CHAPTER TWO
Midnight.
Time slipped and vanished with that single tick on the antique clock.
Another year had come and gone.
The single flame on my pilfered cupcake shivered as if anticipating its end. Its little heart glowed such a vibrant blue, fighting so hard to stay alive, yet knowing it wouldn't. I understood the desperation; we were both prisoners with no voice and a blade at our throats. Fate had been unkind to us.
A delicate pearl drop of wax glided the short length of the candle's shimmering side to bleed into the chocolate frosting. A second followed almost immediately, and I couldn't help feeling like it was crying.
My own eyes burned as I felt my heartbreak for us. It was foolish to try and tell an inanimate object that at least it didn't have to worry about being sold for the patch of skin between its legs. I didn't think it needed to be assured that there was a good chance its novelty to the man who now owned it would ultimately wear out and it would just be another used-up candle discarded with a pretty settlement as a thank you. Once I blew it out, it could live the rest of its life in peace at the landfill which was more than I could hope for.
A candle would never understand how lucky it was.
Choking back a sob, I bent and snuffed out my little friend, giving it rest at last. The warm scent of wax bled into the vanilla and jasmine Mother insisted all the rooms smell like. Gray coils wound up into the dim confines of the window seat, illuminated by the pregnant globe of the moon. I wiped the loneliness from my cheeks and watched the candle weave its final tendril of smoke before going perfectly still.
"Happy birthday, Naya," I whispered into the silence of my locked room.
Below my feet, something crashed and shattered. Voices boomed in riotous laughter that sent chills down my spine.
Malcolm was down there somewhere.
Part of me doubted it. My brother hated Mother's parties. Hated her friends. Hated the devil in their eyes as the night thickened and wine made them feel invincible. He always made me leave the minute the laughing grew too loud and the fingers gripping my arm carved black marks into my skin. He was always there, pulling me away from the men with the searching fingers and sticky breath, pulling me out of the room and upstairs.
"Stay inside, Naya," he would hiss, blue eyes feverishly bright against the pallor of his handsome face. "Don't open it for anyone, for any reason. Not even me."
He closed the door between us and waited until he heard the crack of tumblers snapping into place. The shuffle of his feet filled my ears beneath the muffled hum of jazz as he returned to the top of the stairs where he would sit until morning.
Mother never seemed to notice once she was five glasses in. She was as loud and frightening as the company she kept.
But Malcolm.
Sweet, darling Malcolm who was my whole world kept me shielded from the evils I knew existed. He put himself between me and the men Mother brought to see me.
Men like Jarrett Brixton.
Men with money and power.
Men who only wanted one thing. Had it been up to her, I would have already been in Jarrett's clutches the evening we met on my fourteenth birthday. Malcolm threatened to run away if Mother dared to sell me. Father had been furious; Malcolm was his heir. His only heir. Without him, the family empire would crumble into the abyss. They needed him far more than they needed me.
Mother had relented but what little indifference she'd once had for me had blossomed into bitter resentment that curdled across her face when she saw me. Vile intolerance for the very air I dared to take against her wishes. Had Jarrett not been tangled in the messy state of his most recent divorce and not agreed to wait, had he not agreed to pay a small kingdom's worth to claim me as his, Mother would have let me starve.
Maybe that meant I should be grateful to Jarrett.
Maybe allowing a man twice my age to pay for my virginity wasn't so bad if it meant getting away from Mother.
Maybe the greater of the two evils was not accepting Jarrett as my savior.
I would believe all that if it weren't for the fact that Jarrett already had four ex-wives. Each one was marched down the aisle at eighteen and left behind for a younger, prettier model at twenty-five. There was a string of children, some my age if not older. In all the years I'd been forced to speak to Jarrett, none of them had ever come up. I didn't even know the exact number or a single one of their names.
But my tentative freedom from a man who made my skin crawl and the bile in my gut churn was over. The deal had been my twentieth birthday. I would be shipped off first thing to my new home in the morning.
My gaze flitted with hesitation to where my bags had been packed for a week in preparation.
Two designer bags.
Just two.
My entire life.
Twenty years' worth.
I sighed, body reclining back into the frigid wall of the window seat. My shoulder pressed into icy glass, numbing the flesh beneath the satin robe.
I abhorred satin.
I loathed the cold feel of it touching my skin, rubbing against my thighs, brushing the erect points of my breasts. I hated the unnatural heat that promptly followed. The ripples of something too overwhelming to comprehend brewing in my belly.
But Mother insisted.
Satin was the symbol of wealth and femininity. Maybe she was right. She did have much more experience than me.
Abandoning the untouched cupcake and wilted candle on the velvet cushion, I rose. The hem of my robe slithered along my naked thighs and joined the matching slip at my ankles. Lamplight shimmered along the navy-blue material like ripples across a lake at night. I watched the hypnotizing glint all the way to the bed and the white, satin sheets waiting to test my sanity.
I had to take a deep breath.
I had to calm the anxious fluttering — dread, I told myself — starting somewhere deep, deep in my belly.
It was frustration, I assured my nerves. The fabric was cold and slippery, and uncomfortable. It made no sense why anyone would want to sleep in something that slid and ... and distracted a person from sleeping.
Yet, I bit my lip as I peeled the robe off and tossed it neatly across the foot of the bed. My fingers brushed the smooth front of the slip. I adjusted the thin spaghetti straps more firmly over my shoulders before pulling back the sheets and sliding beneath them.
I ignored the hem twisting up between my thighs. The tug and brush of the bodice across the sensitive peaks of my chest. The cool glide along all the places not covered.
I dragged the covers high around my shoulders and turned towards the warm, comforting glow of lamplight. My eyelids squished together as I willed sleep to take me.
Buttercream tendrils of light collected in patches across my room when I opened my eyes again. It drizzled over the abandoned cupcake, tipping the icing with a sad sheen. The solitary candle with its burnt wick and teardrops of wax appeared so much smaller in the wake of dawn.
It was a waste really. I couldn't eat it. Even if I brushed my teeth and took a shower, Mother could always smell the sugar on me. The lecture that would follow wasn't worth the stolen luxury, but life was about picking battles and learning not all wars needed to be won. A structure Father had built into my life like bookshelves containing all the things I didn't fight for.
The covers were pooled around my waist. The left strap of my nightgown hung down my arm, exposing my left breast to the morning. The soft, pink nipple was swollen at the center of a perky mound.
Something at the sight of myself so exposed had me nibbling on my bottom lip. The place between my thighs gave a pang I was getting familiar with but still had no idea what it meant. I did know that if I touched my breast, teased the nipple until it was shriveled and tight, the thrumming grew until...
A loud knock brought me back to reality and the ridiculous notion in my head.
I hastily pulled the strap back into place, covering myself up once more. I grabbed my robe and hurried to the barricade keeping me from the world.
"Who is it?" I called through the crack.
"It's Mother."
All the soft, sleepy heat left my body, replacing it with a brittle cold that made my fingers tremble as I undid the latch and hurried back several steps just in time to avoid getting my face struck by the door.
Christabel Blackwell radiated hate as if it were a signature perfume designed exclusively for her and she wore it with pride. It wafted into the room before she even stepped a foot inside. It unspooled and twisted around her as if it were alive.
"Mother," I said, careful not to sound too happy or too miserable. "Good morning."
Eyes the color of ice chips pinned me from a face that had once been beautiful and still was in some sense. She no longer had the kiss of youth to brighten the chill in her eyes or warm her cheeks pink. Years of bitter resentment had chipped away at the softness I'd seen in old photos, filing it down to a sharp chin and jagged cheekbones. She peered down the finely chiseled line of her nose at me.
"Why are you not dressed?"
I fought the gut deep urge to fidget. To twist my fingers until the bones popped and the pain nailed me to the present. Mother could sense fear and discomfort like a snake sensing an injured rabbit.
I reverted to my own method of self-soothing and punishing; I sank manicured nails into the tender flesh of my palm, tearing agitated skin and drawing fresh blood.
"I was just about to," I whispered.
Eyes that had always seen me as nothing more than a hindrance swept to the packed bags neatly piled just inside the door. The square-cut diamond on her left hand caught the morning sun and sparked as she curled her long fingers together in front of her.
"Today is a big day, Naya. Absolutely nothing can go wrong, do you understand?"
I was pinned to the glossy hardwood with a single flick of her eyes snapping back to me.
"Yes Mother," I whispered.
"Six years of unnecessary waiting," she grumbled. "But I suppose it paid off. Jarrett has been quite patient and generous in assuring your hand. Even his other wives weren't so fortunate. If you play your cards the way I taught you, you could very well be the final wife." Her smile cut where the end sharpened into points digging into her thin cheeks. "Imagine having a Brixton baby. A permanent tie to all that fortune..." Her breath quivered. Her nostrils flared. "I don't care how you do it, Naya, you will give Jarrett a son, do you understand?"
I didn't.
I was heavily sheltered and na?ve in a lot of ways, but even I knew basic biology.
But I nodded. "Yes, Mother."
Mother looked me over once more. Not an ounce of softness showed in her scrutiny. It didn't matter this may be the last time she ever saw me, though I knew that wasn't possible; I was marrying Jarrett Brixton. She would want into his world as quickly as possible, and I was her only link. Plus, the wedding was only a week away. She wouldn't be missing that.
"Tonight, when you arrive, Jarrett may ask things of you. It's not your place to refuse him, but you will not cry or fight. He may get a bit rough, but that's natural, and it may hurt, also natural. This is your job now and you will perform it as often as he requires it. Do you understand?"
I had been given the talk.
I knew what was required of me, yet the thought of that vile, despicable man touching me again had me fighting to hold my nausea back. Even though it had been four years ago, the memory was too clear. Too vivid. But that was my duty. I knew that. My feelings made no difference in anything.
"I do." I forced the words through stiff lips.
Mother started to nod when something over my shoulder caught her eye. All presence of calm vanished into a twisted sneer as she stalked past me and marched to the window seat. I knew my mistake even before the saucer soared past my ear, missing my face by inches to shatter into a million, expensive pieces against the doorframe.
My heart skyrocketed. It beat with the ferocity of a caged bird in the clutches of a ravenous cat. But I remained still and quiet. I kept my eyes down and my fingers knotted together.
"You disgusting little pig!" Red talons gouged into the paper wrapped around the muffin, crushing the pastry. "Are you so pathetic that you are stealing food from me? After I have given you everything."
I didn't see the pitch until it hit me in the midsection with a sharp sting. Dark frosting smeared against blue. Chunks of cake rained over my toes. A glob of chocolate landed on my big toe, a tiny, wilted candle just peeking out from the mess.
"You should be mortified!" Mother screamed. "I wouldn't be surprised if Jarrett sent you back for being a revolting pig, a rat who sneaks into the kitchen to stuff her hideous face. How do you expect a man like Jarrett, a man who could have any woman, women a hundred times more beautiful than you, put up with a slob? I should have known you would try to humiliate me. This is what I get for solidifying your otherwise worthless future."
"I'm sorry," I murmured, eyes fixed on the blurry outline of the candle slipping sideways off my foot.
"And a lamp?" She was staring at the warm, golden halo of light barely visible in the brightly lit room. "Are you still sleeping with a light on?" She whirled to face me, murderous outrage, crimson patches blazing beneath her cheeks. "Are you a child? Will you beg Jarrett to leave the light on for you because you're afraid of the dark?" The more she spoke, the higher her voice seemed to become as if the sheer audacity of my fears were a personal attack. "Are you truly that pathetic? How could I have raised such a sniveling, useless brat? Afraid of the dark at twenty. I'm mortified. I will never be able to show my face in public again when this comes to light, and it will when Jarrett sends you back humiliated. The laughingstock of our social circle."
I didn't know what to say. I'd been so careful. Between the cupcake and the lamp, I could feel the rising tide of panic building in my chest. I knew I would be seeing the box even before I heard the violent crack of heels as she stalked back to where I stood. Her rage twisted into the air, wrapping and bleeding until there was nothing but the hot burn of her anger filling my lungs. The skin of my cheek prickled seconds before I felt the violent crack of her palm.
Stars exploded in a shower of yellow sparks across my vision as bells screamed between my ears in a roar of pain. Tears I'd been fighting back skated over scalding flesh, angering Mother further.
"Stupid, worthless girl!"
I sensed the second slap without even seeing her arm lift, but the blow never landed. Her square palm with its long, skeletal fingers and crimson talons dangled over me, a promise of justified hatred, but Mother's focus was pulled to something over my shoulder.
Malcolm, disheveled with day old stubble darkening his jaw stood in the doorway, a wild look of fury in his blue eyes, eyes that were trained on Mother.
He was still in his suit from the night before. The sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up, the material creased beyond repair.
Without a word, he moved deeper into the room, bare feet making no sound as he came to a stop next to me.
"That's enough, Mother."
The claws curled into a bony fist before it was pulled back. Her thin lips pinched to mirror the displeasure in her eyes.
"This doesn't concern you, Malcolm. You should be getting dressed. Don't you have a meeting this morning?"
"My meeting won't start without me. Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
Only Malcolm had the courage to speak to Mother that way. She would never touch him. He wouldn't allow it. She had no power over him, nothing she could take and use to hold him hostage. He was the male, Blackwell heir. He had his own wealth. His own life. Even my clothes weren't my own. I owned nothing, not even my body.
"I came to check to make sure your sister was ready for her trip. Instead, I find her stuffing her face like some gutter rat."
Malcolm's gaze dropped to the crushed scatter of crumbs around our feet and the smear of chocolate on my feet before drafting up to eye the dark stain at my abdomen.
"A cupcake?" He settled on our mother once more. "You're angry because she had one cupcake from our birthday?"
Twin blotches appeared in Mother's cheeks. "This has nothing to do with you. I will not explain myself. What matters is that we are about to become a part of the Brixton family and we can't have Jarrett seeing her getting rolled up the aisle because she's too much of a pig to control what she stuffs into her hole. No man wants to take a blimp to bed."
"Naya isn't a blimp or a pig, Mother. She's perfectly fine, and Brixton has waited since she was fourteen, I doubt he'd turn her away now."
"You can't know that. This is a delicate situation we never would have had to deal with if you hadn't—"
"What?" Malcolm challenged coldly. "If I had let you sell my sister's vagina?"
Color flared hot in Mother's cheeks matching the heat I could feel flood my own face.
"That is a vile word, Malcolm. A gentleman would never use it, and Jarrett was willing to wait until Naya was sixteen if you had just—"
"Here's the difference between you, me and Brixton, Mother. I have morals and I love Naya. I will always protect her."
"From what?" Mother exclaimed. "Jarrett isn't a monster. He's not going to eat her. How can you not see how lucky she is because of me? I have secured all our futures. Your precious sister is going to be the most envious and spoiled woman in the world, which is why everything has to go perfectly. Jarrett must be made happy."
"Have you considered marrying the guy? You seem—"
Mother's eyes widened with horror. "How dare you speak to me in such a disgraceful manner? I will be talking with your father." Without waiting for a response, Mother stomped to the door. She paused only briefly to send me a withering glower. "Get dressed."
Then, she was gone, and Malcolm turned to me. His blue eyes took me in, lingering longer on my burning cheek.
He pulled me into his chest, uncaring of the chocolate stain now soaking into his white top.
"Are you hurt?" he asked into the top of my head.
I shook my head because I knew I could never lie to him. "I should have known better."
His large, warm hands stroked my back. "What happened?"
I soaked my guilt into the soft fabric of his top. He listened without interruption. And only when I reached the part about the candle did I remember the one still clinging to my toe. I bent and scooped it up, frosting and all. The sugar bled into the crimson puddle already smeared across my palm from my own abuse.
Malcolm took my hand in his, assessing the gashes my nails had torn into my skin. He didn't say a word when he led me to the washroom.
The candle made a faint pinging sound hitting the bottom of the trash bin. He gently dragged my hand beneath the faucet and the icing was washed down the drain with a faint, pink swirl of blood. The four new, half-moons etched into my flesh matched all the other faded scars from years of self-soothing.
"She's wrong, you know." He raised soft, blue eyes to my tear-stained face. "There is no one more beautiful than my sister. I can promise you that."
I sniffed. "You have to say that. We look the same."
"Exactly." Carefully, he dried my fingers with a towel. "So, if you think you're not attractive then I'm not attractive and I refuse to believe that."
Despite the morning, I chuckled. "Fair point."
He gave me a smirk. "Want me to spit in her favorite Chardonnay?"
I would have laughed if I hadn't known how serious he was. "Of course not."
"Then at least let me tell her off." He frowned down at me. "She can't keep treating you this way. You're not some bastard stepchild. We were born at the same time."
"But you were wanted. I was an unwanted surprise." And a girl. Two things Mother hated more than crying children.
Girls.
Surprises.
"Well, after tonight, none of that is going to matter."
I raised my eyes to his face. "What do you mean?"
The towel swaddling my hand squeezed once before he drew back. "Don't worry about that."
I searched eyes he refused to lock with mine and a prickle of dread wormed up my spine. "What are you doing, Malcolm? If you—"
He ignored my cautioning as he always did and straightened his shoulders. "Are you all prepared for your trip?"
The abrupt change in topic had me faltering for a moment. "Yes? Mother insisted I be prepared two months ago."
My brother nodded slowly, methodically. "Good. I won't be here to see you off, but we'll say goodbye before I have to leave."
The ruined material of his top took my abuse, crinkling beneath my fingers when I grabbed his arm. "You're not going to be here?"
Warm palms rested on my arms and squeezed once to stop me. "I have a meeting that Father insists that I attend. But I will see you before I leave for it, okay? Trust me."
I did trust him. I trusted him above all else. He was the center of my entire universe, yet the thought that I would be climbing into that car without a single soul to care wrenched something in my chest.
"I understand," I whispered because it was expected.
Malcolm was in line to inherit Father's company. Meetings and dinners and impressing new clients had become a fact of life since our eighteenth birthday. I couldn't ask him to forego his responsibilities for me.
"Hey." He gave my arms another gentle squeeze. "What have I always told you? I will always look after you, understand? Always. Trust me, okay?
I nodded and he pulled me close to press a kiss to my forehead.
"I love you," I told him.
He flicked the tip of my nose, making me yelp with surprise at the unexpected attack. "Love you, too, little sis."
Rubbing my nose, I glowered up at him. "Only by five minutes."
"Still younger which makes me the boss of you, so you have to listen to what I tell you."
"Ugh!" I gave him a playful shove towards the door. "Get out so I can get ready, you weirdo."
"That's sir, captain weirdo to you."
Laughing, I closed the door between us and turned to the brightly lit mirror framed in burnished gold. The girl on the other side lost her smile. The shine in her blue eyes dimmed and she watched me with pity and an empty sort of void I felt to my core. The left side of her face glowed a vivid and violent red that contrasted with the soft, white cream of her complexion. I could count all four of Mother's fingers as if they were cradling her cheek.
At least you weren't put in the box,I reminded her as a solitary tear found its way over the hot skin. A slap was far more welcoming than the other possible outcome. The day already promised to be hectic and traumatic without facing that dark, empty cabinet.
Counting my blessings, I peered more closely at the dainty features I'd gotten from Mother. The small chin and delicate eyebrows over wide eyes. Father once claimed I was her spitting image when she'd been younger. Mother had not taken it as a compliment.
Mother found little girls abhorrent. They were whores and a liability against the family. Boys carried the family name forward and took over the business. Girls spread their legs and did nothing much else. She'd made it no secret that — if she had known — I was there, growing inside her, she would have made immediate arrangements to have me removed. It was the story she told often when she was particularly angry. I had snuck into their lives like some infection and ruined everything.
But even then, right from the very beginning, it was Malcolm who protected me, kept me hidden until it was too late. It was unclear if he'd done either of us any favors, but all our lives, he was the one who stood between Mother and me, and I was leaving him. Granted, against my will, but once I climbed into the car that would take me to Jarrett's executive airport, I would never be returning.
Part of that was by choice. The walls of Blackwell House held only echoes of loneliness, beautifully wallpapered by memories of torment and fear. With the exception of Malcolm, there was nothing there for me.
The other part was Jarrett. It would be up to him if I was allowed back. Once I was released from my parents, he was in charge. The one who had full authority over my comings and goings. He would oversee my day to day. Where I went. Who I spoke to. What I wore. What I ate. I was sure he wouldn't handle that personally himself, but he would have someone relay his orders and I would be required to follow them.
My world was a fishbowl of windows. All pristine and expensive, and for my protection, but I knew a cage. Even if it was crafted from the clearest diamond.