“You’re so obsessed with being in control, someone might think you were overcompensating for something,” I threw at him.
But he only laughed that long, low chuckle as dark as smoke. “Oh, Bianca, I’m happy to prove that statement false anytime you’d like. For now, do not play games with me you have no hope of winning. Be a good little thing for Tilda and I may just give you that silly locket back.”
* * *
Tilda McTiernan wasn’t a thing like her cousin.
Case and point, she laughed when I told her exactly that.
“Well, Tiernan hasn’t had it easy,” she admitted as she tossed yet another dress onto the pile of garments in the arms of the shop employee following us around Bloomingdales in New York City. “I think that should do it for now.”
Dutifully, I followed Tilda to the back of the store where the changing rooms were. Ezra had taken Brando to FAO Schwarz to buy some new toys so that Tilda and I could “take our time” picking out the right outfits for me. The first one she thrust at me was a floor-length gown made of shimmering oyster silk and feathers.
“When am I ever going to wear this?”
She smiled, waving a hand through the air. “Oh, this and that. You never know. Tiernan isn’t exactly Mr. Social, but you might be called to represent the family at some gathering or other. Everyone is expected at Thanksgiving, the Christmas Ball, Bryant’s birthday party, and the like too.”
“And it’s acceptable to wear feathers to some of these occasions?” I asked weakly as one of the feathers tickled my nose, making me sneeze.
Tilda laughed lightly. “Definitely. Trust me, I have an eye for these things. You’ll look like a dove in it. Innocent and beautiful.”
My reluctance evaporated in light of her comment. There was no one left to call me “dove” or “dovey,” now that Aida was gone, but the bird and its symbolism would always mean everything to me.
My father had given me the nickname when I was four. I could still remember him telling me I was his dove not because I was fragile and innocent, but because I brought him peace.
As I slipped into the changing room, Tilda continued to chatter away.
“Of course, Tiernan hates to attend any of our gatherings and you can’t really blame the man. None of his immediate family even talk to him, outside of his parents, and they’re…well, everyone knows what they’re like.”
“I don’t. What do you mean?”
It was too good an opportunity to pass up, prying sweet and pretty Tilda for more information about the guardian who seemed more like my captor at that point. I wanted answers to any of the innumerable mysteries he presented. Maybe if I understood him more, I would be less fascinated with the enigma of him.
“Well, it’s common knowledge in the family, so I don’t suppose I have to keep it secret from you now that you are family,” she mused.
“I won’t tell a soul,” I promised as I shimmied into the slithering material and felt it slide like rainwater down my curves.
I stepped out of the room to do a lame little twirl for Tilda who gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide as she took me in.
“Exquisite,” she breathed. “How old did you say you were?”
“I didn’t. I’m seventeen.”
“Ah, you’d better be careful, Tiernan or his dad will have you married for political gain in a nanosecond looking the way you do. Especially in that dress.”
“I’m not even eighteen yet,” I repeated horrified by the idea of being married off like some fifteenth-century bride with zero autonomy.
Tilda shrugged. “The age of consent in New York State is seventeen. Besides, it’s the way of the wealthy, darling. With great money comes great manipulations. If they can use you, they will.” Her eyes narrowed, a shrewd intelligence flashing in their depths. “How did you say Tiernan discovered you?”
“I didn’t.” I took a page from Tiernan’s book and didn’t offer anything further. “You were mentioning something about why he doesn’t go to social gatherings.”
“Oh, he isn’t invited to many,” she assured me. “He’s the black sheep of the family, which is saying something. His older brothers are basically psychopaths and, in my humble opinion, Tiernan is the only one with any heart left after their father tried to beat it out of them.”
“He beat them?” I echoed, frankly shocked by the idea that anyone could hurt Tiernan.
I’d seen him fight in the ring, the powerful grace of his trained body like a weapon arching through the air. Then again, even Tiernan had been a child once just like Brando, young and tender, in need of protection.
“That’s the story,” she murmured as she handed me a blouse and skirt combination, obviously preoccupied with my wardrobe. “That scar on his face? His father gave him that.”