115
Thorun grips my hand hard as we pull up in front of Jaguar’s family castle, complete with moat.
Opposite us, Jaguar sits, his expression unreadable.
He’s been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over, answering Thorun’s many questions in monosyllables and drinking more than I expected, and his mood has flowed over to me.
I think part of it must be due to having to eliminate Cherry last night, and part of it is because of his relationship with his family.
“It’s like a fairy tale castle,” Thorun sighs, pointing out the round defensive corner towers and the white swans sailing along on the dark green water in the moat, illuminated from underneath by a ring of lights in the moat walls.
On the surface it looks picture-perfect, but on closer inspection the water looks an unnatural dark olive colour, and a little foul. The lights give the whole thing a kind of extraterrestrial feel.
“Do you think their sewage goes straight into the moat?” I whisper. “Or just all the bodies?”
“Just the bodies,” Jag grunts, his eyes meeting mine.
I blush as he laughs harshly.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I told you I have exceptional hearing, Cat. Your whispers are deafening in the confines of this vehicle.”
“It was a joke,” I mutter.
He shakes his head and exits the vehicle, standing beside the door and offering a hand to each of us as we get out.
We’ve been dressed for this occasion in haute couture.
Once again, we look like night and day. Thorun is wearing a knee-length shimmery silver cocktail dress, which hugs her Amazonian figure to perfection.
Her blonde-white hair, now regrown to just collar length, highlights her cheekbones beautifully, and she’s pinned an exquisite little diamond clip, a gift from Jag, in her hair over one ear. She looks incredibly regal.
I’ve been dressed in black tailored pants and a black satin top.
It clips behind my neck with a jewelled clasp, covers my scars, and drapes like dark water over my breasts, leaving my back, arms and sides bare.
My hair has been styled in an elaborate French knot as some kind of homage, I imagine, to our location, but also allowing the viewers to appreciate the design of the top and its ornate deco-inspired ruby clasp.
I was embarrassed when I’d first tried it on.
It seemed like a tiny triangle of fabric, and I feared there would be glimpses of side boob when I walked.
But special double-sided invisible tape holds the whole thing in place, and I feel relatively confident at this moment that I look great as I stand beside Jag, dressed in his tuxedo.
‘Let’s just hope his parents think so, too.’
“You both look amazing,” Jag murmurs as he hooks our hands through his arms and leads us up the stairs.
“I kind of imagined your family would come out to greet us,” I whisper as we finally reach the large, timber doors. They feature a giant circular bronze crest of a sabre-tooth tiger sinking its fangs into a wide-eyed unicorn’s neck.
Thorun frowns as she sees it and shoots me a worried look.
“That’s not their way,” Jag mutters, pausing to turn and look at me. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Thorun?”
“I’m ready,” she squeaks.
Pushing open the doors, we step inside a grand entry hall featuring twin staircases left and right.
I try not to gape as I take in the massive paintings featured on the walls, the sculptures and the beautiful light emitted from gigantic, coloured chandeliers.
I’ve seen a lot of chandeliers in my time, but none with red crystals.
‘Scarily beautiful.’
In the middle of the marble-floored hall, standing still, their expressions anything but friendly, are two well-dressed and haughty-looking people.
Our arrival was clearly expected, but I can’t help wonder how long they’ve been standing there like that.
“Mother, Father,” Jag says quietly as we walk towards them. “I’d like you to meet Thorun and Catriona.”
“A pleasure,” his mother says, her tone bored as she turns and walks away from us.
“About time,” his father growls, spinning on his heel to follow his wife.
‘Question answered. I guess they’d been waiting longer than they’d like.’
I look at Jag and raise my eyebrows. I know he said they were pissed with him for things he’d done in the past, but surely this kind of reception is beyond the pale.
His face is impassive, but I know he’s fuming.
“Fun times,” I murmur, as we follow his parents.
He sniggers and I see the glimmer of a smirk, his arm muscles relaxing a little under my hand.
“Just play along,” he murmurs, “and don’t take anything personally.”
Thorun gives me a worried look as I whisper.
“Let the games begin.”