By Sin I Rise: Part Two (Sins of the Fathers 2)

“It’ll be like before. You’ll forget all your worries,” Mom said with a kind smile.

But it wasn’t, and I didn’t. We didn’t go into the front entrance like in the past, we sneaked in through the staff entrance at the back, with our hoodies up over our heads like criminals to avoid curious eyes.

By now the press had caught wind of my rescue and since Dad’s lawyer had only released a very short, uneventful statement the speculations were skyrocketing. After the leaked video of me naked, everyone in the country had been talking about my kidnapping. Keeping it hush-hush had been impossible, even for Dad, and now everyone wanted to know as much about my return as possible.

One of our bodyguards chased off a paparazzi hiding behind the trash bins, smashing his no-doubt expensive camera and tossing it back at the man who scurried away. Dad’s lawyer would probably have to handle this too.

Mom squeezed my hand and smiled when we finally took off our hoodies inside of the day spa. It smelled of lemongrass and mint inside the lobby, a familiar scent. I’d lost count of the times Mom and I had spent a girl’s day here.

“Eventually the press and everyone else will forget what happened, Marci. They’ll lose interest. We’ll just have to lay low for a while.”

“You mean hide.”

Mom gave me an uncertain look.

May, one of the staff, came over to us. She was smiling like she always did, but I caught the curiosity in her eyes. She, too, knew what had happened.

Forgetting what happened proved difficult.

I’d started to relax when my hairdresser asked me to remove my earring so she could properly wash my hair for the intense hydration and gloss treatment.

“She can’t,” Mom interfered in a firm voice. “You’ll just have to be more careful.”

I swallowed my own reply, but I couldn’t relax again.

The next incident occurred when May did my nails. They were partly broken off and my fingertips were bloody in parts. I could see the questions in her eyes even if she didn’t ask any. Mom kept throwing worried glances our way, which didn’t scream normalcy either.

The final straw was our massage appointment.

“Take off your clothes and make yourself comfortable,” May said in her usual singsong voice.

I began to peel off the bathrobe I’d put on at the beginning of our spa day, but Mom touched my hand, stopping me, her eyes alarmed. “Maybe we’ll skip the back massages today and only do our legs,” she said to May.

It took me a moment to realize why. Because of the tattoo on my back.

May froze and so did I. I lowered my hand, leaving the bathrobe on. May did as Mom had said and only massaged our calves and feet, which was great as usual, but I couldn’t enjoy a single moment.

I was silent on our way home and even when we entered the mansion. Dad was there, probably because Mom had messaged him.

He kissed my temple. “Maybe you should stay inside for a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t want to hide. I did nothing wrong,” I snapped.

“Of course, you didn’t,” Mom said. “You know that’s not why we protect you from the public. But you know how people are.”

“They want gossip,” Dad growled. “They need to go looking elsewhere.”

“I won’t hide,” I said finally. “They’ll make up their own stories if I don’t tell them my version. The more I hide, the more they think I have something to hide, and hiding something suggests guilt. I won’t hide!”

Dad smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. “All right. What do you suggest?”

“The soirée at Mayor Stein’s in a couple of weeks, I want to attend it. And I won’t sneak into buildings through the back or wear hoodies to cover my face. If the paparazzi want a photo of me, they’ll get it—on my terms, like it used to be.”

“They’ll try to catch you unexpectedly and vulnerable. Maybe take a shot of your ear or tattoo,” Mom said gently. Always trying to protect me.

I shrugged. “I know the game. I’ve played it for years and they never got anything I didn’t want them to get. I have no intention of changing that now. They’ll get to see my tattoo once it’s altered the way I want it, and my ear…” I paused. The obvious blemish bothered me, I couldn’t deny it. For someone who’d always strived for perfection, and who had been praised for her perfect beauty, it was a challenge to be ripped of it. But I was also proud of the mark, because it showed what I’d survived. “I won’t hide the ear, not always. I’ll carry the mark like Made Men carry their scars, with pride and as a sign that there are things in life worth suffering for.”

“I’ve never been prouder of you than I am now,” Dad murmured.