But I would be married to him for the rest of my life. Considering he’s thirty years older than me, more likely the rest of his life. It’s still a long time.
Far longer than a month.
Selling my virginity to a stranger would be horrifying, but it would only last for a month. I could survive that. And maybe, with time and with luck, I would almost forget what had happened. Uncle Landon would save me, but the cost would be years.
“It’s already agreed,” I lie. “I’m going to return tomorrow to finalize the contract.”
“I must advise against this,” he says. “The interest rates are no doubt outrageous, if not illegal. And how will you raise the funds to make payments?”
“Don’t worry, Uncle Landon. I have it all worked out.”
Because I won’t be making payments, at least not with money. I’ll be using my body to pay for those taxes, to pay for the nurse. Even as I make the decision, I’m torn with regret and fear. Should I have said yes to Uncle Landon? I can’t imagine spreading my legs for him. Then again I can’t imagine spreading my legs for a stranger.Chapter FourThat night I dream of a fire licking at my skin, and when I wake, I’m sweating in my sheets. My mattress is on the floor, the only thing remaining in the room after my Victorian bedroom set was sold through an antiques dealer. I don’t want to dream anymore, so I get up and roam the halls. The moonlight slices through the heavy branches, drawing geometric patterns on the empty wooden floors.
I head downstairs and pour a glass of water. It slides down my throat, cool and centering. Whatever happens in that auction, I’ll get through it. Only a month and then it will be over.
I’m making the right choice, aren’t I?
A shadow through the window catches my eye, and my blood turns cold. It must be a wild branch from the bushes. This is what happens when they aren’t trimmed. Still, I stand to the side, watching the window. Only darkness stares back at me.
I laugh uneasily. “You’re paranoid, Avery.”
Meeting with criminals must have made me suspicious.
Another shadow crosses the window. My heart leaps into my throat, thick and pulsing. Oh God. Did I see someone outside? My imagination turns wild—monsters and imaginary beings. Those myths from my books come to life.
More likely it would be a burglar who hasn’t realized we lost everything of value.
Or maybe someone did know about our fall from grace—and that I would be alone and unprotected in the house. My blood runs cold. As Gabriel Miller pointed out, I have one thing left of value. My body. My virginity. Maybe the man outside wants that.
I step close to the window, trying to see outside. The moon hides behind a cloud, the ground lights obscured by overgrowth, leaving the lawn almost completely black.
Is someone hiding out there?
Are they picking the lock even while I stand here, defenseless?
My imagination’s getting the better of me. No one would be out there. I have my entire life in safety. I hadn’t realized that anyone would want to hurt us until the police called me. A dish washer found my father behind their restaurant.
They dumped his body there after beating him.
What if they’ve come back to finish the job?
Ice in my veins, I dash back up the stairs. My phone sits beside my mattress. I grab it and start to dial the number for Uncle Landon. He’s the only one in Tanglewood who still speaks to me.
Then I remember the strange light in his eyes when he talked about my mother.
The longing was surprising enough, but there was something darker underneath. Resentment. Maybe anger.
Instead I find myself dialing my friend Harper. I glance at the time just as she picks up. After two in the morning. No doubt she’s still awake. I don’t know when she sleeps. She’s the pale blonde co-ed to my girl next door, the marble statue to my straw man. The real deal.
“Avery!” she says, breathless. “Jesus God, it’s like you fell off the face of the planet.”
I know from the southern drawl in her voice that she’s very drunk. A faint beat in the background underscores her words, reminding me of late-night study sessions and frat parties at the nearby university. That should be my life right now.
Instead I’m huddling against the wall in a dark, empty house. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I’m kind of freaked out.”
“I’m freaking out,” she says, laughing. “Are you coming back now? I’ve missed you!”
There’s a sound from outside—a scratch. My breathing speeds up. “I think someone’s outside.”
The sound of shuffling and the slam of a door come over the line. Immediately the volume drops. “Wait, what’s going on?” she says, sounding more sober. “Are you okay?”