I know he’s here, even before he’s announced. It’s a squirmy, crawly, prickly sensation, like a blood moon or crows circling overhead. There was a woman in town who used to go on and on about feeling the weather in her bones. I imagine it’s something like that.
The parlor, which I’ve passed through before, is packed with important people who know their worth, or perhaps more importantly, know the worth of the person they’re standing next to. Servers buzz about the room, passing shiny brass trays of delicious foods that are mostly left untouched under the soothing glow of diffuse milk glass lamps. People hover around the girls dressed like fussy Christmas gifts, talking about the very objects they ignore. Everyone is focused on themselves, and so no one notices the way curly-haired Trina flinches every time her benefactor brushes her back; or the way Greta stiffens in her aubergine dress when her red-nosed Uncle takes another drink.
Conrad stands in the formal parlor, his grayness a shock against the polished walnut panels, the gilded lighting, and the velvety earth tones of the space. Everything about him being here feels unnatural, from his practiced smile to the heavier, formal fabric of his suit, to the little silver star he wears pinned to his stark white, button-down shirt. I make my way toward him, but nearly trip as the smell of cocoa butter hits my nose.
“Well, there she is,” CJ says, his eyes crawling up and down my body, irritation pinching the features of his face. A familiar retraction settles over me, the shell I use as armor taking over as I let numbness fill its place. Conrad looks away from the acquaintance he’d been charming and takes similar stock of my appearance. But with more resigned disappointment.
“Arden, ” he says, lifting an eyebrow at my simple navy dress; I found it buried deep in the closet. “You look well.” He returns to his conversation, ignoring me, his obligatory acknowledgment complete. CJ moves close, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at my fully covered breasts.
“So disappointing,” he whispers, then slides his finger up and down my arm. “All those pretty dresses to choose from, and this is what you wear?” The thought that he has seen or touched the clothes that hang in my closet, even if I haven’t been wearing them, sends a violent chill into the pit of my stomach. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue.
“I’m sorry you’re unhappy,” I say, my voice almost monotone.
“I didn’t say I was unhappy. In fact, if I had to guess by looking around the room, I’d say your time here is just about up. Maybe it’s time to remind you where you truly belong.” He raises a sharp blonde eyebrow, but I don’t move away. Anger boils deep in my belly, and then quickly simmers out. There’s no point. He’ll have me when he wants me. Just as he always has.
“How was your trip?” I ask, feeling eyes on me. More than a few of the girls have sent subtle glances our way, likely trying to figure out who CJ is, and whether he’s a commodity they should explore.
“Long and boring,” he whines. “The return trip will be much more interesting, I think. Conrad will be staying on for business.” His mouth curves into a lascivious sneer, and he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. My cheeks flush red hot at his maliciously intimate gesture. I am not who he wants me to be. I am me, and he cannot have me. I bite the edge of my tongue until the gentle, throbbing pain distracts me from the threat standing in front of me.
“I’m enjoying my time here. I’ve learned a lot.”
“Well, clearly you’re not learning enough. Look at the other girls—I mean, it’s like you’re not even trying.” I look across the sea of bright, beautiful dresses, sparkling hairpins, and lipsticks in crimson, red, and scarlet.
“I mean, you’ve got tits popping out left and right, and then here, in the corner, lies the old spinster. Nobody wants to screw that.” I squirm at his assessment, but say nothing. “Fortunately for me, I know what that prudish dress is hiding.” He licks his bottom lip again, and his pupils dilate. I feel my shoulders curve in, and I wrap my arms around myself, angling away from him, from the room, as if his thoughts are contagious. He brushes my soft sleeve with his awful fingertips.
“I’m not sure I want to wait for the ride home—”
“Hello!” Declan interrupts with his bright mask of a smile, and CJ glares, his irritation obvious to no one but me. “I’m Declan. You must be the younger Conrad?” CJ turns on his megawatt smile and instantly transforms into the beloved golden boy the rest of the world thinks him to be.
“Yes, but please, call me CJ—everyone does. It’s a privilege to meet you, sir,” he says, shaking Declan’s hand with hearty enthusiasm. I take a long, slow breath through my nose and release it through barely parted lips as my heart hammers away. I’m surprised nobody notices the navy fabric of my dress vibrating with the pulse.
“Oh, please, call me Declan. That’s quite the handshake you’ve got there,” Declan says, beaming.
“That’s quite the compliment from you, sir.”
“And this must be Conrad Senior?” he asks as Conrad turns toward us with his own politico smile. It warms his face and reveals the handsome man the rest of the world sees.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Declan,” Conrad says, shaking Declan’s hand with the same vigor his son did. Declan places a protective hand on the small of my back, the pressure just enough that I can feel the tension in his fingers, the question that they ask. CJ’s nostrils flare, but his smile doesn’t shift. I swallow. CJ doesn’t like people touching his things. I know what Declan’s trying to do, but I’m not sure he’s doing me any favors. If I know anything, it’s that CJ always manages to get his way.
“I’m so glad you could make it. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Arden, and I’m sure you’ll be impressed with what she’s achieved here.” Declan’s voice is strained. I doubt Conrad or CJ notice, but I do.
“I’m sure we will,” Conrad says, a thin, slick acid seeping into his voice.
“Declan,” Siobhan calls from behind him, her eyes on his hand against my back. Conrad’s face lights up in a way I’ve only seen a few select times before, and only on a big payday.
“Yes, Mother, this is Conrad Laarsworth, Arden’s benefactor, and his son, CJ.”
“Yes, I know,” she says, her voice not reflective of her forced smile. “It’s nice to see you again, as always. I trust business remains fruitful on the peninsula?” Conrad blanches, then clears his throat and returns with a lazy smile.
“Yes, of course.”
“Excellent,” she says. Then, turning to Declan, “Let’s not linger too long.” Her eyes drift to me, and she presses her lips into a thin white slash. Declan’s eyes pinch at the corners as he gives us a small nod.
“Please excuse me. I need to make the rounds, but I look forward to speaking with you more tonight,” Declan says. He gives me a quick smile and squeezes my arm. He runs his thumb up and down my elbow, and then walks away with Siobhan on his arm, heading toward Avery. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Conrad snorts and says something under his breath that sounds like, “Waste of time and money . . . .” He walks away, leaving me alone with CJ.
The crowded room gives him confidence. He tucks my hand into the tight crook of his elbow, his fingers pausing as they brush the sensitive skin around my wrist where my bracelet rests. He’s tense. Too tense. His smile is too broad, his movements too measured. He nods at Fiona, and she bats her eyelashes, seeing only the handsome facade and not the danger that lies underneath. He’s seething, and my time is limited. He leads me toward the corner, away from too many eyes and ears.
“Have you been making up stories again?” he asks, his eyes wide and twitchy. Does he honestly think I’m going to tell somebody here about him?
“Just following orders,” I say, trying to pull my arm away. He tightens his grip, squeezing my fingers a little too hard.
“I doubt those orders are the same ones I give,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He frowns and reaches for my neck. Lifting a curl, he takes far too much time placing it behind my shoulder. My stomach churns, and I blink, hard. I am not who he wants me to be. I am me, and he cannot have me.
“Nobody here gives that kind of order,” I say. I give him a sweet smile. His smile strains, and he squeezes my hand into a vice grip. I wince, giving into the pressure so nothing pops out of place the way it has before.
“You’re hurting me,” I say quietly, breathing through the pain to keep from drawing attention.
“We both know you like that,” he says with his same, megawatt smile. I don’t respond, and he squeezes my fingers tighter. I feel something pop in my middle finger and suck in a sharp breath as the white-hot pain radiates quickly. Tears blur my vision, and I swallow hard.
“Tell me you like it,” he says, dangerously low. The combination of his voice and the pain makes me retch, but I swallow it back, and don’t back down from his stare. A bell rings, silencing conversation. He doesn’t loosen his grip, but turns, staring in the direction of the chime with a wide, cheerful smile. The pain in my finger is all-consuming, and the room is a blur of voices, followed by silence as Siobhan gives a speech. I blink, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall, and see dark hair swaying with a confident swagger toward the opposite corner. But then it’s gone, and Beck is nowhere. Declan is nowhere to be seen, either. The room buzzes, and people shift to the heavy double doors.
CJ lets go, and I can feel the relief spreading into my face, my cheeks glowing hot with defeat. I bite my tongue to steady my quivering lower lip. He leans in and places a hand on my shoulder, turns me slightly so the room can see only half of my face. Then, leaning in under the guise of kissing my cheek, he instead sucks on my hidden earlobe, holding me firm.
“I don’t ever want to see you in this fucking dress again.” His breath is hot on my ear. “Don’t piss around too long, Arden. I’ll be looking for you.” Then he pulls back with a smile like warm cocoa and walks away, leaving me shaking against the wall.