I’ve been half attempting to pack up my belongings, not because I want to but because I have no choice. I went to my father’s office, hoping to get a different resolution, to at least have him talk some sense into Julian or tell me it’s too soon to move, but he wasn’t there, and when I found him in his room instead, he refused to let me in. Shaina said he’s becoming more lethargic, and he doesn’t want me to see him that way.
I swallow back the nausea and walk into my closet, anger at the situation and frustration from feeling so goddamn helpless pushing me toward my racks of high-end clothes and reaching out to grab them while I scream.
Repeatedly I reach, rip, and pull down piece after piece until there’s nothing left of my closet but piles of mess. And then there’s me: my heart pounding wildly in my ears, sweat sticking my curls to my forehead, and a thick ball of anger lodged in my throat. Only the anger causes an ache that makes it feel a lot like grief.
The plush carpet cushions my fall as I drop to the ground, feeling desolation once again creeping up and wrapping its long, icy arms around me.
Julian has, with one simple flick of his hand, wrapped golden shackles around my wrists. One simple tug and I’m helpless to do anything other than what he wants.
Maybe this is my penance. Maybe this is what I deserve, a lesson meant to teach me that every action has a reaction and sometimes we have to deal with outcomes we don’t want.
But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Emotions are rarely rooted in logic, so it’s hard not to feel as though I’ve been betrayed by my baba. By the one man in the world who I thought would protect me from evil forever.
Sighing, I lean forward, pushing the mounds of clothes to the side to reach the pictures I have stowed away, hoping that I’ll be able to find a silver lining, something that reminds me of my father’s love. That he’s always looking out for me, always doing what he thinks is best, even when it hurts me the most. Denim scratches against my wrist as I tear my way through the mess I’ve made, but eventually, I reach a shoebox and pull it forward, flipping open the lid.
My breath catches in my throat when hundreds of old photos stare up at me from the cardboard container.
I still take pictures now, but they’re different, more reserved. I don’t always have a camera on me like I did when I was away from home, and now… I’ve been so caught up in his illness and pleasing him that my passion went from photography to family, and it isn’t until this moment that I realize it was like losing a piece of myself when I let that passion slip away.
Longing runs through me, making my chest feel hollow, and when I start to flip through the pictures, a small smile peeks through, despite how empty I feel inside.
Blurry images of me trying to take selfies before you could see yourself in the lens.
Riya and I at boarding school, school uniforms barely passing the regimented dress code as we stood on top of the cafeteria benches and sang into our milk cartons.
Nostalgia hits my gut like a battering ram, and my fingers tremble as I move faster through the forgotten memories. And then my hands stumble when I reach a photo of Aidan and me, lying in the backyard right outside the staff wing with snowflakes in our hair, rosy red on Aidan’s cheeks and smiles beaming across both of our faces. I caress the side of Aidan’s frozen face with my finger, trying to remember the moment. I must be around ten or eleven in the picture. It’s a little blurry and out of frame from the way Aidan’s holding the camera above our heads.
But it makes my heart squeeze anyway.
The snow hits me from out of nowhere. Icy, cold, and wet, smashing into my face and dripping off my chin.
I yelp, spinning around and diving behind the trunk of a tree, my breaths coming in heavy pants and my stomach flipping in excitement. I had hoped Aidan would see me out here and come to play. It’s the entire reason I decided to make snow angels right outside the staff rooms.
I’ve been back on winter break for a few days, and this is the first time I’ve had a chance to come see him. Yesterday, my father took me to a special showing of Miracle on 34th Street, which is my favorite movie, but today he has to work, and I woke up at the crack of dawn, bees buzzing through my whole body at the thought of coming down to this side of the estate today.
Part of me was worried he wouldn’t be here. Maybe his mom got another job or he had his own friends now to go and play with.
But as soon as the sting hit my face, I knew it was him.
Nobody throws a snowball like Aidan.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” His voice is playful as he hollers through the yard.
A warm feeling fills up the center of my chest, and I peek around the trunk of the tree, the snow crunching beneath my gloved fingers as I try to see him and stay hidden at the same time.
He looks taller than when I saw him last, his jacket too thin for how cold it is outside, and the tips of his bare fingers are red from holding on to the snow.
“I know you’re there, princess,” he goads. “You can run but you can’t hide.”
He glances my way and I dive back behind the thick trunk, my breathing choppy as it escapes in visible puffs through the air. I flatten my back against the bark, trying to remain as still as possible, but nothing and no one could wipe away the smile that’s stretching across my face.
The crunch of shoes on snow gets closer, and my heart pitter- patters against my ribs, my frozen nose tingling in the winter air.
Suddenly, warm breath coasts across my cheek and I bite the inside of my lip to keep from squealing.
“Got ya,” he whispers.
My eyes pop open, but before I can even take a step, he smashes a snowball right between my eyes.
“Oh!” I yell, surprised. “You big jerk!”
He laughs and stands up, jogging away, and this time, I shoot up after him, chasing him around the yard. He might be bigger, but I’m faster, and I tackle him quickly, taking us both clumsily down to the ground. I grab a handful of the snow right beside his head and shove it straight into his nose.
“Eat it!” I yell, giggling between each word.
“I give up! I give up!” he laughs back, picking me up by the waist and dropping me to his side.
It must be twenty degrees outside, but my chest is warm, spreading heat through my body, and I decide that this must be what pure happiness feels like, and I want to capture the moment forever.
I reach to the side of my neon- pink snow pants, unzipping one of the pockets on my leg and grabbing my disposable camera, the one I keep on me at all times just in case there’s something I want to remember forever.
Before I can hold it up, Aidan grabs it from my hand, his other arm reaching out to pull me into his side. “Say cheese.”
Aidan grins, his dimples creasing the apples of his cheeks and his smile wide, and right before he hits the button on top, he leans in, resting the side of his head against mine. Butterflies erupt in my stomach.
I come out of the memory, my fingers coasting across our snow- kissed faces, the happiness so clear on both of them.
Shaking my head, I fold up the picture, slipping it in the side of my bra, wanting to keep it with me to give me something to hold on to today other than the sadness welling up in my sternum and spreading outward, infecting every single cell.
I wish more than anything that Aidan was here right now, that he could take me in his arms and tell me everything would be okay. If he were, I’d tell him how sorry I was for fucking everything up. I’d tell him how if I could, I’d take it all back and make different decisions, ones that wouldn’t be made from my fear and cowardice. I’d thank him for sticking by me through thick and thin, always calming me down and reminding me of why I chose him in the first place.
To be honest, I would have bailed on myself a long time ago.
Tears spring from my eyes and pour down the front of my face, hot and messy against my cheeks, but once they start to fall, they’re impossible to stop. So I stop fighting against the feeling and let it overwhelm me instead, until I can’t see, can’t think, can’t feel anything other than the ache radiating from the center of my chest, pulsing with regret.
I cry for the loss of Aidan.
For Baba.
For myself.
I hiccup, wiping what I’m sure are black smears of mascara as I try to see through my now- swollen eyes. My legs tingle when I stand, numb from sitting on the closet floor. I move slowly but sure, my breaths stuttering as my nervous system tries to calm, and I walk out of my closet and grab an empty box, moving back to the piles of clothes and continuing to pack.
Because I have no other choice.
Acceptance of my situation stabs at my chest, and it splinters into a thousand pieces, washing away the foggy grief and bringing clarity.
Just because something feels hopeless doesn’t mean it truly is. But to handle this, to even have a chance of figuring any of this out, I have to be smart. Cunning. I have to learn Julian’s game and play it better than him so I can get rid of the son of a bitch for good and keep Sultans in the family.
My father is dying.
And I can’t save him, as much as I wish I could.
But maybe I can save his legacy.
“What are you doing?”
My heart shoots to my throat and I spin from where I’m packing up the last box of things I want to take with me. I’m not sure when Julian wants me to move, but it’s better to be prepared, so after I had my meltdown, I got my shit together and started to figure out what I wanted to keep out of Julian’s reach and what I was okay taking with me.
This time, it’s not Julian but my best friend in the doorway. “Riya, what are you doing here?”
I’m happy to see her, but the sight of her causes a crack in my newly formed shield and my bottom lip trembles, a burn starting to spread behind my nose and eyes.
Riya’s face drops. “Shit, what happened?”
“He— I… He… I’m…” I stutter over the words, not sure how to say them, how to give her the truth without giving her the truth.
“What?” she cuts in, her hands going to her hips. “What did that asshole do?”
“You don’t even know who I’m talking about.” I laugh through the ache.
“Doesn’t matter. If he makes you look like that”— she points a finger at my swollen eyes— “he’s an asshole and I have no choice but to plan his murder.”
I chuckle, but the gravity of the situation dims my amusement. Does it make me a bad person if I wish we really could plan his murder? I shake my head, dispelling the notion.
I’m not that kind of person. I’m not him.
“I don’t have my phone,” I say.
Her perfectly manicured brow arches. “Yeah, I got that when you didn’t call me back for the past two days. And you missed Sunday brunch.”
Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about our brunch. “Oh my god, Riya. I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs. “I figured you not showing up was your distress call, so here I am. Now tell me what’s wrong.” Her eyes scan the room, widening as she sees the boxes scattered and the empty shelves. “Are you…packing?”
I nod, that ache stirring up again in the middle of my chest.
“I’m marrying Julian,” I force out, refusing to meet her gaze.
She purses her lips. “By choice?”
My teeth clench to keep the truth from spilling off my tongue, but she sees through me anyway. I’m not sure why I even tried.
“Not by choice,” she answers for me.
“It doesn’t matter.” I wave my hand like it can wash away the situation. “What is it you always say? If you can’t get out of it, get into it? This is me getting into it.”
She huffs out a noise, half laugh and half scoff, before her hands fly to her hips. “You’re insulting as hell when you lie to my face like that.” Riya moves until she’s standing right in front of me, her hands coming up to rest on my shoulders, eyes locking on mine. “You jump, I jump, remember?”
“Please.” I laugh even as tears brim on my lower lids. “Don’t quote Titanic to me right now, Riy. I don’t think I can handle any more pain.”
But her actions have the desired effect, and I give in and start to talk. About how Aidan’s life is at risk. How I haven’t been able to find my phone to even send him a message. How Julian wants me to pretend that we’re in love and how easily my father believed it.
And once the words start slipping from my lips, I can’t stop, the heavy burden feeling a little less intense when someone else helps to shoulder the load.
“He’s not a good person,” I say. “And I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what he’s really capable of.” Panic starts to wind its way around my spine, pricking my nerves like needles. “What if he hurts my father?”
“What if he hurts you?” Riya hits back.
I shake my head. “I’m not worried about me. I can handle myself. I just… I can’t take the risk that someone else might get hurt because of me.”
She nods, sympathy filling her gaze. “So what’s the plan?”
Sighing, I walk over to my vanity and grab a silk scrunchie, pulling my curls off my neck. “Play along for now while I figure out a way to gain the upper hand. I don’t really have another choice.” I spin toward her. “I need a lawyer, or…I don’t know, someone who’s willing to go up against Julian so I can get out of this sham marriage and keep Sultans.”
Riya sucks on her lips and nods, walking over to me at the vanity and staring at both of our reflections in the mirror. “I don’t know if a lawyer would be able to get you out of this. Not many would go up against Julian Faraci. We need to come up with a different option.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “But I have to try something.”
She hesitates, running her fingers through her hair before her eyes lock on mine. “Have you thought about the police? If he’s out here causing car accidents and threatening you and Aidan, they really need to know, Yas.”
I shake my head without a second thought. My father has police chiefs and district attorneys over for dinners and soirees all the time, and I know they’re all on a first-name basis with Julian, happy to line their pockets in return for looking the other way whenever they need to do something less than savory.
“No, no cops,” I say firmly. “Alexander’s body hasn’t even been found yet, and my father would never forgive me if I had the police sniffing around. Besides, I’m pretty sure most of them are in Julian’s pocket anyway.”
She huffs out a breath. “Then we’ll find you a lawyer who doesn’t give a shit.”
A grin works its way across her face, even though her eyes are as dark and as serious as I’ve ever seen them. She holds out her hand, pinkie extended. I wrap mine around hers and her smile widens.
“Ride or die, bitch,” she says. “We won’t go down without a fight.”
