7. Alison #3
“Before Ashford moved the package?”
“Apparently.”
Victor’s jaw tightens. “That wasn’t Bellamy’s concern.”
“I told Hollis the same thing.”
“And?”
“He said Bellamy claims everything becomes his concern when the Chairman’s name is attached to it.”
I take another bite. The Chairman.
Victor’s expression goes flat. “Bellamy said that?”
“According to Hollis.”
“He’s getting too comfortable.”
“There’s a difference between comfortable and stupid.”
Dad takes another bite. “Is the Chairman attached to Palm Beach?”
Victor doesn’t answer immediately. “Everything is attached to the Chairman eventually.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Dad watches him. Victor reaches for his water. “Ashford was told London.”
“By you?”
“By Mercer.”
“And Mercer got it from?”
Victor gives him a look. “The same place we all get it from.”
“So the Chairman.”
Victor doesn’t confirm it. He doesn’t need to.
I keep eating. Ashford. London. Palm Beach. Mercer. Bellamy. Hollis. Ellison Foundation. The Chairman. I repeat each one inside my head.
“Why did Ashford change it?” Dad asks.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine. He claims Vane called Thursday night and told him London was compromised.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“Then why would Vane tell him that?”
“He says he didn’t.”
Dad frowns. “One of them is lying.”
“Obviously.”
Dad lowers his voice. “Where is Ashford?”
“Palm Beach.”
“You said that. Where?”
“The Marlow.”
“The hotel?”
“Club.”
“And the package?”
“Safe.”
“According to Ashford.”
“According to someone I trust considerably more than Ashford.”
Dad lowers his voice. “Something is moving above us.”
Victor looks irritated rather than surprised.
The waiter comes by to check on us, and both men shift seamlessly into a conversation about nothing. The weather. Traffic. Some event Victor attended earlier in the week. I eat. Smile when appropriate. Let Victor touch my knee. And wait.
By the time their conversation returns to ordinary things, I have repeated every name and every fragment so many times that they feel carved into the inside of my skull.
I wait another ten minutes before reaching for my purse. “Excuse me. I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”
Victor moves his hand from my knee. “Of course.”
I walk away from the table at a normal pace. Only when the bathroom door closes behind me do I breathe properly. I check the stalls. Empty. Then I pull out my phone.
Ryan has already texted.
Ryan: you alive
barely. victor wants four children
Ryan: he can want in one hand and shit in the other
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I cover my mouth.
romantic
Ryan: I’m a poet
clearly
Ryan: you okay though
My smile fades.
yeah. roman is being roman. victor is gross but manageable
Ryan: what happened
nothing. later. I heard stuff
Ryan: tell me
I type everything. Hollis. Bellamy. The Ellison Foundation. Ashford. London becoming Palm Beach. The Marlow Club. Mercer. Vane. Calder. Then the last one.
and they keep calling someone the Chairman
Ryan: the Chairman?
yes. always THE Chairman. no name
I tell him what Victor said. Nobody calls him. If the Chairman wants Hollis, Hollis gets called. Bellamy supposedly spoke directly to him. Everything eventually leads back to him.
Ryan’s answer takes several seconds.
Ryan: that’s hierarchy
Ryan: roman answers to tremblay and tremblay answers to chairman
helpful
Ryan: processing pretty girl
My chest aches.
tell arthur
Ryan: already texting him
good
Ryan: do not dig for more. you heard it because they think you’re not listening. keep it that way
I know
Ryan: information isn’t worth you getting hurt
have to go
Ryan: text me when you’re leaving
I will
I hesitate.
love you
His answer comes before I can lock the screen.
Ryan: love you more
I tuck my phone back into my purse, wash my hands, check my makeup, and look at myself in the mirror. For the first time since leaving the house, I feel like I can breathe. Ryan knows. Arthur will know. The names aren’t trapped inside my head anymore.
I open the bathroom door and make it three steps before a hand clamps around my upper arm. Hard. I gasp as I’m jerked sideways, my heel skidding across the polished floor before I can catch myself. “What—“
A door opens. I’m pulled through it. The door shuts behind me. For half a second, I can’t see anything. Then the small overhead light clicks on and coats, garment bags, and wooden hangers come into focus around us.
My father. My stomach drops. His hand is still wrapped around my arm. Not holding me. Crushing me. “Dad—“
“What did I tell you this morning?” My heart starts pounding. His fingers dig deeper into the same spot as he pulls me closer.
“I—“
“What did I tell you?!”
“To behave.”
“To behave how?” The grip on my arm is so hard I can feel each individual finger.
“Pleasantly. Respectfully.”
“And?”
“To listen to Victor.”
“And?”
“Not to argue with him.”
“Yet that’s exactly what you did.”
“I wasn’t arguing.”
The slap comes so fast I don’t see his hand move. My head snaps sideways. Pain explodes across my cheek. For a second, all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
Dad still hasn’t released my arm. If anything, his grip gets tighter. “Do not contradict me.”
My eyes burn. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry after you’ve already opened your mouth.
” He gives my arm a sharp jerk, dragging my attention back to him.
I stumble forward. “Look at me.” I do. His face is perfectly calm.
That’s worse than if he were yelling. “You think because Victor laughed, that little remark was acceptable?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why did you make it?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s becoming a very convenient excuse.
” His thumb presses into the inside of my arm while his fingers dig into the outside, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making another sound.
“I asked you one thing today, Alison. One thing. Sit beside the man who has waited patiently for you for five years and show him that his patience hasn’t been wasted. ”
“I was trying.”
“No, you were showing off.”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Exactly.” My cheek throbs. So does my arm. “You haven’t been thinking quite a lot lately.” Catherine. Penelope. Rebecca. I know exactly where he’s going before he says another word. “Three girls start paying attention to you and suddenly you’ve decided you have something to prove.”
“They haven’t done anything.” His eyes narrow. I immediately regret it. “I’m sorry.”
“They haven’t done anything,” he repeats quietly.
“Yet my daughter has developed more attitude in the last few weeks than she has shown me in eighteen years.” I don’t answer.
His fingers are still buried in my arm. I can already feel the deep ache spreading beneath them. “Victor found you amusing today.”
I swallow. “Yes, Father.”
“You’re fortunate.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” He pulls me closer until there are only inches between us. “Men enjoy novelty, Alison. A little attitude can be charming when a woman is young and pretty and they’re trying to win her affection.” My stomach turns. “But charm has limits.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“When you’re Victor’s wife, he isn’t going to want to negotiate with you every time he makes a decision. He isn’t going to want you embarrassing him at his own table because you think you’ve found a clever way around something he said.”
“I won’t.”
“You won’t what?”
“I won’t embarrass him.”
His grip shifts. Not loosens. Shifts. His fingers move higher on my arm, finding fresh skin beneath the sleeve, and squeeze again.
Hard. A tear burns free before I can stop it.
His eyes follow it. No reaction. “You represent me until the day you marry him. After that, you represent Victor. Your behavior reflects on the men responsible for you.” I hate that sentence so much I can barely breathe. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
His fingers tighten. “Properly.”
My voice shakes. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” He finally looks down at where he’s holding me. For one stupid second, I think he’s going to let go. He doesn’t. His thumb presses deliberately into the tender flesh, and pain shoots through my arm.
I flinch. “That hurts.”
“I know.” The words are quiet. Matter-of-fact. My stomach drops. “Maybe you’ll remember it the next time you decide to test how much Victor enjoys your attitude.”
Only then does he release me. My arm immediately throbs with my heartbeat.
He studies my face next. I know what he’s looking for. Evidence. Not whether he hurt me. Whether anyone else will be able to tell. His fingers catch my chin and turn my face toward the light. I go completely still. The humiliation is almost worse than the slap. He checks one cheek. Then the other.
Apparently satisfied, he lets go. “Fix your makeup. Then come back to the table and give Victor the attention he deserves.”
My throat aches. “Yes, Father.”
He reaches for the door. Then stops. “And Alison?” I look at him. “Don’t make me correct you twice.”
“No, sir.”
He opens the door, checks the corridor, and walks out as calmly as he walked into the restaurant.
I stay inside the coat closet. Five seconds. Maybe ten. My arm is fucking screaming. I don’t need to pull up the sleeve to know what’s going to happen beneath it. I can still feel every one of his fingers. Five separate points of pain already spreading deeper. Bruises.
Ryan is going to see them. The thought hits so hard that fresh tears fill my eyes. Not because I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me. Because I know exactly what his face is going to look like when he realizes who did it.
And I have to sit beside Victor for the rest of this fucking lunch pretending nothing happened.
The town car feels twice as large without Dad and Victor in it.