“I’m not your prisoner.” I kicked around haphazardly as he carried me to my room, more curious than upset, really. I dragged my feet over the stairs to make it hard for him. Unfortunately, he seemed completely unfazed by my weight and tucked me under his arm like I was no more a burden than the morning newspaper.
“Agreed,” he said, surprising me. “But I need to sort out some shit today. I’ll call Max to keep an eye on you. He’ll let you out of the room, but you have to stay home for the time being.”
“Why?” I demanded breathlessly, after he put me down on the floor in my room. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“But something did. Are you doing side hustles now?” I flat-eyed him, desperate to make him feel as small as he made me feel. If he got himself into trouble, and I wasn’t a part of it, it pretty much meant he was dragging me down with him.
He gave me a pitiful look. “Stop talking.”
“Stop breathing.”
“Your parents will be disappointed to learn you’ve made no progress in the shrew-taming department.”
“Good. Means I’m wearing you down. Maybe you’ll decide to quit soon. Or better yet—have a heart attack.”
He slammed the door in my face, then locked it. I found myself wishing he were dead. The heat and rage with which I hated him stunned me.
Which reminded me—today, I found a voice message from my mother on my phone. She was careful to leave it at four in the morning Pacific Time, when she knew I wasn’t going to pick up.
“I hope you are doing okay, and that you understand we only did what we had to do. We worry about you, Hallie. We’ll talk when you calm down.”
But when I called back, she didn’t pick up. Hera wasn’t kidding. They really had decided to cease all communication with me and get reports from Ransom.
Well, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammad…
It was time to pay the Thorne family a visit.
As if reading my mind, my sister’s name appeared on the phone screen in my hand. I felt slightly alarmed. Hera did not call me all that often. Maybe once a month to tell me how big of a screw-up I was. My existence seemed to embarrass her, but not enough to warrant an interaction with me. Sometimes I wondered, if my parents had known what kind of woman I’d grow up to be—would my mother still have chosen to keep her pregnancy with me?
I swept a finger over the screen and put my sister on speaker.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound neutral, but fully preparing myself for a verbal whiplash.
“Hey, are you feeling better?”
“No.”
“Great. That must mean you’re making progress. When are you coming here?” She sounded disinterested and a little annoyed. Like I somehow should have predicted she wanted to talk to me and called her myself to save her fingers the stress of dialing.
“Never, if it’s up to Mom and Dad,” I joked. Flinging myself onto my bed, I began browsing through online catalogs on my phone. I could never just speak on the phone without doing something else. It seemed like such a waste of time.
“Yeah, well, the rehearsal dinner is in a few weeks, and you’re invited. So.” She left her sentence hanging.
I liked how she said I was invited. Like your sister has to be invited to your wedding. I knew, in fact, there had been discussion of leaving me out. And though it didn’t surprise me, it hurt me a lot. Craig, her fiancé, and I didn’t exactly get along.
“We still have weeks until then.”
“You need to come for the dress measurements,” she countered flatly. “Plus, it’s been a long time since you paid Mom and Dad a visit.”
“Well, when do you want me in Dallas?”
“Next week.”
“Next week?” I felt my hands becoming clammy, and my feet going cold.
“Yes,” Hera said impatiently. “There’s a lot to discuss. Just book a ticket, will you?”
“I—I can’t,” I stuttered.
“You never miss measurements for a premiere or a new club opening,” Hera drawled.
Actually, I recycled dresses like crazy, but when had Hera ever taken the time to get to know me?
“Random—I mean, the bodyguard—took my credit cards. I don’t have a way to book tickets.”
“Oh.” The surprise in her voice gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe she’d step in and tell Mom and Dad how horrible he’d been to me. “I’ll give you my credit card details.”
Her spurt of altruism surprised me to a point I almost felt touched, which I hated myself for. I lived on those crumbs of small gestures from my family.
“But don’t go crazy. Just buy what you need, or I’ll tell Mom and Dad.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I had no idea what else to say with some level of dignity.
“And please pack some respectable clothes, if you have any.”
By the chatter around her, about polish colors and different foot treatments, I could guess she was getting her manicure. Hera always got the same thing—a short, natural, gelled French manicure. “I mean, I know you’ll never cover those horrid tattoos, and I can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. But can you at least wear something that doesn’t scream dominatrix in a sex club?”
Sex club. Sometimes I suspected my twenty-nine-year-old sister was actually ninety-two.
“I serve at your pleasure,” I joked. “Consider it done. And I—”
I started to tell her that I was excited for her, but she’d already hung up on me, as I was midway through spewing sentimental words at her.
I used her card to purchase a plane ticket to Dallas, and booked myself a nice suite in the Fleetwood Mansions of Tortoise Creek. A cool one grand a night, but surely, my only sister would not want me sleeping in a dumpster while I visited my family.
Hera knew as well as I did that I refused to stay at my parents’ house. I didn’t feel welcome there, and for a good reason. My parents always berated me—about my clothes, my manners, my walk, my grades. But even if they hadn’t, I simply couldn’t feel safe. Not after what happened there the first time.
Or the second time.
Or the third.
Anyway. So here we were.
I heard Max walk through the door and exchange some words with Ransom and felt a deep sense of relief. I’d been feeling like a caged animal these last few days. Claustrophobia closed in on me.
I wondered if the meat in Ransom’s closet had already started decomposing. I hoped so. Maybe it would remind him of his rotten soul.
A few minutes after I heard one of my cars drive off—Ransom felt very comfortable using my things—the door to my room was unlocked.
“Decent?” he called and knocked.
“Sure.”
Max appeared in front of me. He tipped an imaginary hat down, all chivalry and sugar.
“Cinderella.”
“Prince Charming.” I stood taller, my tone several notches colder. Nice or not, Max was still a man and I needed to remember that. “You’re late, as always.”
“Want me to accompany you anywhere?” He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. Clearly, he was happy to see me, and it made me feel uneasy. I was not used to people genuinely liking me.