“How did he ask?” Mom asks, voice pitched high and excited. “I want all the details. Don’t leave anything out!”
My face heats, even though the chill makes me shiver. The temperature dropped fifteen degrees once the calendar rolled into December, and now I’m bracing myself against the wind. I hate the cold weather, but I’ve always had a fondness for the Christmas season. I don’t know if it’s the music, or the pretty lights, or the fact everyone always seems a little less hostile, but it’s my favorite time of the year.
“He sat down,” I begin, but she instantly interrupts.
“Where were you?”
Rolling my eyes, I start from the beginning. “We met in the student union for lunch.” Just like always. Tristian doesn’t tell me what to eat anymore, but he still makes sure I have access to his own personal choices. Sometimes I’ll take them, enjoying the pleased kiss he’ll press to my neck when I do. Sometimes I’ll eat my greasy slice of fifty-cent pizza and do a little shoulder dance as he grimaces and grumbles disapprovingly. “He sat down and ate some of his disgusting soup, and then he asked if you and I had any plans for Christmas.”
“Which we don’t.” I can practically hear her pout.
“Which we don’t,” I parrot, remembering the relief on his face. “Then he asked me if I’d escort him to his family’s Christmas party.”
“Escort him!” she gushes. “How fancy!”
I let her go on about this for a while as I dodge around a couple holding hands and scan the shops. I’m on a hunt for something to get the guys for Christmas, and it’s not going well. What do you get the guys who have everything? Not a severed finger, that much I know.
Ignoring that I’m too broke to bother with much, it’s just nice to walk around like a normal person for once. The side streets of Forsyth are decorated to the nines, decked out with candy canes and reindeer, string lights and garland that accentuates as daylight wanes. It’s odd how it makes me nostalgic for something I never had. When I was a kid, our Christmas tree was a foot tall and made out of pipe cleaners.
Still, it’s a big deal that the guys let me run these errands without them. It’s rare that I’m left unsupervised, considering how tense they’ve been since the break-in. Hell, considering how tense I’ve been since the break-in, I rarely find it in me to protest anymore. But I’ve been dealing with one version or another of Ted for a long time now. I’m not letting that asshole ruin Christmas. Not this one. Not when I’ve finally found a home—however fraught living within it may be—and something that’s messy and painful, but confusingly close to being called a family.
I’ve got gifts to buy and a party to shop for, so ho-freaking-ho.
Santa’s coming to town, stalker or not.
Of course, these are easy thoughts to have when I still have their tracker beneath my skin.
“Story, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mom.” I side-step a Salvation Army Santa. “I’m listening.”
Nothing, not even my mother’s voice on the other side of the phone, or the fact I’ve been out shopping for the perfect outfit to wear to the Mercer holiday party, can kill my buzz.
“I just want to reiterate that nails and eyebrows are a must. Good grooming is a signal to the wealthy. They can spot neglect a mile away. Oh!” At this, she lowers her voice. “And please tell me you’ve already been waxed? Men like the Mercers are going to expect a certain…ah, shall we say, smoothness, to their beaver friends.”
“Aw, mom, gross!” My face might be screwed up in distaste, but let’s face it. She’s not wrong. “I have an appointment with a salon, but this is not a big deal. Tristian and I aren’t dating.”
I keep telling her that because I don’t know how to tell her that I’m sort-of, in the most convoluted way possible, dating all three of them. I mean, isn’t that what we’re doing? Hell if I know. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend before.
“If he invited you to that party, it means something. They plan this event all year. I hear there are paparazzi!” Her voice turns a little bitter. “Even your father and I don’t get an invitation. It’s incredibly exclusive.”
I wince, guessing that a crime boss and former prostitute don’t pass the Mercer muster. As much as I want to argue with my mom, she’s probably right. An invite like this from Tristian is a declaration. I’m just not sure what he’s declaring, or who he’s declaring it to.
“Then I’m honored to be invited,” is what I say aloud.
“My goodness, and there’s the dance.” She sounds like someone who just struck oil, the words emerging fast and frantic. “Every year, the Mercer men take their escorts out onto the dancefloor at midnight sharp. It’s all anyone talks about the week after. Such a lavish tradition, don’t you think? Oh, I bet he’s going to take you! Do you know how to waltz?” She laughs, high and giddy. “What am I talking about? I don’t even know how to waltz!”
I blink, trying to process her words as fast as she says them. “I don’t know how to waltz, but if it’s, like…this big thing, I doubt I’ll be involved.”
Mom makes a pssh sound, and I can just imagine her flapping a hand. “He’s taking you to the party, so he has to take you out on the dancefloor. If he doesn’t, I’ll give that man the what-for.”
I smirk. “Whatever you say, mom.”
“And are you positive you’re okay about Christmas Day?” she asks.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying not to sound like it’s too fine. Because it is. Fine. ‘Fine!’ even. God, it’s the best news I’ve gotten all year. Apparently, after they sent me to boarding school and Killian entered college, the Paynes stopped celebrating Christmas as a nuclear family unit. Halle-freaking-lujah. “You two have fun on the cruise.”
She sighs, the static buzzing through the phone’s speaker. “It’s just your first year home, and we missed out so much—”
“No, mom. It’s really okay. This semester has been hard. Adjusting to college and all? Honestly, I’m just looking forward to a break before the next one starts.” I don’t mention that the guys have some kind of annual Christmas party that sounds way more fun than playing dodge-the-creepy-stepdad all day. “You guys deserve a break, too. I know Daniel’s still upset about Vivienne.”
“You’re right,” she relents. It’s all a good show. I know for certain my mother already has her bikinis packed and ready to go. “He really does deserve something nice, don’t you think? He works so hard. Lately, there are nights where he doesn’t come home at all. Just sleeps right there in his office, too bogged down with work to make the drive back home. He’s such a good provider.”
I roll my eyes, but when they refocus, I stop abruptly. “Shit.” The street ahead is blocked by a thick crowd waiting to enter Forsyth’s single toy store. I step into the road to cut around them, but at the obnoxious blare of a horn, hop back to the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, sounding worried.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I look around, noting the small park that cuts through to the street where the other shops are located. “I just—I need to go, okay? It’s really busy out here and I don’t want to miss my appointment.”
“Fine, but I want all the details on this party, okay? Don’t make me hear about it second hand.”
Smiling, I tell her, “I promise.”
Right before I hang up, she orders, “And you’d better learn that waltz! Look it up online!”
I tuck the phone into my pocket, searching for a break in the traffic to cross the street. When I find one, I jog across the asphalt and into the park. From the outside, it looks like a straight shot to the shops on the other side, but once I’m toward the middle, I realize the path veers around a big fountain. I check my watch, hoping none of the places are closing soon.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Instantly, I know it’s one of the guys. Any deviation from my approved path was bound to set them on edge. I slide my thumb across the screen, lips twitching at the thought of one of them—or maybe even all of them—sitting around the GPS and gnawing their fingernails down. The bright light of the screen casts a glare into my eyes, but not enough that I can’t see the words.
That color blue looks good on you, Sweet Cherry.
I freeze, hand gripping my coat. My blue coat. I spin around, scanning the area, but the park is quiet and still, only the slow gurgle of the fountain and distant traffic filling the space.
My phone buzzes again.
But I prefer the lace you wore in the pit. Is that what you’re wearing underneath?
I take a faltering step forward, then two more at a faster clip, eyes pinging back and forth from my phone to the path ahead.
Or did Rath keep those in his top drawer with all the other trophies he’s stolen from you?
Fear races up my spine, and I see a shadow move on the other side of the fountain. Or at least, I think it was a shadow. I blink, heart racing in my chest, and then stumble the other direction, zipping off the path entirely. A horn blares in the distance, beyond the wooded area I’ve stumbled into, but I’m not far from the road. If I keep going, I’ll be out of the park.
I’m far from the fountain when the phone buzzes again.
I shouldn’t look, but I do.
Did you like the way the knife felt in your hands when you cut him? I know I enjoyed carving those letters into Vivienne’s flesh. You already have my initial cut into you, but I look forward to giving you another. Wouldn’t you like that, Sweet Cherry?
He knows all about us. Not just where we live and how to find us, but who we are. Where we are. What we do together. Why we do it. “Who are you?” I ask aloud, more to myself than anyone else. The snap of a twig propels me forward, and I ignore the phone when it buzzes again. I can’t tell if there’s someone in the park or if Ted is just fucking with me, but I’m not hanging around to find out. Through the brush and bramble, I see the glow of lights ahead, and when I feel the sidewalk under my feet, I don’t stop rushing toward the nearest open store. I push open the door and step into the bright fluorescent light of a tiny convenience store.
My phone vibrates again with the unread message. I duck into an aisle, and despite my instinct to pretend it doesn’t exist, I check the message.
I’m closer than you think, but far enough that you’ll never catch me.
My hand shakes as I stare at the message, panic rushing over me. What was I thinking coming out like this? That it felt nice to act normal? That it’d be worth being the mouse in the cat’s game if it meant I could walk down the street and look at some lights? Stupid. So incredibly stupid.
I fumble for the map on my phone, dropping a pin in my location and sending it to the group text. I add the text:
Lady: I need a ride.
“Lady?”
Tears obstruct my vision and I swat them away, so frustrated that I can’t even do something as simple as Christmas shopping without him ruining it. Frustrated that it’s working. That I’m trembling. That I’m shaking.
Frustrated and just.
So.
Fucking.
Angry.
A hand lands on my shoulder. “Er… Story?”
“Don’t touch me!” I jump back, screeching the words. The first thing I see is that I’m standing in front of a row of feminine products, boxes of pads and tampons laid out neatly before me. The second thing I see is Autumn, the Princess—the former Princess—throwing her hands up.
She clutches a box of tampons in one of them. “It’s just me.”
Pressing my hand to my chest, I try to breathe. “Oh, shit. Autumn.” I don’t trust any of the Royal bitches, but Autumn isn’t a killer. She’s spent the last three months trying to get knocked up, and the tampon box, plus the bags under her eyes, implies she’s got bigger issues than stalking a rival.
“You look—” she starts, but swallows it. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sniff, refusing to show any weakness in front of this girl. I nod at the box of tampons. “Are you?”
Her eyes drop, lips smashed into a flat, tense smile. “Well, I’m not pregnant. I’m sure everyone’s heard.” I don’t have to respond. The Royals are like gossipy church ladies. She and I both know it. I don’t expect her to continue. For some reason, she does. “They kicked me out.” The shrug she gives is loose and casual, but the wetness of her eyes belies the gesture. “And the Princes already replaced me. Can you believe that? Like… how do they even know it’s my uterus that doesn’t work? Maybe it’s their shitty sperm.”
Doubtful.
I purse my lips to stop the word from emerging. The Princes probably picked their strongest and most fertile to continue their crazy-ass tradition. “I mean, did you really want to be tied to those guys for the rest of your life, anyway? Who wants to be some rich kids’ glorified incubator?”
“Glorified incubator?” Autumn’s face crumples into twisted horror. “Being the Princess is an honor. You still don’t get it, do you?” When all she gets in response is my dull stare, she explains, “I would have been taken care of for life. My child would have been the equivalent of royalty. We would have been set, Lady. Do you know how many mothers out there would love to be in that position? To give their child the best life possible? To give them legacy and pride and a place in this world?”
It’s an uncomfortable parallel to my mother, which is the only reason I say, “I think a child should be allowed to choose their own place in the world. That just sounds like a lot of expectations a baby never asked for.”
All the wistfulness, the sorrow and pain, flickers right from her eyes. It’s replaced with something stony and cold, and I know before she even opens her mouth that she means to cut. “What would you know about it?” she sneers, snatching a box of panty liners from the shelf. “All your Lords want to do is to possess. Land, territory,” she looks me up and down, scoffing at my beat up sneakers, “low-rent pussy with trashy trimmings. The complete lack of future those three thugs would give to you isn’t even worth the price of admission. At least my Princes wanted something more from me than a few minutes on my back.” Raising an eyebrow, she makes her final blow. “Better a glorified incubator than a cheap whore.”
It must be the adrenaline still pumping through me—the click of a switch that’s turned her from innocuous to foe—that drives what I do next. I thrust both hands out, smacking hard into her shoulders. The shove sends her knocking into the shelf at her back, an expression of stunned disbelief frozen on her slack face. “Look here, Autumn.” I step toward her, flicking her chest. “I’m not going to even justify explaining to you what goes on between me and my Lords, but there’s one thing I know for sure. They wouldn’t toss me out on the street like a used piece of trash. Ever.” I can see the hit land and slice right through her façade, her mouth snapping shut. Pleased, I go on, “Do you want to know why? It’s because I’m their Lady. Where the four of us come from, that means something more than using each other to get a little ahead in this world.” Her teeth are clenching now, jaw locked as her eyes flash in anger. “And here’s something else to think about while you’re shoving that cotton up your twat. The new Princess? She’s prettier than you, Autumn. They can’t keep their hands off her. I’m sure there’ll be an announcement soon. Did you know there was a betting pool? Everyone knew you couldn’t pull this off. My Lords cashed in big.” I give her a sharp, nasty smile. “Maybe I’ll have them use it to buy their whore a new pair of shoes.”
Autumn’s face turns red, tears filling her eyes. She looks like I slapped her, which isn’t far off from the truth. The second her lips wobble apart to speak, the silence is broken by the shrill jangle of the bell on the shop door.
Dimitri’s voice calls out, carrying over the aisles, “Story? Where are you?”
“I’m here,” I say, sauntering back. I’d started to the front of the store, but Dimitri finds me first, popping into sight at the end of the aisle. I exhale in relief to see his face, my muscles struggling to unwind as he strolls toward me. It gets a little easier when he immediately drags me into his chest, eyebrows furrowed.
“Something happen?” he asks, lips brushing my forehead.
I shake my head, but then say, “Later, okay?” He searches my eyes, but doesn’t push it, letting me burrow into his warmth. “You were quick.” The brownstone is at least twenty minutes away and I’ve barely been here for five.
“Yeah, I was…”
I look up at the pause, taking in his dark eyes and tousled hair. He’s wearing the leather jacket he’d given to me once, weeks ago, in a dark parking lot on what felt like the edge of the universe. “You stayed close, didn’t you? Because you were paranoid.”
Now, he frames my face in his palms, lip piercings shifting with his slow smile. “You caught me.” Right there, in front of Autumn and all the tampons she’ll be needing, Dimitri leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. Against them, he asks, “Ready to go home?”
And I answer.
“Yes.”
