Chapter 19
Alexei
I’ve been watching Ash clean and prepare food, and I believe he’s up to my rigorous standards. It’s a shame the housekeeper who trained him, Yua Ito, had to die.
We received several torture videos before that final one.
I will never be the same man again, after witnessing that. Jonas is truly the face of evil. Looking at events from this perspective, my poor sweet Papa may have held onto some luck at the end. There isn’t a soul on earth who would prefer Miss Ito’s death over his.
“Don’t be shy now, take a big ol’ bite,” Scarlett goads, poking me with her fork. I immediately try to steal it from her hands and she fights back, rising from the table and holding it out of reach.
“It’s contaminated now. I insist that you let me get you a fresh one.” I stand up, too, and she gives me a heavy look from under thick, dark lashes.
This is a momentous evening, with our wedding waiting for us in the morning. Scarlett and I are being introduced to society, with Widow, Bohnes, and Ash in tow. If there were such a thing as a coming-of-age ceremony for people like us, then this is it.
“You’re making excuses. Take a bite. Eat your food.” Scarlett points at the plate in front of me. It smells incredible, tonkatsu with rice and shredded cabbage. Miso soup. Pickled vegetables. All homemade in a very clean kitchen. I want to hate everything about this, but I don’t.
With a sigh, I reach down and use my fork to take a bite of the crispy fried pork.
Ash is staring at me with the same intensity he uses on Scarlett.
I stare back at him and force myself to chew.
My entire body revolts, muscles clenching, mind spinning.
He could’ve poisoned this. He could’ve sneezed on it. Fuck, he might’ve spit in it.
Taking a bite of that food is trusting Scarlett implicitly, with every fiber in my stubborn body. This is me, making room to grow with her. This is me, changing shape so that we fit together better. It’s part of becoming a couple.
“It’s very good,” I answer primly, setting the fork down as Scarlett rolls her eyes at me and Ash smiles into his drink.
His eyes move over to my wife, the precise spot where Bohnes’ eyes have been resting this entire time.
Widow, he’s been staring at me, concerned perhaps about my having touched Papa’s severed finger.
He’s inquired after my mental and emotional health several times. Earnestly.
“Where’s Bastian?” Widow asks, his right arm wrapped around his plate like he’s guarding it. Must be an old habit of his because it doesn’t seem directed at us. He probably went hungry as a child. Sympathy strikes my heart, and I find myself pushing my untouched miso soup in his direction.
I’m given an odd look, but he must just assume I’m too disgusted to eat it. Widow picks up the bowl and drinks it down.
I smile to myself, catching Bohnes’ eye from the corner of my own. He understood my intent, even if nobody else did.
“The Stingray need an oil change or something? He’s putting together the Snow Day vote,” Scarlett says, stuffing the loaded fork into her mouth while studying me with half-lidded eyes. The idea that nobody but Kellin caught me in an act of unprompted altruism was false. Scarlett did, too.
She bites her lip for me.
The reaction inside my body is swift and violent, punishing. I went from being a devout virgin to being an animal.
I snap my glove out of habit and Scarlett’s breath hitches.
“The Snow Day vote? That must be rough for him.” Widow folds his arms, glancing sharply at the doorway that leads to the downstairs hall.
Patricia Force is standing there.
Scarlett goes still. Widow stiffens up. Ash seems to have adjusted his fight-flight-freeze-fawn a few dials. He scrambles up and out of the chair, offering Patricia a bow, his sword clanking as he bends low. He lifts his gaze respectfully, leveling that intensity on Scarlett’s grandmother.
The unraveled version of Ash is much more interesting than the Aspen doppelganger.
“Good evening, Gram,” Bohnes calls cheerfully, parking his black hoodie sleeve on the tabletop and grinning like a villain.
I’ve finally figured out why his smiles look like that.
He doesn’t know how to smile. He’s just imitating.
Watching him with Scarlett though, I see that he’s getting better at it.
“Please,” I begin, sweeping my hand toward the extra chair. “Have a seat, Ms. Force. I speak for all of us when I say we’d be honored if you’d join us for dinner.”
“Gram,” Scarlett murmurs, looking unsure in a way I only see when she’s around her grandma.
I understand completely because I felt that way about my parents, too.
Love and respect. Scarlett knows she’s done something unforgivable in Patricia’s eyes, that she might never be forgiven for it. It’s hurting her.
“I’ll get you some food.” Ash stands up straight, chin raised, lips pressed tight “A glass of water, too.”
He stalks off, muttering rapidly under his breath: “You’re a killer, Ash. Killer, killer, killer.”
Patricia walks over to the table, a flat frown on her face as she looks at Bohnes first. Then Widow. Me.
“The wedding is tomorrow?” she asks, speaking to me directly.
Scarlett swoops in between us and my hands fall naturally to the curves of her waist. Patricia shudders and looks away, like she’s bothered by the sight of me touching Scarlett. Not that it matters. It’s unfortunate she feels that way, but it won’t prevent me from being with my wife.
“Gram, I want you at the wedding more than anything,” Scarlett begins, sighing and reaching up with her left hand to tousle her hair. The ring I gave her shimmers on her finger. “It’s just…not safe. Could be deadly even. That’s a strong possibility.”
“Scarlett,” I whisper, close to her ear.
I stripped my right glove earlier and somehow forgot to put another back on.
I lay my naked palm against her arm, realizing just how much I crave human touch.
The gloves protect me and damage me at the same time.
“If you want Patricia to attend the wedding, she should attend it. We do not back down. We push forward.”
Scarlett whips her head around to stare at me, the rest of her body tense and vibrating. Patricia deigns to take a seat, even allowing Widow to push her chair in for her.
Bohnes folds his hands together and rests his chin on them. “Yes, please, come. Scarlett won’t be able to enjoy the day if you’re not there. She’ll always regret that you didn’t share such an important moment with us.”
“It’ll put her life at risk,” Widow says, taking Scarlett’s side. “I wouldn’t risk it personally.”
“At risk?” Patricia hooks a gaze on Scarlett that reminds me of a falcon. “You traded your sister for a life like this? One where I can’t even attend your wedding.”
It sounds like a genuine question, less angry and more disappointed.
With a sigh, Scarlett turns back to her grandma, lifting her chin.
Ash comes back from the kitchen, shuffling in his house slippers and setting a plate of food and some water in front of Patricia.
She scowls at him but doesn’t say anything.
He moves away and shares a private look with Widow before swapping chairs with him, so he’s as far from Patricia as possible at the small, round table.
“We don’t back down, we push forward.” Scarlett shakes out her hands.
You’d never know she murdered an Oak Valley Prep girl last night unless you were us, watching her climb into bed with a mask of melancholy on her handsome features.
It may take her some time to make peace with everything that’s happened.
“You know what? Yes. Come with us. That’ll enable me to bring more girls with us to the church, rather than leaving them here. ”
Widow sighs and shakes his head.
“Scarlett didn’t trade her sister for this,” he clarifies, addressing Patricia directly.
“Alexis forced her hand. When somebody tries to kill you—especially when it’s more than once—their death is entirely self-defense.
” Widow picks up his water glass, crossing his legs as he leans back in his chair.
Ash is frozen in his seat, face stricken as he grips hard to the wood on either side of his thighs.
I encourage Scarlett to take a seat at the table, pushing her in and then resuming my own spot.
“He isn’t wrong.” Bohnes lifts his own drink up in agreement. “You understand Prescott culture, don’t you, Gram? I’m Scarlett’s Nightmare. If Ash hadn’t shot Alexis, I was going to do it.”
I half expect Patricia to bolt from the room. But I should’ve known better: she’s from Prescott. She is the matriarch that made her granddaughter who she is, gave her a spine of steel.
“I saw Alexis point the gun at you, Scarlett.” Patricia picks up her drink, not smiling but not scowling either. Staring wistfully at the center of the table, a woman who’s seen a lot and somehow manages to keep going without missing a single step. Just like Scarlett.
That’s the end of that discussion.
“I have some ideas for the wedding,” Scarlett begins, reaching for my bare hand under the table. “We’re going to make some unusual modifications.” Under her breath and with a secret, hidden smile that I know is specifically for me, she whispers. “Don’t back down, push forward.”
We sit together at the table long after Patricia leaves, listening to KMZI 66.6.
“Construction in Springfield is off to a rapid-fire start. This afternoon, we got confirmation that several local landmarks have been bulldozed, making room for projects us citizens never asked for. Projects that are destroying the delicate social fabric that holds this place together. Mark my words: this is going to destroy Prescott as a neighborhood. You think it’s bad now?
It’s only going to get worse. Future generations will curse us for our failures. ”