by Skye Warren
Rosita puts her hand over mine. “No, Miss Avery. It’s not necessary.”
It’s easier to force a smile now that I’ve had practice. “It is necessary. And it’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”
She shakes her head, dark eyes mournful. “I’m not blind.” A pointed glance at my body. “I see how skinny you’ve gotten.”
I cast a worried look at my father, but he’s still asleep. “Please.”
“No, I can’t take your money.” She hesitates. “But I can’t watch your father either.”
I open my mouth, but my pleas catch in my throat. How can I ask her to come back? She’s the only one of our former staff to come at all. And she’s right that I don’t have the money to keep paying her. It’s not her fault I’m running out of options.
“Okay,” I say, my voice breaking.
“Your mother—” She makes a soft sound. “She would have been heartbroken to see this.”
I know that, and it’s the only solace I have in her death. She never had to see my father’s fall from grace. She never had to see her little girl turned into a whore. “I miss her.”
Rosita’s gaze darts to my father, almost furtive. “She was loyal,” she whispers. “Like you.”
I nod because it isn’t a secret. Everyone knew she was a doting wife and mother. A true society maven, friends with everybody and the picture of grace. I always dreamed of being like her one day, but I know that with the visit I made earlier, my life will be irrevocably changed.
“Be careful,” Rosita finally adds with a pat to my hand. She takes one final glance at my father. “Mr. Moore is waiting in the back parlor.”
My heart thuds.
Uncle Landon has been my father’s friend and financial advisor for years. They played golf and the stock market. But even as close as he was, he never would have been invited to the back parlor. That was only for family, which is why the lumpy, comfortable couch wasn’t worth anything.
I paste on an expression of nonchalance. “I’ll speak to him when I’m done here.”
Without another word, Rosita shows herself out. Steady beeps fill the space she left behind, clinical reminders of my father’s tenuous hold on life.
Swallowing hard, I take his hand. This hand rocked me to sleep and tossed a softball. Now it seems cold and frail. I can feel every vein beneath the paper skin.
Tears rise up, but I fight them back. “Oh, Daddy.”
I really need my biggest supporter right now. I need someone to tell me everything will be all right. There’s no one left to do that. The only thing that will help now is a phone call from one of the city’s crime lords. A rich man with money enough to buy a woman for the night.
His eyelids are shot through with blue-green veins. They open slowly, revealing the flat gaze he’s had ever since the conviction. “Avery?”
“I’m here. Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”
He closes his eyes again. “I’m tired.”
He’s asleep most of the time. “I know, Daddy.”
“You’re a good girl,” he says faintly, his eyelids fluttering.
My throat feels thick. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“My little jumping jack.”
His voice fades to nothing by the end, but I know what he said. He used to call me that when I was little, boundless as little girls can be. He taught me chess to help me focus. And then he found time to play a game with me every week, no matter what. He worked nights and weekends, but he always made time to sit across the chessboard from me.
In the beeping quiet that follows, I know he’s asleep again. I only get a few minutes with him a day. The rest of the time the medicine keeps him under, but without it he’s in intense pain. He has always been a man of vitality, of action. Multiple broken bones and a harrowing night in the dark alley where they left him aged him twenty years. This is all he has left—the security of this room and the pain medicine. I can’t take those away.
“Everything will be okay,” I say out loud because I have to believe that. I have to believe that I’m doing this for a reason. Have to believe that it will be enough.
There’s no one left to save us except me.
Chapter Three
I have three memories of my mother, and one of them takes place in the back parlor. She was a beautiful debutante, the perfect society wife. Only in the privacy of the back parlor did she ever sit on the floor to play Candy Land with me.
My footsteps echo in the hallway, made empty by my desperate need for money. Darkened rectangles decorate the wooden floor, patches where a rug or piece of furniture sat for a decade or two. Between the sale of our furniture and cashing in my college fund, I’ve kept us afloat for another month, but that will run out soon. The nurse who visits my father once a day, the doctor who replenishes his supply of pain medication. They all want money, both for their expertise and to keep their stories out of the city’s gossip chain. What’s left of my father’s dignity is worth that much.
The door to the back parlor is open. Landon Moore sits on the lumpy couch, his vest impeccable, one oxford-clad foot slung over his leg. He has a full head of silver hair, a beard and mustache, and striking blue eyes. He reminds me of those old English gentlemen, minus the accent.
Part of me hates that he’s encroached on the only thing I have left of my father. The practical part of me knows there aren’t any other sofas in the house. No furniture. There’s nothing left. Panic rises in my chest.
He’s here to help you, I remind myself.
“Uncle Landon,” I manage. “It’s so good to see you.”
He stands, his expression somber. “My dear girl. What a trying time this must be for you.”
For reasons I can’t explain, my lower lip trembles. His sympathy is harder to bear than the challenge in Gabriel Miller’s chiseled face. I can’t afford to feel sorry for myself. I can’t afford to break down, not when I don’t know if I’d be able to put myself back together again.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Oh but I do, especially with your father out of commission. How is his health?”
His pallid skin, his weakened movements. The excruciating pain I can see in his eyes between doses. “He’s improving every day. I’m just so grateful that he’s healing.”
“Good, good.” He gestures to the sofa—my mother’s sofa. “Come sit down with me. I must speak with you.”
The front parlor was carefully constructed to provide decorum, to allow space. I could have sat in the beautiful Scottish armchairs with a small oak table between us. I could have maintained the smile on my face.
But the back parlor is made for comfort. For intimacy. And when I sit down, the cushions tilt sideways, sliding me closer to his body. He doesn’t move away. Instead his hand lands on my knee with a squeeze. Every muscle freezes as I stare at the faint age spots on his skin, unable to comprehend what’s happening, unwilling to think about why he’s touching me like this.
“My dear, we need to discuss your future. We need to discuss the house.”
“The house—” My voice cracks, and I take a deep breath. This isn’t my house. It isn’t even my father’s. He built it for my mother. He gave it to her outright—a gift. And when she died it passed to me in trust. “You said we’d be able to keep the house.”
“Yes, it’s protected by the trust. But maintenance on an estate like this is, I’m sorry to say, a luxury you can no longer afford.” He glances out the window with an expression of disapproval. The bushes had once been perfectly rounded. Green puffs of cotton candy, I once thought. Now they’ve grown unruly, jagged branches covering the window.
The house isn’t luxury. It’s the only thing I have left. I can’t lose the house. It would break my father to find out how far we’ve fallen. It would break me.
“I had hoped to keep Daddy here. It’s important.”
Landon’s face turns faintly pitying. “Unfortunately the real estate taxes are due soon.
We haven’t been paying into escrow for years, as the total would be easily covered by your family’s accounts. But with the recent restitution payments…”
My mouth turns metallic with fear. “How much are the taxes?”
He reaches down to his leather folio and pulls out a folded paper. I take it with trembling hands, shaking hard enough to blur the numbers. When they finally come into focus, my breath expels completely. “Oh God.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “It was laudable to try and keep your father here, but I’m afraid it’s quite impossible. I’ve already been in touch with a realtor and explained the need for a fast sale.”
He goes on about the details of selling the house, but all I can hear are my father’s faint words. You’re a good girl. For so many years he took care of me. It’s my turn to protect him.
“Wait,” I say.
Landon’s expression softens, the lines of his face relaxing. “I know how hard this must be for you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you about a proposition.”
“Something to save the house?” Something to save my father.
“I’m afraid not,” he says gently. “But you know that I care for you deeply. I have the utmost respect for you.”
I blink, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Of course, Uncle Landon. You’ve always been here for us. And you’ve been a huge help to me with the finances during this time.”
He gives me a genial smile. “Good, good. And I hope you’ll be amenable to what I’m about to propose.”
I hold my breath. For some reason I feel wary. As much as Uncle Landon visited from time to time, even though he was always kind to me, something about him made me uncomfortable.
His hand takes mine, pulling it into his lap.
My stomach tightens in shock and silent denial.
“I have had the pleasure of watching you blossom into a beautiful young lady. Your grace and strength during your father’s trial have been admirable. It would be my great honor to make you my wife.”
The air seems to whoosh from the room, my lungs hard and hollow. “What?”
“I realize that I may not have been your first choice—”
“Uncle Landon. You’re like family to me.” And he’s as old as my father. They went to school together. How can he even ask me this?
“We’ll still be family, Avery. I’ll take good care of you.”
My blood runs cold as I consider the implications. Uncle Landon is definitely rich in his own right, through inheritance and from his work as a financial advisor to the city’s wealthy. The thought of accepting his proposal makes my stomach clench, but I can’t say no. “You would keep the house?” I ask cautiously, my voice tight.
He stands and crosses to the mantle, where family pictures crowd together. My mother’s smiling face features prominently, my only method to remember her. He picks up a frame and touches the glass, almost a caress. “Do you know I met your mother first? Before Geoffrey had seen her.”
I shiver. “My father said it was love at first sight.”
“Yes,” he says, with a dark note that I’ve never heard before. “She was a beautiful flower, and he picked her as soon as he saw her. He built this house as a shrine to her.”
My breath catches. This is why he could never countenance moving, even with all the extra space. This house isn’t only for my father. It’s a living memorial to my mother.
“So you’ll help me save it?” I ask almost desperately.
He looks at me sharply. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.” As if realizing the harshness of his tone, he gives me a smile. “And it would be wasteful. I have a very large home that would be quite lovely for you.”
“But my father…”
“He’s barely conscious,” Landon says, his tone curt. “We’ll make him quite comfortable in a room in our house. And we’ll be able to hire a full-time nurse to care for him.”
Part of me wants to demand to know why he won’t pay for the nurse already, considering how destitute we are. Isn’t he best friends with my father? Except his expression doesn’t look kind right now. He seems almost bitter. Jealous? Has he held on to resentment all these years for my mother choosing my dad?
And how creepy would it be to marry Uncle Landon? It would have been bad already—the huge age difference, the fact that he watched me grow up. But knowing I’m a replacement to my mother?
“I can’t,” I whisper.
He returns to the couch, standing beside me, looking down. He runs a finger across my cheek, making goose bumps rise across my skin. “You’ve always been a smart girl. Surely you must see there’s no other choice.”
Gazing up at him, Gabriel’s golden eyes flash in my mind. Isn’t this the safer choice? I’ve known Uncle Landon my entire life. I would be able to live comfortably, in the style I am accustomed to. My father’s medical bills would be taken care of.
Some small, broken part of me wants to give myself over to this, to let someone else fix everything. I’ve had to be strong for so long, watching my life crumble before me. The thought of lying beneath Uncle Landon’s body repulses me, but some stranger at an auction probably wouldn’t be better.
His thumb brushes across my lips, and everything in me recoils. I hold myself very still, even my breath bated. This is the test, I realize. To see whether I can stand his touch.
“So much like her,” he murmurs, and I know he means my mother. “At the same age I met her.”
A shudder rushes through me. “No,” I whisper.
It’s too much knowing he’s imagining my mother. It’s too much thinking of him like family.
“Avery, I’m trying to help you.”
“I have another plan,” I say with that falling sensation again. I’m tumbling, turning. Uncle Landon is my only hope of ground, but somehow I’ve decided to jump.
“What plan?”
“I’m going to get a loan from Damon Scott.”
Landon pulls back in surprise. “The loan shark?”
“He’s a businessman. He’s going to lend me enough for the real estate taxes. And the nurse. I’ll be able to keep the house.” I’m lying out of desperation right now, pretending it will be a loan instead of an auction, praying it will be enough money.
“That much money,” Landon says slowly. “Are you sure he doesn’t want something…unsavory from you?”
That’s what you want from me. I press my lips together, praying for the strength to go through with it. I know the mercy that Uncle Landon is offering me. Not only would he support me, but his standing in the community might be enough to save me in the eyes of society.
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 Four
That 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 hal
ls. 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.