Текст книги "Bang"

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

STANDING IN FRONT of the windows, I look down and watch as the snowplows make their way through the city, clearing the streets. I left Declan’s room early this morning while he was still sleeping. I wanted to build the mystery and chase, and waking up in his arms would make it too easy for him, and from what I’ve learned about men, easy leads to a shallow investment. I need Declan to be fully immerged if I have any chance at this working out, so I quietly slipped out of his room.

I laugh when I hear the knock on my door since last night he took it upon himself to just barge in on me with no warning. But it isn’t Declan standing on the other side; it’s room service.

“Mr. McKinnon ordered breakfast for you this morning,” he says as he wheels in a white-clothed cart with a French press and a platter of fresh fruit and crullers.

“When was this request made?” I ask.

“Maybe an hour or so ago, Mrs. Vanderwal,” he says. “May I pour you a cup?”

“No, thanks.”

“Would you like anything else?”

“It seems Mr. McKinnon has covered all his bases this morning. Thank you though,” I tell him before he turns to leave. The pit of my stomach pinches and this display should please me, but instead, irritation swarms. I should have never connected to his comfort last night. It was a foolish move on my part, and now I’m pissed at myself.

I leave the food and coffee and head to the shower to clean up. Not having any other clothes besides what I wore yesterday and the pajamas, I slip back into my dress and press a little powder on my face from the compact in my purse and then dry my hair.

Bennett calls in the late morning, worried about me getting stuck in the storm yesterday, but I assure him that I’m fine and should be home later today now that the city streets have been plowed. We talk for a while, and when I hear another knock, it’s then that we say our goodbyes and hang up.

As I open the door, Declan walks right in, looking more put together than me in his tailored suit, white button-up left open at the neck, and no tie.

“What, no breaking and entering today?” I say, my words laced with the remaining irritation from earlier.

“I left the key on your coffee table last night,” he responds as he walks over to the food cart. “You haven’t touched anything.”

“I don’t need you catering to me, assuming you know what I like to eat or that it’s your right to even make assumptions about me,” I snap while I walk into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“So, we’re back to steely-bitch Nina?”

Turning to look at him, I say, “I’m going to have a cup of tea and then I’d like my car to be ready so I can go home.”

“It’s still snowing.”

“The plows already came through.”

He walks over to the kitchen and stands by the bar, asking, “What happened to you this morning? I woke up and you were gone.”

“Your ego bruised?” I say with a condescending grin that pisses him off.

Rounding the bar, he backs me against the countertop, and hisses, “Now it’s time for you to cut the shit.” The kettle starts to squeal, and before I can turn to get it, he reaches over and slams it on the other burner, startling me, and flips the knob off. Caging me in with his arms, his tone is hard when he says, “Your games are starting to piss me off, and I don’t like being played.”

“And what about your games, Declan? The ones you’ve been playing since the night I met you?”

“Did I not apologize to you?” he questions. “Don’t forget that you came to me last night.”

“Moment of weakness. Won’t happen again. So if you were hoping—”

“God, you’re fucking aggravating.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” I say as I move to push him back, and when he keeps his stance and doesn’t budge, I bark, “Let me out.”

“No.”

Pushing my hands against his hardened chest, I get pissed. “I’m serious, Declan. Back up!”

“No.”

“Let me go!”

“Not until you stop bullshitting me. Stop lying, and tell me why you came to me last night.”

Pressing my chest against his, I narrow my eyes, saying, “I already told you. Moment of weakness.”

He grabs me above the elbows, biting down hard before saying, “And I told you not to lie.”

I fist my hands, jerking my body away from him, and he lets go of me. He stays back while I walk across the room, putting space between us, and go over to the windows.

“You think I get off on encroaching on a married woman?” he asks.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I keep my back to him.

“You think I’m an asshole?” he continues. “Join the club. I’m a fucking ass, but I can’t help how you make me feel when you’re around.”

I can feel the heat of him as he moves in behind me. His hands find my shoulders, and he gently tugs to turn me to face him, but I cast my eyes downward.

“Tell me I’m not alone here, or tell me I am because the moment I think I can read you, you flip on me.” When I look up at him, his eyes hold hope in my response. “Tell me why you came to me last night.”

“Because . . .” I begin, but let it linger.

“Tell me.”

“Because I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Why?”

“Declan . . .” I hesitate.

“Why, Nina?”

Lowering my head, my voice cracks perfectly when I say, “Because I’m lonely.” He runs his hands from my shoulders, up my neck, and to my cheeks, angling me up to him. As I look into his eyes, I add, “Whether he’s here or not, I’m lonely.”

“And when I’m here?” he questions.

“I don’t feel so alone.”

He releases a breath and drops his forehead to mine as I grip my hands around his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was a dick to you yesterday.”

“I wasn’t very nice either.”

He lifts his head, telling me, “Don’t leave. Stay. Let me make it up to you.”

“I can’t. I need to go home.”

“Why?”

With a light laugh, I say, “Well, for one, I need to change into some clean clothes.”

“So go home and change. I’ll pick you up.”

“What are we gonna do?” I ask.

“When’s the last time you had any fun?” I shrug my shoulders and he says, “So let’s have some fun.”

A COUPLE HOURS later, I’m back home. Declan called a little bit ago, saying he was on his way and to be sure I was dressed warm. So I’ve made sure to comply since the temperatures are no less than frigid as the snow continues to fall.

When the doorman calls to let me know Declan is here, I grab my wool coat, scarf, gloves, and knit hat. I see Declan standing in the lobby as the elevator doors open, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him dressed down in a pair of dark wash jeans and grey sweater under his black wool coat. He looks sharp, and when he turns towards me, his smile grows.

“You ready?” he asks as we walk towards each other.

“I’m not sure,” I respond warily. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Come on.”

I follow him out the front doors and see his car parked along the street, but he leads me in the opposite direction.

“We’re not driving?”

“No.”

I slip on my ivory knit hat and wrap my scarf a couple more times around my neck while he watches with a smile and then holds his hand out for me. I don’t take it at the risk of someone seeing me, so when I begin to walk, he places his hand on the small of my back as he leads us across the street to Millennium Park.

“You know it’s closed, right?” I ask when he leads us to the ice rink. “The snow’s too thick.”

“It’s closed for everyone in the city, but you.”

“What?”

“Mr. McKinnon,” a young man greets as we approach the rink.

“Walter, thanks for doing this,” Declan says as they shake hands.

“Any time, man,” he responds and then looks at me, asking, “You ready?”

“We’re skating?”

Declan laughs, and Walter says, “That’s the deal we made. You ever been?”

Slightly embarrassed, I tell him, “Actually . . . no. I haven’t.”

“Never?” Declan asks, and when I shake my head, he says, “But you live here in the park.” When I shrug my shoulders, he jokes, “This oughta be fun,” and I smile at his mischievous grin.

After we grab our skates, Walter opens the gate to the rink, and I grab ahold of the metal railing as Declan steps out onto the ice with ease.

“Take my hand,” he instructs, seeing my nervousness.

“This is embarrassing,” I tell him.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“You’re always so uptight, Nina,” he says. “Come on, take my hand.”

“I’m gonna fall on my ass.”

He glides over to me, holding out both of his hands, and tells me, “Let go of the railing and take my hands.”

Placing one hand in his, I step onto the ice before letting go of the railing and giving him my other hand. It doesn’t take but a second before my balance falters, and I fall into his chest. He grips my waist, laughing, and says, “Relax. You’re too stiff.”

“It’s freezing out here, and you’ve got me on ice. I can’t relax,” I grumble.

“Stop bitching.” He then takes my hands again and begins skating backwards while gliding me forward. “Try moving your feet.”

“Uh uh. I’ll fall.”

With a grin on his face, he asks, “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Are you serious? I could ask you the same question.”

“Just for today, why don’t you try trusting me?”

As he continues to hold my hands and pull me around the rink while he skates backwards with total control, I question, “Is that what you like? Having someone that just obeys you and never voices their opinion?”

“No, Nina. It’s not about obeying, it’s about trusting; something I don’t think you do too easily.”

“Trust can be costly,” I argue.

“Or it can be comforting.”

He keeps his eyes steady on me when I finally give in, and with a sigh, agree, “Okay, fine. One day.”

His smile is cocky, and I shake my head at him, asking, “How did you get the rink to open for us?”

“Walter did some work for me at the hotel during construction. So I called him, slipped him a few bills, and here we are.”

“Is everything that easy for you?”

“No,” he says with a piercing look. “Some things I have to work for.”

He says this and I drop my eyes to cut the tension building, and when I do, I lose my balance, tripping over my toes. I grab on to his coat as I fall hard on my hip, pulling him down with me. He hovers over me, laughing, while I’m flat on my back.

“My ass is getting wet,” I say as I try to sit up, but he doesn’t allow me with his body lying on top of mine.

His fingers run through my hair, and he murmurs, “Your red hair is beautiful with the snow in it.”

A shiver runs through me from the chill of the ice, and he moves away, getting steady on his feet before helping me up.

“You done?”

I give him a nod, and he helps me off the ice and over to a bench. When we sit down, he pulls my feet onto his lap and starts to untie the laces on my skates. Slipping them off my feet, he runs his thumbs firmly up the arch of my foot, kneading along the way before repeating the same on my other foot. I watch him as he does this, and he never pulls his attention away from my eyes. The adoration he exudes is palpable, and it’s a shame that it’s wasted on someone like me, but I’ll take it and use it to my benefit.

We get our shoes on and thank Walter before we rush back towards my building. Walking over to his car, he pulls his keys out and opens the passenger door.

“Get in.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s my one day for you to trust me,” he says. “Get in.”

I move past him and slip down into the leather seat of his Mercedes before he closes the door. When he gets in, he starts the car and pulls out onto the scarce streets of the city. I keep quiet during the drive as we head north on Michigan Avenue towards River North. Looking over at him, he turns his head to me, questioning, “What?”

“Are you taking me to your place?”

He shoots me a wink, and when I open my mouth to speak, he shuts me down, reminding, “One day, Nina.”

Turning into the building’s garage on Superior, we head inside and onto the elevator. He slips a key into the punch pad before hitting P.

“You nervous about being here?” he asks as we ascend to the top floor.

“Should I be?”

Stepping over to me, he takes my hand as the doors slide open, and we step off the elevator and into an impressive living space. He has the whole top floor to himself, and as I look across the massive living room with multiple bucket accents in the vaulted ceiling, I note the architectural detailing of the modern design. Near solid glass walls that look out over the city, and against the far wall, an enormous Archlinea chef’s kitchen.

Noticing the stainless steel staircase, I ask, “What’s up there?”

“A private rooftop deck.”

“This place is amazing,” I say as I step further into the loft. For as impressive and spacious as it is, it’s warm and comfortable, a feeling I appreciate because it’s so far from how my place feels.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“Please.” Taking off my coat and scarf, I lay my things on one of the couches and walk over to the couch that’s closest to the large walk-in fireplace.

Declan soon joins me, handing me a mug and then turning the fireplace on before sitting next to me.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Since I moved to Chicago around two years ago.”

“It’s a big place for just one person.”

“Says the woman who lives in the penthouse of The Legacy,” he remarks with a smirk, and I laugh.

“That was my husband’s place since before I met him,” I defend.

“You like it there?”

“I’ve grown to,” I answer. “It’s only me there most of the time with Bennett working and traveling so much.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes a sip of his coffee and then sets it down on the end table. Turning to me, he says, “I want to know about you.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“What did you study in college? Did you work before you married? I want to know who you are aside from his wife,” he says as he angles his body to face me.

I cradle the mug in my hands, drawing in the heat, and answer, “I was studying Art History at the University of Kansas when my parents died during my third year.”

“How did they die?” he asks. He doesn’t respond the way most people do when you mention death. He never says I’m sorry, apologizing for something he had nothing to do with, and I appreciate that, even though I’m feeding him lies.

“Tornado came through and landed on top of the house I grew up in. They were found under the rubble a few days after,” I tell him. “I was an only child, so when I found out they had been pulling loans and a second mortgage on the house to pay my college tuition, there was no money. I had to drop my enrollment for the next semester and never went back.”

“What did you do?”

Bringing my legs up and folding them in front of me, I respond, “I was all alone, so I did what I had to do to get by. I worked various jobs to barely meet my rent and pay my bills.”

“So how did you wind up here in Chicago?” he asks.

“After a few years, I was just depressed and going nowhere. All my friends had since graduated and were moving on with their lives while I was stuck. I needed a change, so I packed up what little I had and drove here. No reason, really,” I say. “I had just enough money to put a deposit down on a small studio apartment and got a job with a catering company. I used to work these fancy parties, and as stupid as it sounds, even though I was nothing but the help, I used to pretend that I was part of that world. The part that didn’t have a care in the world, being able to wear pretty dresses and drink expensive champagne. A world I would never be a part of until I was hired to work a party for Bennett Vanderwal.”

“That’s how you met him?”

“Pathetic, huh? Kinda makes me look like a gold digger, but it wasn’t like that at all,” I tell him. “For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so lost. And when he looked at me, he didn’t see the poor girl from Kansas who ran to escape her miserable life.”

I tell Declan this lie and the look on his face is that of sorrow, but the life he feels bad about me having is a life I would’ve done almost anything to have. God, if he knew the truth about how I grew up, he’d run. It’s not a story anyone in their right mind would ever want to hear. It’s the type of story that people want to believe doesn’t really exist because it’s too hard to stomach. It’s too dark of a place for people to even consider being reality.

“And now?”

Looking down at my mug, I watch the ribbons of steam float off the coffee and dissolve in the air when I answer with false trepidation, “And now I realize that I am that poor girl who ran. The girl he never saw me as. It’s like I woke up one day and suddenly realized that I don’t really fit in to all of this. That I’m no longer sure of my place in this world.”

Declan moves to take the mug out of my hands and sets it down on the table as he closes the space between us. Taking my hands in his, he asks, “Do you love him?”

With diffidence, I nod my head, murmuring, “Yes.”

When he cocks his head in question, I add, “He loves me. He takes care of me.”

“But you feel alone,” he states.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Make me speak badly of him,” I respond.

“I don’t want that. All I want is for you to speak honestly to me.”

“That’s what I’m doing, but . . .” Dropping my head, I hesitate, and he urges, “But . . .?”

“It feels wrong to talk to you like this.”

“Did it feel wrong when you were in bed with me last night?” he questions.

“Yes.”

His voice is low and intent, asking, “When did it feel wrong? When you got into my bed or when you snuck out of it?”

I take a moment and swallow hard before answering, “When I snuck out.”

His hand finds its way into my hair, threading through the tresses, and then he guides it to my cheek with his other hand still holding mine. With a faint voice, he says, “I want to kiss you right now.”

Reaching my hand up to the one he has on my face, I hold on to his wrist, close my eyes, and weakly plead, “Don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

“Why?”

I open my eyes to him and say, “Because it’s wrong.”

“Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”

“Maybe it doesn’t now, but eventually it will.”

He drops his hand from me and sits back. I hold him off because right now he’s merely hungry and I need him starving—ravenous. I need him to fall hard for me. Harder than I believe he’s capable of right now. So I’ll keep him at bay for a bit longer because it seems to be working.

BENNETT CONTINUES TO call me every day to check in as usual. He misses me. Nothing new. Let him miss me. Let Declan miss me too. Both men, eating out of the palm of my deceitful hand. Mortal puppets. Foolish puppets.

The drive to Justice is a long one because of all the snow on the roads. From the scenic display of Christmas in the city, to the muted slum of the ghetto—I miss Pike no matter where I am. I take my key when I park my car and let myself in. The sounds of a woman moaning, almost theatrically, filter through the trailer from the bedroom. The squeaking metal from the bedframe composes the rhythm at which Pike fucks her. The curdling inside my gut is sickening, and I go back out to my car to wait for the chick to leave.

If you think I’m jealous, you’re wrong. I don’t care who Pike fucks. I don’t care who anyone fucks. To me, sex is disgusting. It’s a means to an end. If you’re not miserable, I don’t see the point. My body used to reject the act, rousing me to vomit afterward. Hell, sometimes I would throw up during sex. I’ve been able to sequester the nausea, but the dirtiness of the act remains.

With Bennett, I’ve become numb and vacant when we have sex. I used to be overcome with hatred when he’d find his way inside of me, but I shut that off quickly, and now the illusion that what we have isn’t just sex, but making love, is one that he has never questioned.

Yeah, I’m a good actress.

I watch as the snow collects on the windshield, and with the screech of a door, I turn to the trailer to see a pathetic-looking woman walking down the steps with her ratty, purple fur coat wrapped around her. She probably thinks she looks trendy, but she just looks like a skank.

When she gets into her rusted Buick, I turn to see Pike standing, arms braced on the sides of the door frame, pants unbuttoned, no shirt, and tattoos on full display. He smiles as he looks at me, and when I get out of the car, he asks, “Been here long?”

“Not too long.”

He steps aside as I walk in, and the door slams shut.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Bennett’s out of town. Will be for another week,” I explain and set my coat and purse down on the edge of the couch.

He lights a cigarette, and when he takes a drag, I step over and hug him. He folds me in his arms and I get a whiff of perfume. Pushing back from him, he questions, “What is it?”

“I can smell her cheap drug store perfume on you.”

He laughs at me and shakes his head. “What’s got you so pissy?”

Sighing, I turn to walk over to the couch, and as I sit, I release a heavy breath, saying, “I’m just tired.”

“I guess,” he mumbles when he joins me on the couch. “So, how’s it going with the guy?”

“Declan? Good. Really good.”

“Where are you at with him?” he asks.

“I’m working him,” I say. “He’s jealous of Bennett.”

“That’s it? Come on, Elizabeth, clue me in.”

“We’ve been spending time together. What do you want me to say? He likes me; it’s evident. We spent the day together yesterday.”

“What did you guys do?”

“He took me ice-skating,” I say with a slip of a smile, and his face contorts before he snaps, “What the fuck?”

“What?” My voice is pitchy with defense.

“You’re shitting me, right? You’re out ice-skating like a goddamn kid when you’re supposed to be seducing this ass wipe. And while you’re off screwing around, I’m living in this shitfest.”

His tone sparks my temper. Standing up, I turn to look down at him, and piss my words, saying, “Fuck you, Pike. You don’t know shit about what I’m doing, so just sit tight, fuck the trash that walks in here, and let me handle myself.”

“Handle yourself?” he sneers. “Tick tock, tick tock.”

“You wanna speed this shit up? You’re tired of waiting? Then hire one of your thuggish street friends to take care of it and spare me my own time,” I lash out.

“You’re taking too much of that time.”

Walking across the room, I clench my hands at my sides and take a deep breath before turning back to him. “Just remember that we both agreed to keep our hands clean in this. We hire someone, we have a direct link to our plan. The deal was that we would never speak the words, that we would simply goad a person into it. You think you could do a better job?”

He stubs his cigarette out in the tray on the coffee table and then stands, saying, “Not unless they prefer dick over pussy.”

“God, Pike,” I seethe as I fist my hair, and when I drop my hands to my sides, I tell him, “I’m so sick of fighting with you. It’s all we seem to do lately, and I’m done with it.”

“Perks of an older brother,” he says with a pompous smile.

Mumbling under my breath, “I guess,” I grip my hands on my hips and look over at him.

He stands there staring at me, and I can’t help but laugh at his demeanor, full of ego. “You really do drive me crazy,” I tell him.

“I know.”

With a shake of my head, I add, “And you need to stop doubting me. It pisses me off.”

“I know,” he repeats with surrender. “Come here.”

With a childish groan, I make my way over to him and stubbornly take his hug, and then tease, “Seriously, her cheap perfume is making my nose burn.”

“You’re so high and mighty now, huh? Don’t forget where you come from.”

“How could I?”

We stand there for a long while as I get the comfort from him that I’ve been missing since the last time I saw him before I finally speak again. “I have a good feeling about him, Pike.”

“Hmm.”

“He’s already falling. He doesn’t hide it well.”

“I worry about you,” he says, and I lean my head back to look at him, questioning, “Why?”

“Because I know how hard it is on you being with Bennett. I worry about how it’s going to affect you when you start adding this other guy in.”

I know that Pike is genuine in his feelings for me. We’re family, and I get that he worries. He always has. But I remind him, “Hard as steel, right?”

With a nod of his head, he keeps his arm around my shoulders as we walk back to his bedroom. It’s routine at this point—our sex. We do it every time I come and see him, reminding me of the one person I can trust in this world, the one person who has always taken care of me.

His pants are still unbuttoned, so with a tug, he drops them to his ankles and steps out. I lie back on the bed—the bed he just fucked another girl in, but I couldn’t care less. My body is entirely worthless, so I give it freely without much thought. Undoing my pants, I watch as he pumps his dick a couple times, and when he reaches to check if I’m ready, he feels how dry I am. I want the sex with him, but most of the time, I struggle to get wet. It didn’t seem to be a problem when Declan felt me up the other night, but more often than not, I need a little help.

Pike pushes my knees wider and spits his saliva on me, wetting me, and runs his fingers through my folds to spread it. When I give him a nod, he holds himself and pushes inside of me. Pinching my eyes shut, I grip my arms around him as he fucks me, clearing my head and wiping away the stains of Bennett, and now, Declan.

RETURNING HOME, CLARA is in the kitchen cooking. I unwrap the scarf from around my neck and walk over to the kitchen to greet her.

“Clara, hi,” I say as I look on the stove to see what she’s making.

“There you are. I feel like we keep missing each other.”

“Smells good,” I say, eyeing the skillet of beef stroganoff.

With a warm smile, she responds, “I figured you could use some comfort food with the nasty winter we’ve been having.”

I open the fridge to pull out ginger soda, saying, “It’s perfect. I haven’t eaten all day, actually.”

Turning to me, she spots my drink and asks, “Is your stomach upset?”

“A little.”

I always tend to feel a little queasy after my visits with Pike. The after sex blues followed by the upsetting goodbye. It tends to have this effect on my stomach when I leave, turning back into the emotionless machine I’ve been forced to become ever since I was a little kid.

“There’s a package from Mr. Vanderwal in the living room. It was delivered earlier today when you were out,” she says, and when I walk over, I see the large, white box wrapped in a gold satin ribbon.

My stomach churns, and I down another gulp of my ginger soda.

I pick up the lightweight box and untie the ribbon, letting it drop to the sides. Inside lies a masquerade mask. Black, laser-cut metal, which gives it an almost evil, seductive feel. The black, double-faced satin ties hang as I pick it up out of the box. It’s probably more perfect than anything I could have found on my own and that annoys me, the fact that he can be so good at nearly all he does. I look in the box for a note, but there isn’t one, so I turn and ask Clara, “Was there a note or anything with this?”

“No, dear,” she answers over her shoulder from the kitchen and then my cell rings.

Cringing when I see who the caller is, I answer with charm, “Jacqueline, hello.”

“Where have you been?” She’s huffy in her question.

“What do you mean?”

“Neiman’s? Shopping? Yesterday?”

I completely let it slip from my mind that I was supposed to meet the girls yesterday. I was so distracted with spending the night at the hotel and then hanging out with Declan that it didn’t occur to me that instead of being with him, I should have been at Neiman’s.

“I’m so sorry; I must have forgotten. You’re not upset with me, are you?”

“I’m not, but Catherine was running her mouth about how you’ve been acting like a bitch towards her.”

And this is the shit I hate about these women. I have absolutely nothing in common with any one of them. They have way too much time on their hands that they seem to enjoy filling with petty drama. They’re all spoiled and entitled, yet I’m forced to grin and bear it, and so I respond, “I don’t even speak to Catherine outside of when we’re all together.”

“Exactly. She thinks that you think you’re better than her.”

I am. As sick as I may be, I’m still better than the shallow depths of them.

“Jacqueline, you know I don’t enjoy the gossip, so if there isn’t anything else, I should get going.”

“I was hoping we could get together soon. It’s been a while—the gathering at Lotus, I believe,” she says.

“Of course. I’ll check my calendar and call you,” I reply before we say our goodbyes.

Walking over to Clara, I smile as she moves around the kitchen. I wonder for a moment what my life would have been like if I’d had a mom. For one, I wouldn’t have ever gone into foster care after my father’s arrest. I never met my mom. I don’t know anything about what happened to her since the only one who could have explained it to me was my father, and I was so young when he went to prison.

I’ve seen a few pictures to know I got my red hair from her. She wore it in a short bob, where mine is long with just a hint of waves. She was pretty. I used to imagine her living with my dad and me when I was tied up in that closet. She’d smile and kiss my father while I cringed but secretly loved watching them like that. She would hold me at night, rocking me while my dad sang to me. He always sang to me at night. I’ll never forget the sound of his voice as I would fall asleep.

The top of my nose tingles at the thought of him, and I don’t even realize how tight I have my teeth clamped shut when Clara asks, “Are you okay?”

Unlocking my teeth to answer, an ache shoots through my gums at the release. “Will you stay for dinner?”

Her warm smile penetrates my mournful thoughts, and I smile back at her when she says, “I’d love to.” She turns to pull a couple plates down as she inquires, “Now tell me, what did that lovely husband of yours send you?”

“A very beautiful mask for the masquerade.”

“Have you gotten a dress yet?”

She fixes our plates as we begin to talk about all the details of the party I’ve been working on. We eat and talk and laugh, and for a moment, I pretend she’s my mom.

But only for a moment.