Making Their Vows

My throat closes up as the man swaggers past me, leering at my breasts when he draws close, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. A moment later, he goes out the back door which exits onto a more private end of the street and I’m left gaping at my father.

I expect him to make sense of everything I’ve just heard. Instead he pounds a fist on the table and shouts, “What the hell are you doing home?”

“I…slept in,” I sputter. “Is that really what we should be talking about?”

His jaw ticks. “You think I need to explain myself to you?”

Simmons and I don’t have a close relationship. At all. He’s more like a mentor. But that has never struck me as odd. My father is a person I have to make proud in return for this easy life he’s provided. That’s the unspoken understanding. My mother lives her own life, “finding herself” with a new method every year. Far too busy for me. It’s the same for all of my friends. They don’t have popcorn movie nights with their parents or matching Christmas pajamas. It’s all very formal. Strict. We lead very separate lives and as long as I’m doing what’s expected of me, there’s no cause for conversation.

“No, you don’t have to explain,” I say quietly. “But…I wish you would.”

For long moments, he sits there glaring past me. “Maybe this is a good lesson. You take shortcuts, people find out and use them against you. My last development ran into some snags and I bought a way out. Now I have no choice but to use Tennison’s shell company, Grace. Or I could be brought up on charges.” His upper lip curls. “Then who would pay for Harvard, hmm?”

A sharp object digs into my chest. I’ve caught my father in a weak moment and now he’s lashing out. It’s not unusual. He’s never been a kind person. He expects perfection. Demands it. Anything less turns him mean. “I haven’t gotten into Harvard yet.”

“Oh no?” He pounces all over that. “Well what are you doing to guarantee you do? At this very moment, daughter, what are you doing? Are you volunteering? Doing extra credit for your AP classes? Or are you just fucking standing there questioning me, the one who put this ten-million-dollar roof over your head?”

“I’m not questioning you,” I murmur, trying to hold my ground. “I just want you to be careful.”

“Me? You just made yourself a witness, you brainless child.” He laughs bitterly, then starts gathering the paperwork with hasty movements. “Goddammit, Grace. Why didn’t you just stay upstairs?”

Is he right? Did I put myself in danger by accidentally revealing my presence?

Is the information I have now so important that telling anyone could get me…killed?

“Well I see you’ve realized the severity of the situation,” my father snaps. “You’ll spend the day upstairs working on applications. Writing essays. I want to see copies of everything you’ve done by tonight. Then we’re going to dinner at the club. I’m meeting with some associates and you’ll be on your best behavior. Make me look good, since you appear to be incapable of anything else. Don’t even think about leaving your room until then.”

Until my father banishes me to my room for the day, I don’t realize how much I was looking forward to seeing North. Whether or not I’d acknowledged it to myself, my plan was to get dressed and hope he calls, so we could make plans. I want to kiss him again so badly, my lips are already tingling. And now…after the conversation I overheard, there is a layer of ice on my skin and only his arms around me is going to make it better. How crazy is that after only knowing him one night? It’s just a fact, though. There is something…magical about North. About me and North together. It can’t be denied or explained.

My father dismisses me with a wave and I quickly retrieve coffee and a muffin from the kitchen, bringing both up to my room. I eat and guzzle coffee while reluctantly firing up my laptop, pulling up an application for one of my fall-back schools. I work on it for a few hours, then decide to take a shower. I’m halfway through undressing when a text message comes through on my phone. It’s probably one of my friends, but I check anyway, my entire body flaming when I see the text is from North.

You free to talk, Gracie?

My nipples turn into tight pebbles over those five digital words. I can hear them in his rough accent. Can hear that adoring way he says my name. With my heart ticking madly, my fingers are unusually clumsy when I reply.

Yes.

The phone rings literally one second later.

I answer out of breath, even though I’m sitting on my bed. “Hi.”