48. Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Eight
Emma
“Ms. Osborne, would you like some champagne?”
“Champagne?” I check the clock on the wall. It’s nine in the morning. “No, I’m okay.”
“I’ll make you a mimosa. We’re celebrating!” One of the girls, wearing a fluffy robe bunched at her ears, flutters off in a shuffle.
There are white calla lilies sitting in a vase on the breakfast table that look exactly like the ones that were placed on my mother’s casket.
This is another Everhart estate, but very different from the other two.
Perhaps they get a different designer for each one.
This one feels older than the last one, though, with older, wooden floors that have less polish and more character.
The bay window overlooks a grand lawn with a decaying garden.
It’s still luxurious, especially in size.
When I agreed to the gala, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t slip my mind that it was this weekend.
In my head, I imagined at least two weeks of mental prep and a few days to cool things down with my family.
I’m actually grateful I had to give up my phone.
Red flag? Definitely. But what was I going to say? No?
As if I could now. Plus, all I’d be in for is a never ending missed call list of news reporters and a million calls and voicemails from Eva, crying and pissed at me. Plus a million more from my father, who I’m sure knows what I’m doing by now.
I’m surprised Olivia agreed to my plan.
“I’m not letting you become a donor bride,” Olivia said after hours of trying to explain my logic. Parker had long gone to bed.
“It won’t be that bad, and it will help our entire family in the long run if I do it.”
This is what I promised myself at the beginning of the semester, to be selfless. Especially when it comes to my family, who have already spent so much of their time helping me.
“You promised you’d let me make my own decisions,” I added.
“What about Dacre?”
“I don’t know . . .” I really don’t. I saw the video with my own eyes, but that doesn’t mean I trust Dacre’s grandfather completely.
Do I take the chance and regret it if he comes back?
Or wait till he comes back engaged, and I’m stuck looking like a fool?
The stakes are too high for me to wait around.
My sister needs me. “Maybe it’s just not meant to be. ”
“Emma, we have to think about this for longer than a few hours.”
I have thought about the benefits of joining the gala, but I never had any real reason to go forward with it.
I’ll get married, but I’ll still be able to go to school, and our whole family will be better off for it.
I don’t mind the blood donations. These people are going to keep targeting us for our blood, and I have the rare opportunity to spare my sister.
“I’ll join the gala in your place.”
“Something tells me your linked mate fiancé will have an issue with that.”
She smothered me with a hug. “I don’t like this. We have no idea who will bid on you at the gala. He could be a creep, and it only makes it harder for Parker to protect you.”
“I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that, just this once?”
She let out a hard sigh, but agreed. I told her not to tell Eva until I was gone, or she’d try to stop me.
I wish she were here now. How bad can an arranged marriage with a stranger be?
On second thought, maybe a mimosa would be great right now.
All the gala participants are kept a secret till we’re up onstage. It’s supposed to be the main event. I guess I’ll finally be in the spotlight, though, standing on a stage while a bunch of rich people bid on me for my blood was not really what I had in mind.
My head is swimming as I sit down at the breakfast table. I’ve been instructed to start my day of pampering and prepping for the gala tomorrow. Everyone else is in good spirits. I guess these people are the ones Dacre’s grandfather handpicked.
I down the glass the staff gives me, and then I rush toward the shower, where there is already a line.
It’s not all girls; there are some men here, too.
I thought about asking them all why they’re here, and for the first time, I decided I’d rather not know.
Typically, large groups of people are my idea of a vacation, especially in a house like this, with catered food and endless drinks.
It kinda feels as if I’m on one of those cool dating shows, but in a mansion instead of a beach house.
Maybe things would be different if Dacre and I had never gotten close because I can’t take two steps without thinking of him. It’s been days since I’ve heard from him, and Parker hasn’t found anything the last time I checked. Would his grandfather lie about him being safe?
I did get a text from his phone, and that text told me everything is fine.
I’ve thought about it every way I can. Even if it’s fake and he does want to see me again, how else could I have gotten my sister off the hook?
This is the right choice.
It’s not fair that this is one of Dacre’s family estates and that everywhere I roam, I wonder if he has, too. Was this his parents’ old home? Did he feel as lonely as I do now, in such a big house? Did anyone play outside with him in the garden?
There’s a room at the end of the hall that catches my attention. There’s no reason for it. The door is a simple off-white, like the walls, but I step toward it, checking that no one is watching me.
The furniture inside is untouched, but not dusty. It’s a single bed, still freshly made, and a desk that’s got a fresh jar of flowers, but nothing else indicates this room is ever used. There’s nothing out of place.
I comb my fingers over the spines on the small bookshelf beside the bed. These definitely belong to someone. They’re worn at the edges and faded in some spots. In the corner of the first page, “John” is written in vibrant black ink.
If there ever was a time a boy lived here, it was long ago. Could it be Dacre’s brother?
Sitting on the bed, I hold one of the pillows. It smells like fresh laundry. Missing Dacre sneaks up on me. Is it possible to imagine a real connection?
I thought he felt it. I know I felt it. But maybe I was wrong.
Laughter and music carry down the hall as I stare at the emptiness of this abandoned place. Someone once lived here, for sure.
There’s an inch of a gap in the drawer next to the bed, and the whole thing wobbles when I open it. Inside, there’s a spiral notebook.
I shouldn’t be here. Stars forbid Dacre’s brother pops up out of the blue and asks me why I’m snooping in his childhood bedroom.
The notebook has a name in the corner, too, only the date that accompanies it is much older than I imagined Dacre’s brothers.
This . . . belonged to Dacre’s father.
Which means this room is a shrine to him.
These are books he read, perhaps as a teen.
From the notebook slips a photo of Dacre’s father, with a young, thin face.
He’s got Dacre’s nose and eyes, but he’s smiling from ear to ear with his arm around a girl with short pink hair. They’re so radiant and full of life.
The edges are bent, and there are creases denting their faces. Could this be Dacre’s mother? Dacre never showed me any pictures of his family, but I know that’s his father because he looks so much like Dacre. I flip it over, and it’s dated with the words:
“June and me”
So it’s not Dacre’s mother.
From the beginning, the entries are sporadic and volatile.
The first sentence reads:
“Nothing I ever do is good enough.”
Definitely some teenage angst here. I flip through stories with a sinking guilt in my stomach. It feels wrong to read the journal of Dacre’s dead father, but my hands keep flipping. What I’m looking for, I’m not sure, but I’ll know if I see it.
I stop on a day that reads in all caps:
“FIVE DAYS. He locked me in a room for five days, with nothing but four walls and a bed. I’ve never seen him that angry before. I don’t even care. He won’t let me see her anymore. He doesn’t know me like he thinks he does. I have to get out of here.”
An anxious tingling surfaces as I read further:
“She’s gone. I can’t believe it.”
A large number of pages have been ripped out, and the pages that remain are crinkled, the color bleeding as if they had once been wet.
The bottom of a ripped page reads:
“I don’t know what to do. The thought is . . . impossible. Nothing is ever impossible, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. There’s no way he would do this.”
The next entry is from a few weeks later:
“I’m such a coward. Every time I try to ask him, I can’t do it. Maybe I’m afraid of his answer. He lied about where he was. He doesn’t know that I know, yet. If I ever get the courage, I’ll confront him, but I’m not sure if I will.”
The sounds get louder outside the door, snapping me out of my trance. I close the notebook, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. Dacre’s father hated his father. Maybe that’s why Clyde never told Dacre the truth.
I try to wrap my head around the implications of John’s words. Clyde Everhart might have played a part in this girl’s death. There’s nothing definitive—a hunch isn’t the truth. But I feel the weight of this revelation as I hide from the footsteps outside the door and wait for them to pass.
And for a reason I don’t fully understand yet, I hide the notebook under my shirt and slip out the door.