22. Two Days Until Bonding
Chapter twenty-two
Two Days Until Bonding
Laurel
Dinner is a relief. Carrson sits to my left and Samantha to my right. I don’t have to worry or fight or pretend. Abbie and Cicley are seated beyond Sam, so I spend half the meal leaning around her to keep them in the conversation.
By the time dessert is served, a chocolate soufflé, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
Our easy banter and laughter are annoying Carr, who sits at the head of the table with Carrson on his right.
I can tell by the looks he sends us and his repeated attempts to catch Carrson’s eye.
Carrson ignores every one, staying angled toward me so his father gets little more than the back of his shoulder.
Still, Carr notices every breach of propriety. The children of The Order have been raised with impeccable manners. They’ve been taught to sit where they’re placed. To speak only when expected.
Tonight, Samantha talks with her hands. Abbie calls down the table. Carrson laughs too loudly, his arm openly draped over the back of my chair.
They don’t look like dolls arranged around a table. They look young and happy.
At first, Carr’s expression promises a lecture later. But as dinner goes on, his irritation changes. He still looks over, only now his gaze lingers.
He’s spent Carrson’s entire life teaching him how to survive and almost none of it teaching him how to be happy. Now that Carrson is laughing with no danger to conquer and no performance to give, his father doesn’t seem to know what to do except watch.
Dessert is cleared away, and Carr rises to his feet. He lifts his champagne glass, which I notice has held only water all evening, and taps the tines of his fork against the crystal.
Three times.
The ringing carries through the room and out across the grounds. Conversations stop beneath the tents. The orchestra falls silent.
“Members of The Order,” Carr intones once every face has turned toward him. “I welcome you to my home in celebration of my son Carrson’s bonding to Laurel Bellefleur, a lamb lost along the way and now returned to us, her rightful family. Amen.”
All along the table, men and women bow their heads.
“Amen.”
They touch their foreheads, chests, left shoulders, then right, whispering, “In the name of the Father, the Mother, the Son, and the Daughter.”
The prayer sends the same prickling sensation under my skin that it did the first time I heard it, back when Abbie said it at Rosewood Hall.
A lost lamb.
Under the tablecloth, Carrson’s hand finds mine like he understands I need the comfort.
“Before we begin the masquerade ball, I’d like to acknowledge some of the outstanding achievements made by our members over the past year.
Our esteemed colleague and my personal friend, Dr. Wainwright, has developed a new mRNA vaccine that reduces the risk of death from influenza by seventy percent. ”
Thom stands and bows to loud applause.
Carrson leans close enough that his breath warms my ear. “Thomson did half the research, but of course his father’s name will be the only one on the paper.”
My eyes fly to Thomson. He claps along with everyone else, his expression revealing nothing.
“In addition,” Carr continues, “Mother Amari Dessouvre oversaw the installation of solar-powered water purification systems across forty-two villages in Chad, providing safe drinking water to more than eighty thousand people.”
The dignitaries I saw Rebecca speaking with rise together, applauding an elegant woman near the center of the room who inclines her head.
“Father Eli Martinelle coordinated with banks, border agencies, and law enforcement in seven countries to dismantle one of the largest human-trafficking networks in Europe. One hundred and thirteen women and children were returned to their families.”
The applause comes louder this time.
Carr goes on. A fleet of private helicopters delivered medicine to towns cut off by flooding. An Order-funded legal team overturned nine wrongful convictions after uncovering falsified evidence.
These aren’t vanity projects. People are alive because of the men and women in this room. Children have clean water. Families got daughters back. Innocent people walked out of prison.
The proof is all around me. The Order has the power to change the world for the better.
Which makes every cruelty it preserves, every injustice it protects, so much worse.
I lift my gaze to Rebecca. She’s already watching me.
The irony passes between us without a word. An organization capable of saving strangers has never learned how to stop hurting its own.
The list continues until I tune him out and focus on the hypnotic circles Carrson’s thumb draws over my palm. I only return to the speech when Carr begins discussing science, which has always been my catnip.
“I’ll be vague about this next achievement because not every member present has been initiated into our highest levels of security. Still, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the true purpose of The Order. Our pursuit of perfection.”
The crowd goes eerily still. Older members lean forward in their chairs, their expressions rapt.
I sit straighter.
Carrson’s thumb stops in the center of my palm, leaving the last circle unfinished.
“The latest clinical tests and trials have been extremely encouraging. Our subjects are performing above expectations, and we have recently introduced new variables that we hope will act as catalysts for further growth. Soon we’ll move into Phase Four.
I’m proud to say we’ve never been closer to success.
I thank everyone in this room for their contributions of time, money, and intellect, as well as their continued commitment to our cause. ”
Clinical trials.
Human subjects.
But performing above expectations at what?
Everyone rises in a standing ovation. Their cheers swell until the sound presses on my eardrums and echoes inside my skull.
Carr surveys the crowd and thanks them for their attention.
“I’ll address you again during the midnight toast,” he says once the commotion dies down. “It will be a special one, so make sure to have champagne in hand. In the meantime, please enjoy the masquerade ball we’ve prepared for you.”
“Midnight toast?” I ask.
Carrson rolls his eyes. “Another chance for my father to pontificate.”
“Come on, guys.” Sam catches my arm and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s dance,” she says, already snapping her fingers and bobbing her head.
We retrieve our masks from the table. Abbie’s is shaped like a cat’s face, with oval openings around her eyes, a triangular nose, and black whiskers curling over both cheeks.
I laugh when she puts it on. In return, she raises one hand beside her face, curls her fingers into claws, and hisses.
Mine is covered in red lace and sequins that match my dress. It conceals the skin around my eyes and almost nothing else. Carrson’s is plain black, making the lower half of his face appear more severe.
“You look like Zorro,” I tell him.
“Who?”
“Of course you don’t know who Zorro is.”
He adjusts the mask. “Is that an insult?”
“Not at all. He’s a masked hero, protecting the weak.”
The mask can’t hide the incredulous look he gives me at the word hero. He’s told me before that he sees a villain when he looks in the mirror. I still can’t make that reflection match the man who’s been protecting me since the day we met.
He turns when Sam calls his name. I use the distraction to angle my body away from the table and pull down the edge of my neckline to check the brand.
Sweat has thinned the makeup over one arm of the cross.
A faint pink line shows through, but only because I know where to look.
I press the fabric back into place before Carrson looks my way again.
By the time dinner ends, the ballroom has been transformed into a nightclub. The chandeliers are dimmed, spinning lights sweep along the floor, and a DJ stands behind a booth with headphones covering his ears.
“I thought this was going to be old-fashioned,” I call to Carrson, raising my voice so he can hear me over the techno beat that booms from speakers hidden in the ceiling. “Like we’d be doing a waltz or the minuet.”
“What can I say?” He raises his hands to the ceiling and lets his hips sway. “The Order knows how to party.”
I laugh and wrap both hands around the back of his neck.
The beat of the music moves through his body into mine.
The first time we’d danced together, I’d told him I didn’t know how.
I still don’t, but Carrson makes dancing easy.
He finds the rhythm, and I let him guide me into it.
Maybe because this is the one place where following him doesn’t feel like surrendering.
Sam and all our friends dance around us, so that we’re one mass of moving bodies, but all my focus is on Carrson.
He pulls me closer, our hips brushing, and we lose ourselves in the song.
One song turns into several. Somewhere along the way, I stop counting how many people are watching us. Then I stop caring.
My feet ache inside my heels, strands of hair have escaped around my face, and Carrson’s tie has disappeared.
Abbie steals him for a song. Sam pulls me into a circle with Cicley.
People I met earlier wave me over or call my name as I pass.
Every time Carrson and I are separated, we find each other again.
When the DJ shifts into a slower song, Carrson draws me close, pushing the bodice of my dress into the burn, but I would rather hurt against him than step away. The bass eases enough that we no longer have to shout. Carrson bends his head toward mine.
“I don’t want you to think I doubted you, because I didn’t.”
I laugh. “A sentence that starts like that always has a but in it.”