She stands, wiping her hands against her slacks. “If anyone asked, we discussed flowers for the reception.”
“No roses or lilies,” I announce, unable to keep the unnecessary answer from my lips. Who cares what flowers are at my sham wedding? I shouldn’t. But I don’t want those. Not in my hand as I walk toward disaster. They’d be a death omen for the future.
“That doesn’t leave much in the dead of winter,” she replies.
“No flowers at all,” I say, suddenly knowing what I want. This wedding should set us free. “Feathers. I want feathers. Red and dark gray,” I say, remembering that gorgeous dress I’d tried on before everything totally fell apart. A dress I’d much rather wear than something white and virginal.
This is a battle, and I should dress for the blood of my enemies. And if I can’t wear that dress, a bloody bouquet made of the promise of wings will have to be enough.
Chapter 16
Clara
My idea of feathers instead of flowers excites the wedding planner, but I know if Trips’ dad had been there, he would have squashed the notion. Luckily, wedding planning must be under the ‘women’s work’ umbrella in his archaic brain, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Things hit a snag, though, when the planner admits she can’t find my parents and asks for my help. I need to find another way to communicate with the guys—RJ can find them now that Trips’ dad has taken their home from them.
I try not to worry about it, to think about it at all, but it’s hovering at the back of my brain no matter what I do. Because how many more people’s lives do I have to ruin with the choices I make before I give up and sacrifice myself to make it all go away?
It’s a question that, a year ago, I wouldn’t have spent more than a second contemplating before doing exactly that. But Ican’t think that way anymore. Yes, my choices affect others, but it’s not a one-way thing. The whole world is full of people making the best choices they can, and while most of those choices have little in the way of consequences, that doesn’t mean that my choices don’t have a right to exist alongside theirs.
I chose this knowing the risks. The guys agreed to the plan, helping me build it into something I could hardly have imagined when I first sat them down around the fire and explained what I hoped we could do. And while Emma didn’t know exactly what she was risking by helping, she knew enough to know there would be consequences she couldn’t foresee.
My parents, however, had no warning. And while I’m still not sure where I stand with them, I’m also certain that they’ll figure it out. We were never homeless as a kid, nor did we ever run out of food.
There was always a roof over our heads and snacks in the cupboard, even if full meals weren’t common. There weren’t vacations, and both of the cars were always one rusty bolt from falling apart on the road, but we were fine. I just have to hope they can scrabble together what they need now, just like they could then. Or maybe, it’ll give them a chance to reevaluate what they want from life.
I know what I want from mine. It’s just currently impossible.
So, I promise the planner that I’d get her their new address while Jessica watches me with a question in her gaze.
The second hitch in the meeting hits when she mentions the wedding party. Only Trevor for Trips and Mattie forme. That’s it. She immediately sees my anger, and tries to backtrack, but I don’t know if she should. I glance at Jessica, wondering if I should push on this. Not having anyone from outside the house stand up with us was one of the contingencies, but things will be easier if we have more allies inside. Jessica chews on her lip in response to my silent question, which I take to mean that she doesn't know if I can ask for additional attendants. “I’ll have to talk to Mr. Westerhouse,” I say, wondering how I can charm him while still getting the guys through the front door.
Damn, do I wish I had access to a computer.
The dress fitting goes fine. It’s not my dream dress, but it’s not terrible either. It has sheer sleeves that balloon wide before catching beneath my elbows, a lace bodice that hits a shallow V-neck at the front and a deeper one at the back, and a simple A-line skirt I can run in. The whole thing allows for an excellent range of motion, which was one reason I chose this dress over any other. Not that I’m explaining my reasoning to anybody else in this house. They don’t need to know I might have to run on my wedding day if things fail miserably.
After the fitting, I’m left standing next to my assigned guard for the day. “So, about that meeting with Mr. Westerhouse?”
He clears his throat. “He said he’ll meet you for dinner. I’m supposed to escort you to your room to get ready.”
Right. Because it’s going to take me hours to get ready for a simple dinner with the man. “I was hoping I could go for a run,” I say instead.
The guard looks terrified to say no, and the myriad of reactions I’ve gotten over the weeks piques my curiosity about the guards’ gossip about me.
“I’ll see if Falk is available,” he answers, his phone in his hand but his gaze locked on my core, like I'm a second from pouncing on him. A moment later, he lets out a sigh. “He’ll meet you at your room in about half an hour.”
I’m changed and antsy when my door’s unlocked again, Falk tilting his chin, inviting me out with him. The storm has faded to a drizzle, and the cold rain against my skin leaves goosebumps pebbling across my arms, my breath coming in clouds in front of me. This kind of cold is welcome, though. It’s a reminder that I’m moving, I’m breathing, I’m alive.
Once we’re deep in the woods, I start my now standard series of questions about Trips. No, he’s not out yet; no, Falk doesn’t know when he’ll be let out; yes, he’d tell me the second he knows anything. It’s been two weeks. My single week was near torture, and I was still let out to run a few times with Falk. I need this meeting with his father to go well.
We hit the second patch of woods, and to keep my mind from worrying, I ask what I’d wondered earlier. “Why do the new guards alternate between thinking I’m just some spoiled rich girl and like I might kill them if they answer a question wrong?”
Falk laughs, and I startle to realize I haven’t heard that from him before. This place really is toxic. “That’s because there are two camps of thought about you. One is that you were forced to kill Smith, that it’s against your nature, and that you’re just a girl caught up in a shitty situation. A lost little girl locked in a tower.”
“And the other camp?”
“They’re certain you’re a perfect match for Archie, er, Trips. That you’re a sociopath with a murderous streak, and that’s why you’re locked up. It’s prevention, so you don’t stab everybody in their sleep.”
