Chapter 2
May
“ Y ou are not sneaking out!" Leah shouts, doing her best to sound threatening.
Simon, our guardian, took the posters down over and over when I was growing up, but I'd always get one of the staff to smuggle me more.
Miss Henrietta and Mr. Fredby pity me and Leah, basically acting like grandparents, and most of the estate staff stuck around after the accident.
I'd save the new ones up and then cover the walls in one go overnight, because Simon's fire-engine-red face the next morning was almost as good as having the posters back up.
He used to be my father's right-hand man. His confidant. Now he's just an asshole.
"Shhhh!" I hiss, taking a deep breath. "You're going to get us both in trouble."
Leah gives me her best motherly glare.
She looks so much like Mom, it's spooky. I don't remember Mom that well, but from what I do, and from the scrapbook pictures I've worn out over the years, it's like looking right at her face.
"No, you're the one who's going to get in trouble." She lowers her voice to an agitated whisper and inches her wheelchair forward.
It doesn't work. I'm determined.
"No one is coming to check on us. They're out for the night."
You'd think I'd mind that my fiancé is out almost every night without me. I don't. Ours is not a match made in any sort of heaven. Plus, he's the son of our guardian, who hasn't exactly been a nurturing soul the last twelve years. The weirdness factor is off the charts.
"This will never work." Leah presses her palms down and rubs the tops of her thighs with a wince. They get sore during the day, and by evening, she's in the chair, which I know she loathes.
"It will work." I slip my feet into a pair of sparkly pink and purple patent leather ballet flats. I grab my favorite sweater, picked out just for tonight. "It might work."
"You are not wearing that." Leah groans.
"What? I love this sweater." I pick up the lime green polka-dot cardigan and hold it out. "It's fun."
"Like we would know what fun is?" Leah snorts and spins in a slow circle in her chair.
"Like you would know what style is? For all we know, striped kimonos and chef's aprons are what girls our age are wearing." I look at the sweater again. "Dad would have liked it."
I push one hand into the cashmere sleeve and pull it up over my shoulders, and the opposite arm.
Before buttoning it, I cross to the enormous mirror above the antique dresser. I've got on a white bra and panties. At least they match. They're as fancy as anything I have. But they do not say 'stripper.'
I try not to dwell on the fact that my collarbones don't stick out and there isn't a rib in sight. I may not be the pinnacle of every man's desire, but maybe there's some demand for the novelty dancing chubby girl.
This is as sexy as I'm going to get, so I hope it's enough.
"Dad liked everything you did." Leah's voice is softer.
I snap my head around to her bright smile. She's beautiful. Like, magazine cover beautiful.
I've always wished I could look like her. If we were in a movie, she'd be the glamorous leading lady, and I'd be the plain Jane sidekick with my too-round center and my inability to keep wild, inappropriate things from tumbling out of my mouth at the worst possible moments.
"He loved everything about everything. Especially us." I finish buttoning my sweater to the top, clutch my arms around myself, and run my hands up to my shoulders.
"How are you going to get there? If you take a car, they will know."
"I'm taking the bus." I stand up, stretching every inch of my five feet. My arms drop as I face her. She's still giving me that protective stare.
"The bus? How do you even know there is a bus?" She's mocking me now.
"It's called the internet ." I roll my eyes, turning back toward the mirror and grabbing a hairband from the dresser top.
How would a stripper wear her hair to a stripper interview?
"The internet? When were you on the internet?" Leah's eyes widen.
I tip my head, squint, and confess. "Fine. I grabbed a bus schedule out of Mariana's purse."
Mariana is one of the kitchen staff here at the estate.
She’s not much older than Leah and me, but honestly, it’s a bit hard to tell.
She’s so quiet. She’s always looking down when anyone speaks to her or looks her way.
There’s a sadness in her eyes, but the way our house is run, she would lose her job if she spoke to us outside of practical matters involving the lunch menu or whether we prefer tea or coffee.
And truth? I have my own problems, and at least she gets to leave at the end of the day.
In the mirror, Leah covers her face with both hands and shakes her head, snorting.
"I'll be fine,” I tell her. “It's like, less than a mile from here.
I mean, where else can I work and Simon won't know?
They never come around up here at night.
It's just been the two of us up here for months.
I can sneak out at eleven, be back by four-thirty, and hopefully get some money in my pocket.
We are not living here forever, Leah. I'm telling you.
" I spin around as I throw my auburn hair into a ponytail on top of my head.
"We are leaving here and getting our own place, at least for a while.
I want to be out in the world, see things. I want to do things."
"I told you, just go, leave me here. I have no life anyway." She drops her eyes to look down at her legs. When she's not in the chair, she has to use her forearm crutches.
Both her legs were crushed in the accident, and she's lucky they were able to save them at all.
She lifts her eyes with hope, and it hurts. "It'll be so much easier for you to just go get a place on your own. You can get the money together for that if you don't have me around. Taking care of me is not your obligation. I want you to be happy, May. That's what I want more than anything."
"I will never leave you," I say with as much composure as I can manage. "And I want us to be happy more than anything. I'll figure this out. You just have to trust me."
"How do you even know about this Monarch place? What do you even know? It could be dangerous."
"I've been reading about it. Simon lets me read the business section, and I've been following it for a year.
The city council tried to block the entire project, but finally, they got their zoning approvals.
And it's been the big talk, because who would have ever expected a nightclub — let alone a strippy type club — around here?
Everyone was just all gaspy and not-in-my-neighborhood about it.
" I smile because it secretly pleased me when they won the battle and were able to build the club.
This stuffy neighborhood needs some shaking up.
"What about Victor?" She screws up her face as she says his name.
"What about him?"
"You're supposed to marry him. If your plan is to go out and make money so we can move out, are you not doing that? Because you know what that means." She shakes some hair out of her eyes. "Do you love him? Like Mom and Dad kind of love?"
I don't want to have this conversation right now, and we both know the answer anyway. I play with my ponytail, tug at the waistband of my skirt to hide some of the muffin top, pull the sweater down farther. None of it works.
I swallow hard, refocus. I'm doing this. And yes, it may be silly, but I don't care. I reach into the dresser and play with a sterling silver hand mirror that used to be Mom's.
"That's not what everybody gets. Mom and Dad were lucky. I just want some freedom before I get married. I won't lose this place, either. Yes, I'll marry Victor. But this place is our home, even if it doesn't feel like it right now with them here."
The last time we saw our mother, in the hospital before she passed away, she made us promise to keep this house in the family.
Dad built it for her. Everywhere we look, we're reminded of the love they had.
"I just want Simon to see we can do things on our own. That he’ll know he can't control us forever.
We don't even have any friends, Leah. We have never been to a nightclub.
We haven't even been to the damn mall. I want to go to school and be a real chef, but they won't listen to me.
They've got all the power right now, and I want to shake things up.
We need money of our own. We're like two princesses shut up in the tower.
I want to live a little before I'm Mrs. Victor Galetti. "
"Oh, I don't know." She lets out a long breath. "You've always had the craziest ideas. Lord knows I've doubted you before, and you've made me eat crow. But I don't see how this is going to get you anything but in deep trouble."
Leah pulls at her hands in her lap. Her eyes shimmer. I'd be lost without her.
"I'm nineteen years old, how much trouble can I get into? I'm an adult." I hold my head high with preposterous bravado.
She snorts out a laugh with a shake of her head. I push off the dresser and close the space between us, skipping as I go.
I crouch down in front of her, the hem of my pleated navy-blue uniform skirt riding up to the tops of the thigh-high socks.
"I'm going to get us out of here." My voice is steady and sure.
"I'm going to get into that culinary school and become the most famous pastry chef and baker evah.
" I toss my head back, then settle my eyes back on her with raised eyebrows.
"Did you like that raspberry napoleon I made tonight? " I bob my eyebrows and nod at her.
"Yes. It was amazing. As always. How do you just know how to make stuff like that? You never even follow a recipe."
"Magic." I grin and wrinkle my nose at her. When I'm baking, I'm as happy as I ever can be. I feel peaceful, and I’m able to forget that I'm engaged to a man I barely know — and what I do know, I don't like.
I forget the charmed, blessed life we had until a drunk driver exploded our world. I don't dream of much, but I want that peace, that sense of being alive I get when I bake. It's stupid, I know. But it does it for me. Takes me away from this suffocating, isolated world.
I rise to my feet, wondering if I should lather on some makeup. I don't have much, but I can toss it in my bag and apply a coat of paint on the bus.
Then the reality of what I'm about to do hits, and my stomach clenches. I suddenly feel so stupid. What makes me think I can make money dancing?
Because you can't think of any other option that will actually bring home money and let you work during the hours when no one will notice you're gone. And, you've got moves.
Leah would have been the stripper. Legs that end at her neck, cheekbones set in a way that would make any Vogue model jelly, and the way she carries — carried — herself was like royalty. She would have had every chin drop to the floor when she took the stage.
I, on the other hand, am none of those things.
But my legs still work, and that means I need to do this.
My stomach tightens, knowing eventually I'll have to take off my top, and they'll see the imprint the accident left on me, as well as my six-pack abs covered in a couple layers of cupcake calories.
But I shake it off. My plan is to amaze them with my novelty.
Or at least make them feel so sorry for me that they'll give me a shot.
I know I just need a chance. I will do whatever it takes to teach myself to dance.
Or anything else. I don't care. I'll do whatever I need to do to get us out of here.
We may both carry the memories of that horrible day on our bodies and in our hearts, but we still have each other, and that will never, ever change.
Simon's practically kept us prisoners since the accident. He still insisted we wear school uniforms Monday through Friday when the tutors came. For order and structure . Just what two girls who'd lost their parents needed. Never mind hugs, kindness, and understanding.
But now we’re both over the age of legally needing a guardian.
I turned nineteen a couple months ago, and Leah is fifteen months older.
But somehow, we're still under a conservatorship that Simon runs, and the only way out is court, and court takes money and freedom.
The two things the poorest rich girls I know don't have.
Victor tried to kiss me once. The day we got engaged. He slipped the ring on my finger after Simon explained that I was getting married and to whom, and why I would do it without question.
Well, that's not fair. He gave me a choice. He made it very clear that if I didn't marry his son, I'd be granted my freedom.
And never see my sister again. Or this house.
Leah doesn't know that part. She'd tell me not to marry him. But not only would I lose her, we'd lose this place. And I couldn't bear either one.
"So." I stand taller, throwing my chest out and grinning from ear to ear. "You want to see my moves before I go?" I spin around and hit the play button on the CD player on the desk.
"Noooo," Leah groans, rolling her eyes as she turns her chair away from me.
Her glossy, sable hair falls to the middle of her back, shiny enough I can practically see my own outline in it. Not the only contrast between us. She’s a head taller, my face is more cherub than Kate Moss, and I fill out every available inch of my clothes.
Mind you, that doesn't stop me from sampling all the yummy goodness of what I bake. Besides, it's not like I'm ever going to actually date. My future has been decided, and Victor shows about as much interest in me as a chunk of broken concrete.
"Well, I'm going to show you anyway." I spin the volume knob up and the funky 1970s Rick James jam fills the twelve-foot ceilings of my bedroom.
I strut away from her at first, practicing my most provocative walk, then trip over some invisible obstacle, recover, spin on my heel, and head toward her.
She's still facing away from me, so I grab the handles on the back of her chair, spinning her around to view my onslaught of awesome. I know strippers wear high heels, but I don't have any. I'll figure that out as I go. My plan has some holes as big as the Grand Canyon, but I shall overcome.
I barely hit the five-foot mark and have more fluff than any self-respecting stripper would strut, but I've got determination for days. Leah may have hit the genetic jackpot on looks, but I've got tenacity, and hopefully that'll be enough.
"Oh my gawd." Leah shakes her head as I step back, twist around, and give her my best come-hither look over my shoulder as I gyrate my hips. "Stoooooopppppp. It."
"I just can't stop. I got the music in me." I sing-song and shimmy as Rick starts extolling the wonders of a very kinky girl.
Forty-five minutes to bus time. Forty-five minutes until I'm a stripper.
I shimmy harder.