“I’ve done things,” I say even though it feels like a lie.
“What kind of things?” he says, and I wonder whether it’s prurient interest or concern that compels him to ask. “Making out on the couch when Daddy isn’t home? Letting a boy feel under your shirt?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Have you ever been kissed?”
I manage to nod. That was as far as I let Justin go. He pushed me for more in the darkened back hallways at parties, in the empty storage rooms outside hotel ballrooms.
And I always told him no.
“What are you afraid of?” he murmurs.
The way he asks, I know he doesn’t mean the auction. He’s asking why I never let a boy go further with me. He’s asking why I’m still a virgin.
Our position makes it feel more intimate, as if there isn’t a stranger only a few feet behind us, as if I’m not being forced to do this. The wavy lighting adds to the effect, as if this is only in a dream. I can tell the truth because this isn’t even real.
“Daddy caught me once,” I say as if in a trance. “I was sleeping in on the weekend, or he thought I was. But I was actually touching myself.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me it was wrong. He said that it wasn’t ladylike, that that kind of behavior would disgrace our family name.” The intense shame I felt then hits me like a blow to the stomach, almost doubling me over. It’s only Gabriel’s steady presence behind me that holds me up. He hardly touches me, only the lightest brush of his hands on my arms, but they might as well be made of iron.
“And then he was the one who disgraced your family name.”
“He put chili juice on my fingers every night for a month.”
The irony is enough to make me throw up. For years I resisted what the other girls were doing, refused what the boys wanted from me. The only boy willing to wait until marriage was Justin, and it turned out that was only because he viewed our relationship as a political stepping stone.
“Stay here, little virgin.”
He moves away from me, and I feel his loss like a wintry wind. I’m alone, bereft.
The camera clicks behind me, invading my privacy, reminding me of just how public this will be. I can’t even touch my body without feeling guilt, but some stranger will soon have the right.
“Look at me.” Gabriel’s voice comes to me from near the camera.
I turn to look at him over my shoulder. Most of my face is still hidden by my hair, but he can see more of me. Is my turmoil visible in my posture? Can they read the pain in my eyes? Everything that I believed was a lie, but the truth hurts enough that I want it back.
“Touch yourself,” he says.
My heart stops, because if he wants me to do this for the camera, I’ll falter. I’ll fail.
“Tonight. When you’re in bed, alone. In the dark. Lock the door if you need to. No one will walk in on you. Touch yourself and make yourself feel good. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”
The memory comes like a tangible caress, a stroke on my private place. My lips part on a soft sigh. Heat suffuses my cheeks. I squeeze my legs together, seeking more.
The click of the camera captures my illicit pleasure.
“That’s it,” the photographer says.
Gabriel studies whatever is on the view screen, his expression enigmatic. “Yes. That’s the one.”Chapter SixBoth men step outside to let me dress. It only takes a moment to slip my sundress over my head. I use the privacy to gather my composure. I can’t believe I told Gabriel about that time with my dad.
And then he was the one who disgraced your family name.
Maybe it’s crazy to stand by my father, but I’m all he has left. Bedridden, barely able to breathe. He raised me from the moment my mother died. If I were to abandon him, he’d die. Whether from his injuries or from men coming to finish the job. I put my hands to my cheeks, feeling lingering heat.
How will I face Gabriel Miller now that he knows my secrets?
Except I need to confront him to find out if he sent the men to my house yesterday. Part of me wants to believe that he wouldn’t do that, but the timing is too coincidental. And he has the most motive to want my father dead.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step into the small hallway.
It’s darker than I remember, darker than it was in the dreamlike bedroom, and I blink while my eyes adjust. I realize that someone has turned off the overhead light in the hall. And I’m not alone.
“Gabriel?” I say, my voice wavering slightly.