why I was so surprised to see he was the only one there at the concert the night he raped me.
Our versions of fun were always very different.
Kane preferred the opera, and I… did not. He and I would have never worked.
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asks, his cadence soft, wondrous as he stares out at the grounds below us. “I’m sure it’ll be snowing soon.”