Even though the thought of attending another pretentious event full of fake people makes me want to drive an icepick into my brain, I timidly smile back and nod before punching the code into the door and slamming it shut behind me.
As if things weren’t bad enough, I see the cleaning cart stationed in the living room and curse, flying up the stairs to my room. A matronly woman is coming out of my closet as I enter and I freeze, paralyzed with nerves until she tips her head to me and continues on to the bathroom.
Eyes darting around the room, I set my bags on my desk. She hasn’t touched the bed yet and I quickly yank the sheets off, stuffing them in the bottom of her laundry hamper so that I won’t have to pray Dad doesn’t see them in the garbage and find out I lied.
I’m making the bed by the time the woman comes out and she gives me a happy smile, tipping her head in approval. I try to keep the house in decent shape so they don’t have to do much more than run a vacuum or mop, and we’ve developed a silent sort of mutual respect over the years.
I learned early on not to strike up a conversation, because if Dad found the ‘help’ busy talking instead of working, they’d be fired on the spot. I don’t want the guilt of making someone’s already difficult life worse on my head, so I keep to myself.
It’s better that way, since every person I’ve met wears a mask around me. His money taints everything it touches until it all becomes so meaningless, the Harlow name making everyone trip over themselves in an attempt to garner favor. Or fear; usually a little of both. I can’tbreatheunder his heavy influence, but everyone envies my gilded cage.
When the coast is finally clear and I triple check the house is empty, I return to the room to find my resident feline curled up on my bed, making himself at home.
“You either have a death wish or you’re an idiot.”
He blinks up at me before stretching out, rubbing himself all over the new bedding. My anger drains away as he ends up upside down at the foot of the bed, head lolling off and big, golden eyes pleading.
I sigh with a small smile, shaking my head and opening up the containers of food. “Best I could do was a burger, so take it or leave it.”
I’ve barely even set the container on the bed next to him before he tears into it. The silence is comfortable for a long time as I clean up and dispose of the evidence, coming back to find him limping out of my closet. When it’s clear he’s struggling, but going to try to leap up again, I slide to the floor beside him instead so he doesn’t feel pressured.
He lies down beside me, close enough that I could run my fingers through his fur if I wanted, and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, you know,” I finally whisper, resting the back of my head against the footboard. “That people are so cruel. I’d like to say it’s not all of us, but we both know there’s far more bad than good right now. It’s not fair, we can’t help who we’re born to. I just,” I sigh, not even sure what I’m really trying to say. “Wish I could do more than a band aid and a burger.”
We sit in amicable silence for the better part of the afternoon, and I only realize I dozed off when I hear footsteps in the hall right outside of my door.
“Shit! Get under the bed!” I physically shove him and am just adjusting the blanket back in place when my Dad opens the door. “Found it!” I feign putting my earring back in, getting to my feet and smoothing out my dress.
He shakes his head, amused. “You’re a strange one, Rin. Always have been.”
My stomach sinks, dreading whatever he came to say. He only uses the nickname I prefer when he’s trying to butter me up for something or deliver bad news. I wait for him to clue me in patiently, since rushing him won’t do any good. Carson Harlow speaks when he’s ready and not a moment sooner.
“There’s something we need to discuss.” He sits on the edge of the bed and pats the spot beside him. Reluctantly, I sit, tucking my hands under my thighs to keep my nerves hidden. “Despite what you may think, I know you aren’t my little girl anymore, Rin.”
I tilt my head to the side, twisting to face him and tucking a leg beneath me. “Okay?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But this world is no place for a girl on her own, far too dangerous. So, I’ve set everything up for you to be taken care of.”
“What do you mean?”
There’s a small pause before he speaks, and with the words, a part of me dies a swift death. “You’re to marry Jax Caswell. It will be announced at his birthday party in a few weeks to the public, but I’ve already settled the arrangements with his father.”
My stomach roils. “You can’t do that! I’m a person, not somethingthat can just be given away!” My face heats as anger surges through me. “You don’t get to just decide who I marry without even talking to me about it!”
“I can and I have,” he retorts coolly. “You live on my dime, Corinna, and wouldn’t survive on your own. With as little control as you have, it just cements that fact. I promised your mother I would take care of you and this will ensure you’re provided for long after I’m gone.”
“I’d rather take my chances on the streets than be forced to endure that pretentious asshole grunting over me,” I snap, incensed.
The backhand comes so quickly I never saw him move, just feel the explosion of pain. Sprawled on the floor, I press my hand to my throbbing cheek, my fingers coming away wet from blood where his ring cut into it. Tears blur my vision as I choke on my arguments, stunned into silence.
He’s always been stern, but he’s never hit me before. Not even after Mom died and a part of him went with her, when more of a wall was erected between us. The shock of it hurts more than the actual blow, even more so when he doesn’t look in the slightest bit repentant.
He gets to his feet, glaring down at me. “Clean yourself up, we’re having company for dinner.” Without another word, he strides out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Soft fur brushes against me, butting my hand away from my face. His tongue darts out to lick the wound, rough enough I’m half convinced he’s trying to sand off another layer of skin. Everything I’ve ever been taught should have me scrambling away screaming in fear, but as he curls up against me, I find myself leaning into the simplistic comfort he’s offering. His chest rumbles, vibrating against me in a weirdly soothing way.
Tentatively, I brush my fingers over his fur, careful of his injuries. “You best get better quick,” I warn him, tears slipping down my face at the hopelessness of the situation. “Because if there’s anyone that hates shifters more than my father, it’s Jax.”
Three
