“And what will we do for money?”
“I don’t know. Something. I don’t need all this.” I wave my hand to indicate the ornate antique furniture and expensive artwork. These aren’t things I chose for myself. They are part of the cage that keeps me here. Money and family and obligation. All of them bind me.
“It’s impossible,” she says, her voice wistful. “I thought of leaving once. I even had a plan. But…”
“But what?”
“But you’re still a minor, Clara. You couldn’t work. You couldn’t even be seen.”
My heart clenches. I would be a liability to her. “You could leave without me.”
Her eyes flare with something—memory? Betrayal? Our mother left us both. The official story is that she died in a car crash. But everyone knows she wasn’t allowed to drive. And the casket at her funeral was closed. If she did drive that day, she was leaving. And if she died that day, it means my father caught her.
“I will never leave you.” She says it like a vow—fierce.
My eyes grow hot with tears. “Me either,” I promise her. Even if Gio showed up, ready to take me away. Even if that girlish dream came true. I’d never leave without Honor. She’s my sister. I love her. And that’s why I can’t stand by and let Byron hurt her. There’s no fighting a man like that.
The only way to keep her safe is to take her away.
* * *
The next night I creep across the grass. The bottoms of my feet feel extra sensitive when I do this. Maybe my sense of touch is heightened because of fear. Or because I’m about to see Gio. I can feel every blade of grass tickle my feet, every bump and dip in the earth. Even the night air becomes a tactile thing, blowing gently against my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
When I reach the pool house, the door opens. “Clara,” he whispers.
I smile back, relieved. A part of me had worried that he wouldn’t come tonight. He’d seemed freaked out by the kiss. All through eating samples of pork forestiere and shrimp kabobs from the caterer, I’d been thinking about him. What was he eating? What was he thinking?
The pool house is dark, like always.
I slip inside and toss myself on the couch, like always.
He looks outside to make sure no one spotted me. Like always.
Then he shuts the door and makes his way over to me. This is different, though. He’s walking stiffly. Strangely. It stirs a memory in me. The way Honor sometimes walks when Byron has been rough with her.
I sit up. “Are you hurt?”
He doesn’t answer. He just sits down—slowly. Carefully.
“You are hurt,” I say, accusing. Then I’m up and by his side, hands hovering. I don’t want to touch whatever bruise he has and make it worse. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing.”
I shut my eyes. The only two people in my life I care about are being beaten, being abused, and I am helpless to stop it. “Your father?”
“Not this time.”
I kneel beside the armchair he’s in. “Who then?”
He sighs and leans his head all the way back. “Some assholes.”
I run my hands over his leg that’s closest to me—his thigh, his calf, his ankles. He doesn’t flinch or pull away, so I hope that means this side is okay. “Where does it hurt? I can get some ice.”
“No ice.” His voice has gone deeper.
A part of me, some deep and ancient part of me, knows it’s because my hands are on him. It makes me bolder. I move closer, between his legs now. “Or maybe some bandages? Did you have any cuts? You should put antibiotics in them so you don’t get an infection.”
His laugh is harsh. “No bandages, bella.”