The needle bit my skin as the artist took her sweet revenge. The pain was slight, but I embraced it, closing my eyes and drinking in the feel of being marked. Unlike the vials of ink soaked into the rest of my body, this felt different. A holy aura. A decadent finality. There would be no divorce, and only my death would free Amanda of my presence. I was hers, forevermore.
My flower didn’t get a say in that fate. But there was part of me that waited impatiently for her to embrace our destiny, even if it took the rest of our lives.
Chapter 37 – Amanda – The Past
My father’s severeexpression looked like it had been carved from stone. As he led us from the conference room where we’d met with the headmaster, the sounds of the prom vibrated along the corridor of the Ritz. For a school dance, it was over the top. Seemingly elegant. And tinged with the sins of spoilt, rich brats.
We entered the elevator, and when the doors closed to take us to the lobby, I risked a peek at my parent. He was furious.
“You embarrassed me tonight.”
I swallowed past the pulse in my throat. Hiding my swelling hand in the folds of my dress, I fought the urge to shrink into the other side of the lift. What else could I say to defend myself?
“These kinds of things need to be handled discreetly, not—” He gestured to me.
“There wasn’t time,” I blurted out before biting my tongue.
“Smooth your hair,” he snapped.
I did.
The doors opened to the lobby, and we crossed to the exit. Our town car waited at the curb. Only when we were safely behind the partitioned back seat, and the driver pulled away from the curb, did my father speak again.
“You’re lucky he was drinking. Otherwise, this would be entirely on you.”
I blinked hard. “Dad, hegropedme.”
“That doesn’t matter!” His voice was low and stern. He wouldn’t risk the driver hearing through the closed hatch. “You could have been expelled for fighting.”
My date’s grandfather was willing to keep the incident quiet if we did. Society wouldn’t know. But somehow, in the twisted course of the night, this was all my fault.
The flip phone buzzed in my clutch, but I buried the bag under my thigh.
“Don’t let this happen again,” Dad warned.
It wasn’t my fault!
I went to my junior prom with an acceptable Blue Blood. I had a stylish yet modest dress. And yet I was the 11thgrader who would be expelled because her date tried to assault her.
With a shaky breath, I pulled my spine up straight. Life wasn’t fair, and I had to play the cards it dealt me.
“I won’t,” I promised.
Dad seemed satisfied. He pulled out his Blackberry and began scrolling through emails. We were home in less than thirty minutes, and I was safe in my room seconds later.
I tore the gown from my body, not caring that it was haute couture and cost my stepmom a small fortune to have designed. A sickening sheen slithered over my skin. There wasn’t enough hot water in the city to wash it away.
Coming out of the shower, I crept to the bedroom door. No one had come to check on me. The incident was closed, and I was left to deal with the trauma.
Pulling on a black hoodie, joggers, and running shoes, I locked the door and crossed the room to slide open the window. Warm spring air rushed in to greet me. I’d snuck out enough times with my boyfriend—my best friend—to know how to scale the wall. Still, this was the first time I’d done it alone.
The night took on a different appearance when I was by myself. Without the dark knight to guide me, I traveled the length of the alley, constantly checking over my shoulder. Riding the midnight bus was just as scary, if not worse. Every glance from a stranger felt like it would cause a problem.
The moment I stepped onto Morelli turf, I took a deep breath. Gangs didn’t prey where mobs ruled. I was safe here—safer than anywhere else in Boston.
“Even my own school,” I muttered.
It took another ten minutes to jog from the bus stop to the quiet street where Mr. Messina and his boys lived. As I slipped into the backyard, I contemplated how I would get into the upper bedroom. There wasn’t a tree, and the siding was slick.
