The water is too cold, making my throbbing fingers prickle with pins and needles. They’re swollen, but nothing looks wrong, and nothing tingles like the last time. Nothing is broken, nothing’s dislocated. It’s probably just a sprain, but still, it aches. There’s not much I can do to fix it, though, so I just keep running it under the frigid water, massaging sweet-smelling soap into it and hoping it will wash away the stench of his awful scent.
When I emerge from the bathroom, there’s a white box sitting on my bed. It’s tied with a red ribbon and positioned so that I will see it as soon as I exit the bathroom. Chills roll down my spine as I scan the room for other signs of intrusion, but everything else appears to be as it should. I’m not sure if it’s in response to the gesture of a gift, or the fear of a stranger having entered my room while I was in the bathroom, but I shudder in a way I haven’t for weeks. Not since I left the peninsula and came here.
I untie the ribbon with my good hand and unfold the delicate tissue paper. Inside is a dress. I pull it out of the box and gasp. Made of honey-gold satin, with no embellishments, it’s cut on the bias into a low-cut V that flows into a subtle trumpet skirt that positively sparkles. Already, I can imagine how it will swish around my feet as I walk. I check the box for a card and read it with shaky hands:
I drop the paper and the dress and run, reaching the toilet just as I heave. Even here, where I’m supposed to be safe, CJ has this kind of power over me. I can’t wear that dress. But if I don’t, there will be a scene. Maybe Conrad will decide he’s had enough and toss me into whatever car they arrived in. Maybe I was never meant to fly this high. A sharp knock at the door startles me. Before I can respond, Meredith is standing there with her kit. She looks at me and rolls her eyes.
“What in God’s name is taking you so long? Let’s get you ready!” She pushes me into a chair, and I comply, the fight gone. She makes quick work of my hair and twists it up, piling curl after curl on top of my head.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice as numb as I feel.
“Oh, your benefactor requested your hair be pulled up for a change.” I don’t even bother to ask if she means CJ. I know she does. She applies makeup, and then helps me into the craziest undergarments I’ve ever seen. She turns, gathering something from the bed, and when she holds up the dress, I freeze.
“Please don’t make me wear that,” I say quietly. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“What are you talking about? The other girls would kill for this dress. It’s gorgeous! And so daring! You’ll be the talk of the ball!” Yeah, I’ll be the talk of the ball, all right—when someone finds CJ groping me in this dress. She holds it up in front of me, and I stare at it.
“Turn it around a sec?” I ask. She rolls her eyes again, but does as I ask. The back is high and modest, forming a soft, sloping curve across the shoulders. I examine the bodice and find the zipper is hidden on the side. A tiny fire ignites inside me, and I decide I’m not going to suffer this abuse—at least, not without a little fight.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the Great Hall wearing my beautiful golden gown, backwards. My chest and front side are completely covered, while my back is mostly bare. Meredith was brilliant and found a long gold chain to drape around the waist. It disguises some of the seams and creates a more flattering waistline.
All eyes are on me as I enter. I don’t know what I expected after several formal events where everyone dressed in silver, gold, and every gemstone under the sun, but somehow, I’m the only one in a metallic dress. I look like a glittering star among a sea of subtle blues and greens. Declan’s talking to Avery, but his eyes are instantly on me. His boyish grin makes my stomach flutter.
CJ wastes little time as he makes his way over, and I can tell from the slight snarl in the edges of his stiff smile that he’s furious.
“What is wrong with you?” he asks through gritted teeth. I look down at my dress and play dumb.
“What do you mean? Don’t you like it?” He takes my tender fingers and squeezes, forcing me to bend.
“You’re wearing it backwards, you moron,” he says through a tight smile. My eyes blur at the pain, but I focus on it, because it’s real.
“Excuse me, miss?” Beck’s affable voice booms from behind us, and CJ drops my hand. I turn around, stunned: a handsome man in a clean, sharp tuxedo stands there. His dark, coarse hair is slicked back into a bun, and his fiery green eyes narrow.
“Yes?” I say, getting my voice back.
“Arden” he says, taking my good hand and gently pressing his lips to it. His neatly trimmed beard tickles the skin on the back of my hand, and his eyes search mine for an answer I can’t give. “I thought that was you. Don’t you look lovely tonight.”
“And who is this?” Conrad’s booming voice interrupts the exchange.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. My name is Sobeck Hermeston. I’m a personal guest of the minister.” Conrad raises an unimpressed eyebrow and sniffs.
“This is Conrad Laarsworth, my benefactor. And his son, CJ,” I say.
“CJ . . .” he says, mulling over the name.
“Laarsworth,” CJ says, irritated. Beck’s eyes snap to him, and his jaw works in a tight circle. He shifts his weight just enough to create a barrier between me and CJ.
“Yes, I know who you are, ” Conrad says. His voice is an impressive mix of distracted hostility. “How do you know my charge?”
“We met at a previous state dinner,” he says. Conrad’s sharp eyes narrow on me.
“Well, how about that. Our princess dining with a womanizing pirate.” He speaks low enough it’s not part of the conversation, but loud enough to make sure we can both hear. Something uncomfortable uncoils in my belly, and CJ’s eyes are wide, flicking back and forth.
“Yes, well, sadly I will not be dining with you tonight,” Beck says, and I feel a little crush of disappointment.
“Ah, yes. Sad,” CJ snorts.
“I did notice your table, though. It was hard to miss. May I escort you?”
“And which table is that?” Conrad asks.
“Table one, sir,” he says. Conrad’s eyes sparkle, and his brows round into satisfied arcs. CJ’s face is unreadable, which terrifies me.
“Wonderful. Lead the way.” Beck takes my swollen fingers with such a delicate touch, I have no doubt he witnessed the injury. He places them gently in the crook of his arm, floating a protective hand over top.
“Thank you,” I whisper, so numb, I don’t even feel the words pass my lips. His nod is almost imperceptible, and he makes small talk with Conrad the rest of the way to the table. When we get there, he shows the men their seats and hangs back for a moment, gently brushing his rough fingertips over mine.
“He touches you again, I’ll kill him.” Beck’s voice is low and matter-of-fact as he helps me into my assigned chair. Across the table, Fiona and her parents sit with Siobhan. She looks up at Beck and me, and grimaces, but then pauses for a moment, as if trying to decide something. He’s gone before I can thank him, much less see whatever it is Siobhan is looking at.
Conrad is in high spirits now. He shifts to speak to his newest acquaintance, moving to sit a few seats over, and I am left alone. Fiona doesn’t engage with anyone other than her parents and Siobhan. And Siobhan has made it clear I’m as good as invisible. Alone and invisible may be simple insults here, but from where I’m from, they’re a more dangerous game.
“Finally,” CJ says, taking Conrad’s chair. He sets down a cocktail for me and takes a long sip of his own. The frothy pink beverage smells sickly sweet. I want no part of it, certain I know what it contains. He readjusts his chair and nods at Fiona, who again practically beams at him. I’m not surprised. He is indisputably handsome, with his sea-blue eyes, sun-kissed blonde hair, and wide grin. Once upon a time, before I knew better, I would have found him attractive. But nobody else sees what he hides beneath that perfect face. Nobody else sees what he’s actually capable of.
I stare at nothing, drifting in my thoughts, not listening, when I feel his hand in my lap. I push it away, but he grabs my injured hand, squeezing my tender fingers again. Wincing, I bite my tongue to distract myself from the sharper pain. He lets go, and I cradle my sore fingers in my other hand. He slides his hand between my legs, pushing my dress between my thighs. He says something to the table and looks at me, and everyone laughs. I realize I’m expected to smile, but all I want to do is scream. Don’t you people know what he’s doing to me?
“What’s the problem, girl? You’re at a fabulous ball, and you look like you’ve swallowed a spider!” Conrad booms, and the adults chuckle while Fiona’s mean laugh floats on top like dangerous liqueur. CJ presses his fingers into my thigh, and I sit up straighter, grinning through gritted teeth. I am not who he wants me to be. I am me, and he cannot have me. I scan the room for a sign of Declan or Beck, though I don’t know why—it’s not like either one of them can help. Nobody can.
“Good girl,” CJ says under his breath, patting my thigh like I’m a trained animal. “Have something to drink.” He nods to my untouched beverage.
“I’m not thirsty.” I know better than to drink anything he’s touched. He looks irritated, but returns to the conversation. The food finally comes, but I’m in a haze. The ball is just something happening around me. The rich aroma of our delicately dressed poultry mixes with CJ’s saccharine cologne, and I’m too nauseated to eat. I push my food around my plate as his hand remains between my legs, and Conrad laughs at a joke Fiona makes. I don’t have to hear it to know it was likely made at my expense.
Declan arrives at some point, but I barely notice. He sits next to his mother and says something in her ear. CJ squeezes my thigh, digging his fingers into my flesh, and I force a grin. Declan’s gaze darkens as he meets my eyes, but he’s distracted quickly by Fiona and her family, so that I’m left to fade into the background. CJ finally lifts his hand so he can use his knife, and I let out a measured, shaky breath.
Course after course arrives, and as CJ drinks more and more of the free-flowing cocktails, his hand becomes equally more problematic. By the cheese course, he’s tugging at my skirt hard enough I feel the stitching pull. I stand, nearly knocking over my chair. Everyone stares.
“I’m sorry. I need—excuse me,” I mumble, glimpsing an irate Conrad as I flee. I stumble over my own feet as I go to the nearest powder room, pushing through the polished door to the sanctuary it provides. The dress feels so tight around me, the neck too high. I wonder how long I can hide, or if I can squeeze down the sink drain.
I splash water on my face before I remember the makeup. I find a soft linen towel and blot around my makeup, grateful for Meredith’s waterproof mascara. Under the soft light filtered through more milk glass shades, I look rattled, but at least I don’t look like I’m about to die. I can’t go back, but I can’t hide here, either. Someone would come and get me; someone would find me. As if on cue, a gentle rap sounds against the door.
“Arden?” It’s Beck. His voice is clear and sharp, and everything comes into focus for a moment. “If you have a bottle of something in there, knock once. If you need a bottle of something in there, do nothing.” I open the door. Beck leans against the doorframe, bottle of brandy in hand. There’s a healthy smirk on his face, but worry clouds his green eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“I’ve seen you when you’re fine. This is not fine,” he says firmly.
“It’s just warm in there.”
“It’s not warm in there.” He shakes his head, refusing to grant me the lie.
“I hate these things.”
“Me too, but if you recall, I sat next to you at one of these things pretty recently. This isn’t—”
“Please don’t,” I say, holding up a hand. He sighs and takes a step back.
“Arden, is he—”
“Everything all right down there?” A guard stands about ten yards away, somehow looking both bored and far too interested. Beck tilts his head, his eyes begging me to do something. I don’t know what he wants me to do, what he thinks he can do. I close my eyes and exhale. I push the panic, the fear, and the dread down, swallowing hard, and force a vacant smile onto my face. My face is not me. My body is not me. I’ve endured before. I can do it again. If I want to remain here, I’ll do it again.
“Yes, we’re fine,” I say. The guard looks unconvinced, so Beck takes over.
“I bumped into the lady, and we were exchanging pleasantries on our way to get some fresh air.” The guard eyes the brandy, and Beck smiles as if he’s been caught.
“Oh, this? It’s mine.” He removes the cap with the same hand he holds the booze and lifts it to his mouth, draining a solid quarter of the bottle in one pass. The guard cringes and turns back to me.
“Perhaps you’d best let me see you back.” My stomach lurches, and I look at Beck. His eyes plead with me, but I still don’t know what he wants me to do.
“Fine.” We follow the guard, and he opens the door as Beck says something I don’t catch under the roar of people cheering, the clink of dozens of glasses, and the applause. I’m not sure what they’ve been toasting, but music swells as I return to my seat. Fiona leads Declan to the dance floor.
“They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” CJ says, his breath hot in my ear. They really do. Between Declan’s smile, and Fiona’s hair, they’re beautiful together.
This is how the story ends: the girl who was born to be queen gets the guy destined to rule, and the little orphan girl goes back to nowhere with nothing, where nobody is ever bothered by her problems again. It’s how this story always ends. I know that, everyone knows that. As soon as Fiona wins, I’ll be forgotten—she’ll insist on it. Declan may think he’s sympathetic, but I really am alone in this. I reach for my champagne with my good hand, accidentally sloshing a little over the edge. I bring it to my lips and drink the entire glass in one long slurp.
“Slow down, girl!” CJ says with a lusty laugh. Voices around the table titter with disapproval as a passing waiter refills my glass. I down that one, as well. The other girls soon fill the dance floor with their fathers, uncles, grandparents, and benefactors. As the numbing alcohol takes hold, everyone blends together in a warm, pleasant haze.
“CJ!” Conrad barks under his breath.
“Arden, why don’t we dance?” CJ says. He takes my bad hand and gives it a slight squeeze. I pop to my feet, the world buzzing as I stand. He leads me to the dance floor and holds me in the proper position for a waltz. The revelers’ commotion swirls into a soupy fog. Their faces and voices blur together. I catch a glimpse of sweet, golden Declan, but then his face dissipates into a mass of red hair and mean laughter.
I trip, but CJ catches me. He holds me so tightly, it’s as if he anticipated it. Fear and panic awaken in my veins, but they’re weak, muted. Too fragile to gain hold.
“You put something in my drink?” My tongue is too heavy, and my voice feels miles away. My hand slips down his arm, and he tightens his hold on me, his palm against my bare back, flesh against flesh. But I am not my back. I am not who he wants me to be. I am me, and he cannot have me.
“You weren’t being a good girl,” he says. I try to respond, but my mouth won’t move as he runs a finger over the bracelet on my wrist. “Oh, come on, Arden. Wearing his cheap little handcuff doesn’t mean he’s going to choose you. As soon as they see what kind of used trash you are, you’re out of here. Let’s expedite that, shall we?” Finally, I’m able to move my mouth around one soggy syllable:
“Why?”
“Why? Oh, honey, that’s sweet,” he says as he slides a finger under the back hem of my dress. “I’m bored. The other girls aren’t nearly as fun as you. Neve is soiled. You must know that. And Carla . . . well, she’s only so useful.” Heat burns behind my eyes, and my head spins. “I mean, we both always knew you’d come back to me. It was just a matter of when. I think it’s been long enough.” He lunges with me slightly, and my head tilts to the side, out of my control.
“Arden? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice heavy and muddled. I can’t quite make out his face. Everything is fuzzy, and I gag on the thick smell of tobacco and cocoa butter. Someone says something about “too much champagne, and no food.” The tips of my shoes drag on the ground as he snakes an arm under my shoulders and pretends to help me walk. Once we’re in the hallway, he tosses me over his shoulder. I flop against his back as he pounds down the hall. I know I should scream, but my mouth won’t open.
I’m not sure where we are when he sets me down. He holds me tight around the waist and sucks on my neck hard enough to leave bruises. I won’t remember this tomorrow. But until then, I have to endure. I push everything from my head. I am not who he wants me to be. I am me, and he cannot have me. I try to close my eyes, but they won’t listen. I know how this goes. At some point, the darkness will come, and then, I won’t have to see it happen. Until then, I’m trapped, numb enough to almost block out the awful wet of his tongue on my neck. The room spins, and I’m laying on my left cheek, my hips over something hard.
I focus on a spot—an andiron set. The brass glints in the firelight. I focus on the poky one, the one I want to swing against his skull. I am not who he wants me to be. I am me, and he cannot have me. I keep repeating my mantra, focusing on the spot I’ve chosen. Soon, nothing around me exists . . . nothing but the smell of sweet and brine and citrus . . .
A crash shakes my body, but I don’t move . . . CJ isn’t touching me anymore . . . there’s orange peel, like on the peninsula . . . a shadow blocks my view of the andirons . . . a loud crack, then a thud. Fabric rustles, and my legs are warm again . . . there’s shouting.
“ . . . you’ll pay for this . . .”
“ . . . never again . . .”
“ . . . how could you not know . . .”
The voices all blur together as I close my eyes and surrender to the green-gold darkness.