My mother’s shrill voice slices through the night like a crack.
We stop, but we don’t jerk apart. Instead, we both move slowly, neither of us happy that we have to.
I want to cry out.
Curse the fates and my mother.
It physically hurts to create distance.
He steps back a single pace. I exhale; the moment now lost.
“Another time.” His eyes linger.
“Maybe,” I whisper, even though it’s a lie. We both know it. It’s not maybe at all.
It’s already happening . . .
The cage. The door.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to fly.
10
Lorenzo
I’m not tryingto listen. I’m just walking the back corridor with my head down and toolbox in hand, mentally cataloging every broken thing at this estate. The sink drips. The busted dumbwaiter (that I still don’t understand the point of). The east hallway that creaks like it needs an oil change.
I’m halfway through the study when I hear someone say the name Victoria. I don’t slow at first. But my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Her father’s voice cuts through the crack in the door. He speaks in a low and controlled tone. In the way the rich speak, to make every sentence feel like it’s the law.
“You are not to associate with the help. Do you understand me?”
My feet stop. I don’t mean for them to. They just do.
Silence.
He’s talking to her.
To Victoria.
“He is beneath you, Victoria. This summer fantasy you’re entertaining is over. I won’t allow it to ruin everything we’ve built.”
My grip on the toolbox tightens. The metal digs into my palm.
Another beat. Then I faintly hear the sound of her voice.
“That’s not what this is.” Her words come out like a whisper, and it feels like something punches me in the ribs.
“Oh, please. Don’t be naive.” Her father’s tone shifts into that special brand of refined disgust only dynasties can perfect. “You think he wants your mind? He wants what every man wants. And once he gets it, you’ll be the one left embarrassed.”
My jaw locks so hard I think it might snap.
“You don’t know him,” she fires back, the sentence taut and trembling like a violin string pulled too tight.
“I don’t need to.” His voice drips with boredom. “I’ve seen boys like him my entire life. They want what they can’t have. They crawl their way into pretty girls’ lives with sad stories and bad intentions, hoping to rise one social rung at a time. They take and leave. But mark my words, Victoria, they always leave.”
I stop breathing.
