It’s been almost 24 hours since I had anything in my guts besides the water I scooped from the sink this morning, but it’s not the first time I’ve gone without. It's not for Clara either. So I won’t show him weakness. He’s already figured out my biggest one. There’s no need to give him any extras.
He lays his tablet in front of him, ignoring us, a power move that doesn’t bother me. And with a quick glance at Clara, I see it doesn’t bother her either. Instead, she’s taking the time to studyhim, to tease out whatever details she needs to make this work. I gave her everything I had, but I’m not so stupid to think that being raised by the man hasn’t colored the way I see him.
He’s dangerous. A control freak. Smart and charming. The kind of man who can make the worst atrocities sound reasonable.
But he’s also almost sixty, his hair has only a hint of red left in it, his blue eyes fading, his skin sallow and creased. He’s still a monster. He still has teeth sharp enough to take a bite out of me. But when he had to choose between punishing me or punishing Clara, he chose Clara. Partially because he hoped it would hurt me. Which it did. But partially because he must know that even in a fixed fight, he’d lose.
I’m not only younger. I’m bigger, stronger, and prone to lashing out—a danger to his carefully crafted plans. In that, I take after my mom.
My mom was a striking woman. Rich and beautiful, but with a wild, competitive streak that led to her captaining her college basketball team. She was a fury on the court, a woman who drove forward, dodging every barrier, leading her team to victory after victory. She had a spark that everyone spoke of in whispered tones, one that as I grew older, I saw less and less of. Until there was nothing left of her at all.
I may look like my father, but I needed to believe her when she said I had her heart. Otherwise, the line between him and me is as fine as the linen threads in my slacks.
My father sets down his coffee, showing it’s time to pay attention to him. “I hope you both have had some time to think and settle in.”
We stay silent, knowing he really doesn’t want an answer. Falk shifts his weight behind me, readying himself for any sudden movement from my direction.
“As you know, your brother is getting married tomorrow, and the rehearsal dinner is tonight. I appreciate your reappearance in time for the festivities. This is the sort of event that requires a united front. Because of that, and only that, I am offering you two a small do-over.”
He unlocks his safe-drawer, and pulls out a square velvet box, setting it on the table before us. “I assume the other ring I acquired last winter has long since been pawned.” I tucked it into the safe under my desk yesterday morning. We were worried he’d trace us if we pawned it.
He pushes the box to Clara, and she picks it up, clicking it open. Inside, a simple ring lays cradled in white velvet. A rectangular center diamond bracketed by four sapphires, two on each side, glints out. She looks at my father, her face still, uncertain how he expects her to act.
The way his lips twist, it becomes clear he sees this ring as an insult. “It’s not much, but I can’t risk you standing with the family without something on that finger.”
His gaze slides from Clara, whose brows furrow as she looks at the small box in her hands, to me, and I meet it without hesitation.
“Archie, you have three jobs this weekend, and I expect them all to be done without incident.”
I nod, waiting for the list of horrors he’s made for me.
“First, you will fuck this girl beside you. And you will do that as often as possible. Consider this job ongoing until she’s knocked up. I don’t care what protests she makes, how big her crocodile tears might get, but this is your number one priority. One that should have been settled months ago.”
I don’t look at Clara. We knew this was coming, but I don’t want to see reality hit her. Planning is one thing. The actuality is brutally unfair to her. We have ways around it, but we thought we had weeks. Which means we’ll have to play a hellishlydangerous game until we get back to campus, until the guys can get her what she needs to keep this devil’s spawn from her cunt.
When I don’t respond with anything besides the urge to grind my teeth, my father’s smile grows. “I’m curious how much of my son you are, Archie. You want this woman, and as far as I’ve been able to tell, she’s led you on a merry chase. What will that beast I know you have in you do when he finally gets his prize? Will he tear her to pieces?”
The ring box clicks shut beside me.
My father glances at Clara, hoping to see her fear, but her face is carefully blank. He turns back to me. “Your second priority is to attend the rehearsal and the wedding, and to be perfectly unremarkable. Both of you. But once the guests leave tomorrow night, I have a third job for you, Archie. Do it well, and I might trust you enough to sleep in a bed occasionally. Fail, and I’m only letting you out to fuck this girl, work, and finish school. Your choice.”
“Yes, sir.” The words roll off my tongue, muscle memory that I wish I didn’t have.
He turns to Clara. “You, girl, need to understand that you are not a person in this house. You are a toy, a prize, and a threat—whatever lever I can pull to control my son. And your usefulness lies solely in your ability to carry my grandson to term and my son’s attachment to you. If those two things fail you, then I will have no further use for you.” He leans back in his chair, waiting until her eyes flick up to his. “Don’t mistake those words as an offer of freedom, Ms. McElroy. They are a threat and should be treated as such.”
Her fingers tap twice on the arm of the chair, then she risks speaking. “If it’s a girl?” she asks, a question I never thought of.
But she would worry about the ‘what if.’ She would have to. This is her body she’s risking, and I hate it so much my visionfades for a moment before I force myself to breathe, to trace the threads in the chair under my fingers.
“If it’s a girl, we remove it and start again,” my father says.
Loss sinks into my bones at his casual contempt. It’s not like there aren’t ways to guarantee a grandson. Hell, we wouldn’t even have to have sex for him to get what he wants. So this? It’s nothing but needless cruelty disguised as a desire for things to be done the ‘traditional’ way.
Another way to assert control.
To break us down.
To take the only small blessing this arrangement could possibly create and turn it into a tragic ending.
