Chapter 34 Xade
XADE
Iopen the door to my office, third cup of coffee in hand, and find the bane of my soul behind my desk, rummaging through my shit. My heart nearly vaults out of my chest, yet only one thought comes to mind when I see her.
Word—finally.
Part of speech—adverb.
Origin—late fourteenth century.
Derived from the Latin finalis, meaning of an end.
The thought is quickly followed by a singular question.
What the hell is she doing behind my desk?
I demand to know where she's been and what she's doing as my fingertips threaten to punch through my disposable coffee cup and burn my hand. She's frozen, clearly not expecting to see me in my own office regardless of this unholy hour.
Her pretty eyes go wide, and I think she might actually turn to stone before her lips part.
Those smartass lips.
They make me want to do reprehensible things.
Like kiss her.
Or kiss her first and then kill her for snooping through my shit.
Or fuck her in her nun getup like the depraved bastard I apparently am.
The spitfire-in-white had me worried—no, terrified—no … fucking jonesing like an addict in need of his next Avalynne Immorier fix.
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Here she is, though, sneaking into my office, answering my prayers and damning us both at the same time.
From behind my desk, she blinks all doe-eyed at me, her delicate fingers clenched into tight fists at her sides and her gaze wide and trained on me.
She wrings the breath out of my lungs and makes it impossible to breathe.
Yet I can't stop watching her, even though the longer I do, the more I realize she looks terrible.
Knots tangle her hair into messy strands that peek out from her askew coif and veil. Her eyes, as blue as ever, sink above her cheeks like she hasn't eaten. Dirt and grime stain her normally pristine habit, and even the tops of her shoes that I glimpse beneath her skirt look aged from wear.
It's been a week since I've seen her, but she looks like it's been a damned year.
Word—desperate.
Part of speech—adjective.
Origin—I can't fucking remember.
Derived from what in the fuck happened to her?!
"Where have you been?" I snarl, stalking farther into the room. My fingertips leave the side of my office door, and it silently swings shut behind me.
She gapes at me, her mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. My flesh prickles as I watch her, and I know something has happened.
Only … what exactly was it?
I swallow hard, and my fingertips press tighter against my cup. I feel it give beneath my grip and leave my coffee on the mantle before I send scalding liquid over my hand. Her habit ghosts the stone floor of my office as she strides forward, around my desk.
"Reverend Mother locked me in the basement," she says, her voice a notch above a whisper.
I match her tone. "And what did she do to you there, Avalynne?"
She tips her chin at me, defiance glinting in her gaze. "Does it matter?"
"Of course, it matters," I step closer. "You matter."
You are everything.
She turns away from me, lifting the back of her shirt to expose tender, pink scars slanted across her spine. She looks over her shoulder at me. "She punished me for spying because I saw her and the Devil of Saint Margaret's together in the courtyard."
She saw what?!
It doesn't matter.
I'm going to be sick.
Georgina's gone too far!
I reach for a word. Nothing materializes. I can't find the calm. Once again, I can't breathe.
"Help me leave." Her words aren't a plea but a challenge. She's daring me to not give a shit about her, and goddamned, I wish I didn't. Her pale face flushes crimson as she drops her shirt and turns to face me.
"It's not that simple," I tell her.
"Why? Am I really so pathetic that you won't even help me?"
Her words—my words—boomerang back to me and land a cheap shot.
I force a breath. "You aren't pathetic."
A bitter laugh escapes her as moonlight shines through the window, haloing her in silvered white light.
"I didn't mean it, Avalynne." Again, I step forward.
I need to be closer to her. I need her to understand. I need it so I can breathe again.
"I was trying to protect you," I explain. "I tried to speak with you that day, after class, but you wouldn't …"
"It doesn't matter," she interrupts with a wince she doesn't quite manage to hide. "If you truly wish to protect me, you'll get me out of here."
The weight of her desperation settles on my chest, and, finally, I see this for what it is.
She didn't come to my office seeking my help.
She came here to help herself—probably to steal my phone or try to contact her grandfather.
I interrupted her plan, and now, she's swallowing her pride and asking for help instead.
Smart, stubborn, beautiful girl.
"I can't do that, Avalynne," I say carefully, stepping closer still. "You don't understand."
"I understand plenty!" She bares her teeth with the words. "If Grandpapa knew what Reverend Mother did to me, he wouldn't let …"
"Your grandfather won't let you leave!"
I want to reach out to her, to grab her, pull her close, and hold her, but I can't.
I am hers, but she's not mine.
Fuck!
She blinks at me, stunned, before she shakes her head. "He'd never allow me to be treated this way."
I round my desk and retrieve a stack of tossed papers from the floor, careful to give her space as I do. I shove the pages at her, and she grabs them reflexively.
"These are the progress reports I'm required to send to your grandfather.
Read them. Please. Nothing happens in this place without his explicit approval, Avalynne, not even Georgina.
" It's a half-truth, but it's all I will say for now.
I don't want to overwhelm her. We all walk a tightrope, me included, only Avalynne looks like she's tripped and floundering, about to plummet to unforgiving earth.
I don't know how Georgina justified the flogging to Avalynne's grandfather, and I don't care. Georgina sure as fuck didn't tell him she was punishing his granddaughter for laying eyes on a man who, by all official records, died over a decade ago.
It doesn't matter. She hurt my clarissima stella, and I want to kill her for it.
Avalynne looks down at the mess of papers in her hands, and her eyes widen with cautious disbelief. Still, relief sags my shoulders when she lays them on my desk, sits, and begins to read.
Progress Report No. 1 (Excerpt)
… With all due respect, Mr. Immorier, Saint Margaret of Castello Convent is ill-suited to accommodate your granddaughter. She belongs in a traditional classroom setting. …
Progress Report No. 2 (Excerpt)
… I cannot stress enough the importance of Ms. Immorier being allowed to attend college. She is too smart, too determined, and too inquisitive to be marooned here. …
Progress Report No. 3 (Excerpt)
… If I may be perfectly clear, your granddaughter nearly drowned in the baptismal chambers.
Now, I understand you have given strict instructions to Reverend Mother Graves to ensure Avalynne atones for her so-called sins—failings that I remain ignorant of pursuant to your apparent wishes, I might add.
Your inhumane and antiquated mandates, however, have caused her irreparable harm.
To speak candidly, if you care for your granddaughter, Marcus, you will bring her home! …
First Addendum to Progress Report No. 3 (Excerpt)
… The draconian acts to be imposed upon Avalynne at her every perceived misstep fail to serve your ostensible purpose.
They do not absolve her of her alleged sins.
Rather, they only serve to dim the brilliance and light that is your granddaughter.
I can only hope you will see reason before she is extinguished completely. …
Second Addendum to Progress Report No. 3 (Excerpt)
… Marcus, you have continued to ignore the repeated requests of both Father Damienne and myself to allow Ms. Immorier to leave Saint Margaret's and enroll in college. I implore you to see reason before your granddaughter is left with an indelible mark no amount of money will ever mend. …
Third Addendum to Progress Report No. 3 (Excerpt)
… Your continued insistence that Avalynne remain at Saint Margaret's is utterly baffling. Your granddaughter holds you in the highest regard, though I have yet to see why you deserve such admiration. …
Fourth Addendum to Progress Report No. 3 (Excerpt)
… Due entirely to your family's enduring relationship with both the convent and the church, I find it prudent to bite my tongue. However, please know that if I did not find myself so inclined, I would tell you, Marcus, that you possess the profound wisdom and sagacity of a pet rock. …
Fifth Addendum to Progress Report No. 3 (Excerpt)
… As I am sure you are aware, my previous correspondence reflects my personal opinions, not those of Father Damienne, Reverend Mother Graves, or the Monastic Sisters of Saint Margaret of Castello Convent. …
Pages upon pages instruct her grandfather to remove Avalynne from the care of the nuns. I know what's in the reports—I wrote them, after all—but I don't know what Avalynne thinks. Her face is a blank canvas, completely emotionless as she reads.
What are you thinking, Clarissima Stella?
God knows I've tried. I've left messages for Marcus Immorier, had many phone calls with the devil himself, and when that didn't work, sent him goddamned remarks on the progress reports he requires from me. I have argued with Georgina and pleaded with Ezra, all to no avail.
She doesn't belong here, locked in a cage. I know that. Ezra knows it. Hell, even Georgina fucking knows it, but Avalynne's grandfather insists she remain.