Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I held my textbook against my chest. It felt like my shield, which was silly. I knew it wouldn’t be able to protect me. Yet I still clutched it tightly anyway.
The large foyer was empty as I walked into my house. I paused just inside for a moment, listening for where I needed to go.
Prudence, one of our housekeepers, appeared from a hall to the right, just past the staircase that led up to the second floor.
She was an elderly woman in her late fifties, with graying ebony hair that she had slicked back in a tight bun.
She had worked in our house for the past twenty years and was the only one who showed me any kindness when Mother wasn’t looking.
The rest of the staff just came in, did their job, and left while pretending to not see anything.
Her white sneakers were silent on the shiny white-and-gray tile as she made her way over to me.
There was a determined but nervous look in her brown eyes.
As she placed a hand on my upper arm, she glanced toward my late father’s, now mother’s, study to the left of the foyer.
When Mother didn’t come out, Prue leaned close and pulled out a tan envelope from her starched white apron, which was part of her gray uniform.
“This came for you today,” she whispered so low that I almost couldn’t hear her.
I took it. It wasn’t quite as big as a manila envelope, and it was so thin, it was hard to believe there was anything inside. I saw it had come certified. Prue must have signed for it. I read the return address; it was from my late father’s lawyer.
Prue pushed my hand that held the envelope close to my chest as she glanced over at Mother’s study again. “Don’t let her see it.”
I didn’t question her even though I wanted to. Her nervousness was enough to make me keep my mouth shut and do as she said. I quickly placed the envelope inside my textbook.
Once I held the heavy book back up to my chest, Prue tilted her head to the left. “She’s waiting for you.”
I nodded and took a step in that direction. Prue’s hand came down on my shoulder, making me pause. “He’s in there, too.”
My heart tried to fall into my stomach. Taking on Mother alone was…bearable, but when he was here, everything was worse. Before I could ask if Prue knew anything, she gave my shoulder a light squeeze and walked away.
My hands began to ache as I walked across the foyer to the closed double doors, making me realize that I had been gripping the textbook really hard. I willed my hands to ease up a little and raised a trembling fist to knock.
There wasn’t any answer after I rapped lightly. For a breath, I was hopeful that Prue had been mistaken. But then the door opened and there he stood. Hope—the great deceiver—had slipped in like an assassin and gutted me once again.
The moment Clay, Mother’s boyfriend of a little over two years, realized it was me, an unnerving grin reached his reddish-brown eyes.
“We’ve been waiting for you.” His voice—I couldn’t stand it.
To everyone else it was deep, smooth, and confident.
To me, it was the voice of a sadist. I’d felt that way since Mother had introduced him.
As soon as he’d spoken, warning bells had gone off inside me that he was just as bad as her, if not worse.
It hadn’t been long after meeting him that I had been proven right.
Clay stepped back and held out an arm, gesturing for me to come in. I noticed he was dressed in a light gray suit that made his short, side-parted, mud-colored hair stand out.
I walked inside, doing my best to keep my steps steady despite the desperation to run in the opposite direction.
I hated this room. It reeked of gin, lime juice, and blood.
Just breathing in made my already-nervous stomach roll.
No matter how much the housekeepers mopped the cherry wood floor, scrubbed the beige rug, or wiped down the moody, dark forest-green walls and built-in bookshelves, the smell didn’t go away.
I found Mother standing in front of the stone fireplace that was centered in front of a brown leather couch and glass coffee table.
Bethany Kendry was as beautiful as she was cruel, and she was very beautiful.
Her skin was flawless like a porcelain doll.
She wore her long golden blonde hair, which I’d inherited from her, perfectly straightened.
Her arms were folded over her chest, which would no doubt wrinkle her ivory long-sleeved silk blouse and cause her to blame me for it.
Her cold gray eyes, so different from my greenish hazel ones, were locked on me. “What took you so long?”
“I’m sorry. The football team was hanging out in the parking lot, blocking me in. I—”
She waved a beautifully manicured hand dismissively as she rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it.” She looked at her watch around her bony pale wrist. “You’ll have less time to get ready before we need to leave.”
I raked through my mind again trying to remember if she had mentioned where we were going. When nothing came to mind, I decided to act as if I knew exactly what she was talking about. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure I’m ready in time.”
Big, warm hands came down on my shoulders, making me jump a little. It took all my willpower not to jerk away as Clay’s lips touched the shell of my ear. “Aren’t you going to ask where we’re going?”
I squeezed my textbook again, needing the false sense of salvation it provided. That time I could barely feel any pain in my hands. Just the feel of his.
I held Mother’s eyes, wondering if she saw the way her boyfriend was touching me.
Nothing in her expression showed that it bothered her.
She just stared at me like she always did.
Like I was nothing to her. Not her daughter.
Not a person. I was disposable. After eighteen years, I hated how much it still affected me to see that.
“I assumed you’d tell me when you wanted me to know.” It was the quickest, safest thing I could come up with that would…hopefully not upset her.
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she walked over to the mahogany corner liquor hutch.
I didn’t have to watch to know that she was fixing herself gin with a splash of lime in a crystal tumbler.
“I had Prudence lay out what I want you to wear. Go shower. I want your hair curled, half up with a bow, and do your makeup light.”
“We want a picture of innocence,” Clay whispered in my ear, low enough so that Mother wouldn’t hear, before removing his hands from my shoulders.
I took that as my cue to leave and I didn’t hesitate. I left without looking back. They didn’t tell me how much time I had to get ready, and I would never even consider going back to ask.
Like I always did when on the stairs, I made sure I held onto the handrail as I rushed up the wooden steps to the second floor.
Our house was big. Just a little over ten thousand square feet.
Once at the landing, there was a long walkway that overlooked the foyer on one side and the open living room on the other side.
To the left of the long walkway was Mother’s room.
I took a right, passing another living space that served as a small library, and went down a hall that led to guest rooms, a home movie theater, a few bathrooms, and all the way at the end, my room.
I liked the distance I had from Mother’s room, but I sometimes didn’t.
I doubted that she would come to my aid if she could hear me scream for help.
I just liked to delude myself into thinking that she would if she could.
My bedroom, like the rest of our house, had not been decorated by me.
The interior designer, with Mother’s input, had given my room a Parisian chic look.
It had crown molding and a crystal-and-gold chandelier hanging over a king-sized, cream-upholstered bed.
The bedding was the lightest shades of pink and white.
The rug under the bed was also a pale pink with cream swirls.
The curtains over the French balcony doors were cream satin and white sheer.
It was without a doubt a princess room. I didn’t dislike it, but it wasn’t me.
It was what Mother wanted and that was what I had to live with.
My room was longer than it was wide. To my right as I walked in, there was a small sitting area made up of a cream armchair with gold legs and a little gold-and-glass side table. To my left was the only part of the room that was me: an easel and a small art desk in the corner.
On the end of my bed lay a white, mid-thigh A-line dress. The sleeves were long, made of lace, and form-fitting. On the floor beneath the dress were pointed-toe white satin heels.
I set my bag and textbook down on my art desk and dashed into my connected bathroom, designed in a similar Parisian chic fashion.
I went over to the claw-foot tub-shower combo to get the water started.
When I got the shower at the right temp, I quickly stripped out of my school uniform, stepped into the tub, and pulled the white linen curtain closed.
I washed the day away and got ready in what felt like record time. Prue came to find me as I was fastening a string of pearls around my neck.
She gave me a tight smile. “She says it’s time to leave.”
“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked as I scooped up a small white handbag.
“You’re having dinner at the Carmichaels’.” She eyed my textbook on my art desk. “Did you read your letter?”
The Carmichaels?
As in Brandon Carmichael, the baseball captain at Kendry?
“Not yet.” I wanted to ask her if she knew why we were having dinner with the Carmichaels, but assumed she probably wouldn’t know.
Prue nodded, looking troubled for a moment. She wouldn’t meet my eyes when she said, “Make sure that you do when you get home. Alone.”
She left before I could respond.