“And what type is that?” my mother asks softly. Too softly.
I swallow down the fear.
I have to fight. For them. So I can stay.
“You’re a user,” I snap the words at her, and she blinks. “William has given you so much, and it’s still not enough. It willneverbe enough for you. You won’t find anyone better. Just… be happy with what youhave. Please.”
I wait for the barb to hit. Praying it gets through. We can’t keep doing this. It feels like I start a new life every six months. A new life. A new name.
We’ve been here for a whole year. I thought… I thought this was it.
But any hope I have is snuffed out when my mother pushes back her hair with a haughty look. “There’s someone in the city, as it happens. Martin. He’s waiting for me.”
My blood goes cold. I stare at her with growing disbelief. “Martin.”
My voice sounds flat, my ears ringing as she grows animated again. chatting about thisMartinand hiswealth.
Just like that, William is forgotten,
Swept aside, just like Edward was. Like Jonathan before him. Like Niall, before that.
Just another stop on the road after all.
I feel sick.
“And,” my mother says brightly, “he has a daughter! Just your age, too, and she sounds like a sweetheart. So you’ll soon forget about those horrible, nasty boys.”
As if they’rereplaceable.
No.
No.
I shake my head, and the smile disappears from her face. “Anastasia.”
“I’m not going.” My voice is firm. “You can’t force me, mother. If you want to leave, then leave.”
She throws back the bedcovers then, rising up to face me. It’s then that I notice that her red hair is perfectly curled. Her make-up done to perfection.
“Tonight?” I choke out. “You’re going tonight?”
She surveys me. “Weare going tonight. No time like the present, and Martin is expecting me.”
She’s so cold. I feel as though ice is leaching from her and into me, soaking into me, turning me numb. “Like I said. You can leave. But I’m not going.”
My mother sighs. And when she speaks, her voice is soft. But her words are razor sharp, sharp enough to hurt.
“And you’ll… what? Stay here, with four older men?” She laughs. “What do you think people will say when they realize, Anastasia? They’ll start to talk. You’re only fifteen—,”
“I’m sixteen,” I snap. “My birthday waslast week.”
My mother has the grace to look mildly embarrassed. “Oh. You didn’t say.”
I didn’t tell anyone. It passed without a word. The boys wouldn’t have known, but you would think mymothermight remember the day she gave birth to me. By the time I realized she’d forgotten, I was too embarrassed to say anything at all.
She shakes it off as I stare at her in disbelief. “Regardless. A young girl staying with four older men? Those boys are of legal age, and you are not. People will start to talk.”
“They’ve never touched me,” I say heatedly. Truth.
