5. Alison #2
Dad glances toward Tobias. My brother has started tearing the crust from his bread. Then Dad looks at me — the warning look, the one that means stay in your lane, entertain the child. So I do. I reach over and steal a piece of Tobias’s crust.
He immediately slaps my hand. “Hey.”
“You weren’t eating it.”
“I was saving it.”
“For what?”
“Later.”
“Later tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Next Thursday?”
He tries not to smile, and Dad looks away, satisfied. I’m just talking to my little brother. Not listening. Never listening.
Victor lowers his voice. Still not enough. “Bellamy understands what’s at stake.”
“He understands money,” Dad says.
“Usually the same thing.”
Dad takes another drink. “Not through the foundation.”
“It won’t be.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“After Pennington, I’m not having anything trace back there.”
My pulse jumps. Pennington. I keep my eyes on Tobias, on the little pile of bread crust he’s building like a fortress.
Victor sounds almost bored. “Pennington was careless.”
“So was Lucian.”
“Lucian was arrogant.”
“And Hartley?”
Victor laughs quietly. “Hartley was stupid.”
My fingers stop against the edge of my plate. Dad doesn’t laugh. “That’s a lot of people around Edgewood suddenly becoming careless, arrogant, and stupid.”
Victor looks at him. “Not this again.”
“I pay attention.”
“To teenagers?” Victor leans back. “Roman, they’re high school boys.” Dad says nothing, and Victor stares at him, then laughs. “You’re serious.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Dad takes another drink. Victor shakes his head. “You think five teenagers are responsible for what happened to those families?”
“I think the same five teenagers keep standing close enough to watch.”
“The Harrington boy?” Victor asks.
Dad’s expression changes. “Him especially.”
My stomach drops. I keep my face on Tobias’s bread fortress.”
“Walter has connections. Ryan is smart. Curious. He spends too much time digging into things that don’t concern him.”
Victor glances at me. “Alison knows him.”
I let another second pass before looking up, like I’ve only half-followed the conversation. “Who?”
“Harrington.”
“Ryan?”
“Yes.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s an asshole.”
Tobias immediately looks at me. “Bad word.”
“Do as I say, not as I do.”
Victor laughs, and Dad doesn’t correct me this time.
“Are you friends with him?” Victor asks.
“No.”
“Spend time together?”
I make a face. “Why would we?”
Dad answers for me. “Harrington barely acknowledges her.”
There it is. It still hurts. I know it’s not true.
I know what Ryan is doing. I know what happens when the music room door locks, what his voice sounds like when his hand covers my stomach, how many times he tells me he loves me when nobody else can hear him.
Still, Wednesday morning lives somewhere under my ribs.
I take a drink. “The feeling is mutual.”
Dad accepts it. Victor does too. Of course they do. That was the point.
Then Victor reaches across the corner of the table, and his hand closes over mine.
I nearly pull away. Instead, I make myself stay still while his thumb slides over my knuckles. “There won’t be any need for boys like Harrington once we’re married.”
“No?”
“No.” His smile is almost paternal, and that somehow makes it worse. “You’ll have a husband.”
My stomach turns. “Right.”
“Your priorities will change.” His thumb moves again, slow, proprietary, and I hate his hand and I hate his voice and I hate that Dad is sitting there watching another man touch me like this and sees absolutely nothing wrong with it.
Victor’s gaze drops briefly to my hand beneath his. “You’ve been very protected, Alison.”
Dad smiles. “I’ve tried.”
“And you’ve done well.”
They’re talking about me like a fucking show dog.
“She hasn’t had to concern herself with the uglier parts of the world,” Victor continues.
Dad nods. “She doesn’t need to.”
“No. She doesn’t.”
I look between them. Neither seems to realize how insane this conversation is.
Victor looks back at me, and when he speaks again his voice has gone lower, warmer, almost fond — which is worse than anything else he’s done all night.
“You know, your father and I have understood each other about you for a long time.” His thumb traces my knuckle. “Since you were, what — thirteen?”
Dad doesn’t correct him.
The floor drops out from under me. I keep my face still with everything I have, but the number sits there in the middle of the table like a dropped glass.
Thirteen. I was thirteen. Braces. A backpack with a broken zipper I’d fixed with a paperclip.
I remember being thirteen. I do not remember being promised.
“That’s a long time,” I manage.
“It is,” Victor agrees, pleased I’ve said anything at all.
“These things are done properly or they aren’t done at all.
Your father was careful with you. Patient.
” He says patient like it’s a virtue, like I’m a bottle of something that had to be laid down and left to age until it suited him.
“I’ve watched you grow into exactly the young woman I expected. ”
“You’ve been watching me since I was thirteen.”
“I’ve been waiting,” he corrects gently, as if the distinction is a kindness. “There’s a difference.”
There isn’t. I know there isn’t. But Dad is smiling into his scotch like this is a lovely thing to hear at his dinner table, so I curve my mouth up and say, “Patience is a virtue,” and Victor laughs like I’ve charmed him, and under the table my free hand presses flat against my own stomach where his gaze never once thought to travel.
“You’ll be able to focus on the things that suit you,” he goes on, thumb still moving over my hand. “Your home. Your writing, if you still enjoy it. Charitable work.”
“If I still enjoy writing?”
“Of course.” His fingers tighten slightly around mine. “Marriage changes women.”
I force myself to smile. “How?”
Victor smiles back. “You settle.”
Something cold crawls down my spine. “Settle?”
“Your priorities become clearer.”
Dad takes a drink. “Alison has always been stubborn.”
Victor’s eyes stay on mine. “Only because she’s been allowed to be.” My fork feels heavy in my other hand. He says it lightly. Like a joke.
Mom’s knife slips against her plate. “She isn’t difficult.” The words are quiet. So quiet I almost think I imagined them.
Dad looks at her, and Mom immediately lowers her eyes. Victor’s thumb stops moving against my hand. “I didn’t say she was.”
“No.” Mom cuts another piece of chicken. “Of course not.”
That’s it. She doesn’t challenge him. Doesn’t explain herself. Doesn’t look at me. Her shoulders have gone tight. Dad watches her for another second before returning to his food.
Victor releases my hand. I put it in my lap. My skin still feels like him. I want to scrub it. Instead I sit there — pretty, polite, quiet. Exactly what they expect.
Dad and Victor keep talking. They move from Zurich to London. Someone named Ashford. Something Victor says needs to stay separate. Dad mentions an account. No number. No bank. Just, “Not the same account.” Victor tells him he knows. I memorize that too. Ashford. London. Separate. Different account.
Then Palm Beach comes up again. A dinner. A man Dad doesn’t like. A woman Victor says talks too much. None of it means anything to me. Maybe none of it matters. I remember it anyway.
That’s the thing Dad has never understood about me. He thinks being book smart means I can memorize things for tests. He’s right. He just never considered that I might memorize him too.
By the time Mom brings dessert out, Tobias has started yawning. He gets halfway through a piece of chocolate cake before his head nearly drops onto his plate.
Mom smiles. “Okay. Bed.”
His head snaps up. “I’m awake.”
“You almost fell into your cake.”
“I was looking at it.”
“With your eyes closed?”
He considers his options. “Yes.”
Mom stands. “Come on.”
Tobias looks at me. “Can Ally do it?”
Dad starts to answer, but Mom beats him by half a second. “Ally needs to finish dinner.” Her eyes flick to mine. Barely there. Then she looks away. “I’ll take you.”
Tobias sighs like this is a grave injustice but slides out of his chair. Mom takes his hand, and as they leave she glances back at me. One second. That’s all. Then she’s gone.
Victor doesn’t leave after dinner. Dad takes the scotch into his study, and Victor follows him. Mom gets Tobias settled upstairs before coming back down, and I help her clear the table.
Neither of us speaks at first. The study door is closed. Dad’s voice carries through it occasionally, but I can’t make out the words from the kitchen. Mom stacks plates beside the sink. I carry over the glasses, and she takes one from my hand. Then another. Her fingers are shaking.
“Mom?”
“I’m fine.” The answer comes too quickly.
I look toward the hallway, then back at her. She runs water over a plate that doesn’t need rinsing yet. “Did you know Victor was coming tonight?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“A few days.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her hands stop. “I thought your father had.”
“He didn’t.”
“Oh.” Water keeps running.
“Mom.” She reaches for another plate, and I touch her wrist. She flinches. Not away from me. Just flinches. I let go immediately. “Sorry.”
“No.” She shuts off the water. “I’m sorry.” For a second, neither of us speaks. Then her eyes move toward the study. “Did he make you uncomfortable?”
My chest tightens. “Dad?”
She looks at me. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
“Victor?” Mom’s eyes drop. I swallow. “Yes.”
Her mouth tightens. “Did he…” She stops. I wait. She tries again. “Did he do anything?”
“No.” She looks at me, searching. “Nothing like that. He just keeps touching me.” Her face goes pale. “My back. My hand. It’s nothing anyone would think was weird.”
“I think it’s weird.” The words come out before she can stop them, and we both freeze. Mom looks toward the hallway. The study door stays closed. When she looks back at me, her voice is barely audible. “I don’t like it.”
My throat closes. “Mom—“