Her eyes constantly shift between Merc and I, probably trying to figure out which one of us she can sweet talk the fastest. She hones in on Merc, licking her lips as she parts her thighs, her very short skirt riding up as she flashes her panty-less crotch before she crosses her legs. Merc sits on the sofa beside me, leaning forward, a frown etched into his forehead as he points to Rosaline with the switchblade.
"Did you just try to Basic Instinct me, Rosaline?” Merc asks. “Seriously? Put it away. Tell me who sent you to steal Rome’s pills.”
Rosaline starts hurling abuse at both of us, unintelligible nonsense peppered with curse words and high-pitched screaming. Merc rolls his eyes, slapping the tape back on her mouth.
We both stand over her.
“What do we do now?” Merc asks.
I shrug. “Torture her until she tells us who she’s working for.”
Chapter Four
AVERY
An hour to go.
I am a master of denial, but we're getting right down to the wire now. I'm standing on a little raised podium in the presidential suite of the Palatial Hotel, just another of my family's business holdings that are scattered across California, but I like this place. It's rooted in my memory almost as much as my family home, maybe even more. This is the place my mother loved to bring us to get us out of the house. She always loved being in the bustle of a busy city, not cooped up at home, where good wives are supposed to stay. My parents were married in a Catholic church, but they had their reception here. Every significant event that wasn't held at home has happened in this place, and now it's my turn, so why do I feel like I'm about to die?
Maybe because I am.
Not literally, of course. I very much doubt anybody's going to kill me. I am the golden goose of the family, after all. Have to take care of me so I keep laying those golden eggs. Ironic, isn't it, after what I learned this afternoon?
My dress is stunning, and that almost makes it worse. It's so beautiful, but my mother will never see it, or my sister. The people who will see it are strangers, and men who think they can control every little facet of my life. I can't stop thinking about Will, about the way he left. He's the kind of boy who likes to make a scene, and I wonder if that's what he has planned for tonight.
I hear my father's footsteps in the hallway before I see him, but I know it's him. When you're rich like us, there is a certain way that you hold yourself, a way that you walk. I would know my father's footsteps anywhere. Maybe it's because we're the only two who've been roaming around our empty mansion for the last nine years, ever since Adeline died. Nathan and his parents were around a lot of the time, but they'd always go home eventually, and it was just me and Daddy again, quiet like mice, the house echoing with our movements like it knew it was too big for just two people.
Daddy's footsteps are unmistakable, and they get heavier, closer. I look at myself in the long mirror, adjusting little bits of fabric here and there. The whole thing is attached to me by a series of pins.
Even though the party starts in an hour, it has to fit exactly. There can be no loose threads, no empty spaces. This gown will sit against my skin because I'm being sewn into it right now. There's no zipper. At the end of the night, I'll unpick the seams, unwind myself from this mess of tulle and lace, and then I'll probably burn the dress.
"You look beautiful, darling," my father says through gritted teeth. “Beautiful, and late. I was about to start driving the streets looking for you. Where the hell have you been?”
I don't respond. I'm still too angry with him to even look him in the eye.
"Avery," he presses.
I grimace, seeing myself in the mirror as I make the expression. I don't look very nice when I do that.
“Don’t give yourself a coronary, Augie,” I simper. “I was with Will. Remember Will?”
My father narrows his eyes. “That’s the thing about guys like Will, honey. Nobody remembers them once they’re gone.”
I huff out a breath. “You’re unbelievable.”
Daddy rolls his eyes. “So I’ve been told.” He tilts his head, taking in my dress, my hair, like I’m some sort of product he’s about to unveil. “Did you tell Will about the engagement?”
I blink, forcing myself to remain impassive. No tears. He doesn’t deserve them. “Yes. I told him.”
My father seems pleased by this. “And?”
I smile, the gesture poisonous, as I reach out to straighten my father’s tie. “And he got very angry. He said I was my daddy’s little whore. And then he fucked me. With no protection.”
I pause for a beat.
“Twice.”
My father turns the brightest shade of pink imaginable, smacking my hand away from his tie as I fix my expression to resting bitch face, the smirk on my bright red lips the only thing to give away my mood.
“Careful, Avery. Don’t push me.”
I roll my eyes. “Or what? You’ll marry me off to a man of your choosing? Withhold my trust fund fund until the marriage is consummated? Or maybe you’ll steal my fucking eggs and make test tube babies with them without my knowledge.”
Daddy scowls.
“Oh, that’s right! You already did all that. You already destroyed any chance I had at ever having a real life. So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just do what Adeline did, huh? Tell me. One reason.”
Daddy’s jaw twitches.
“Do you even love me, Daddy?” I ask, in a pathetically small voice. “You’ve barely said it to me, even when I was a little girl. Do you?”
Daddy opens his mouth to reply, his expression stricken. But no words come out. He’ll be so angry. I shouldn’t have said that.
But then my father does something I’ve never seen him do before. Augustus Capulet, a man I’ve seen kill with his bare hands, when he thought I wasn’t watching. Augustus Capulet, the man who showed not an ounce of emotion at any of the funerals of his wife and children. Augustus Capulet, the most powerful — and most feared — man in California, blinks heavily, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
“More than the world,” he says, his voice breaking. “More than anything.”
Something inside me withers and dies. My father loves me, and he’s still sentencing me to this cruel travesty? It would have been better if he’d just said no.
“How can you do this to me if you love me?” I whisper.
My father steps forward suddenly, his broad arms wrapping around me, pinning my arms to my sides. He rests his head on my shoulder, since I’m taller than him standing on this little podium, and he holds me to him so hard it hurts me. After a moment, I let my head fall heavy to the side, resting atop his head.
“It’s not too late to stop this,” I whisper. “Dad.”
Daddy pulls away from me, wiping his face hastily. He smiles sadly, cupping my face in both of his palms, his eyes burning into mine as I search his gaze for some kind of hope. It’s madness to believe he’ll put a stop to what’s about to happen, but I’m hardly sane anyway.
“When you were a baby,” he says, his chin trembling, “I never knew what to do with you. Neither did your mother. We were spoilt rich kids who’d never held a baby before your sister was born. And she was so calm. She never cried. She slept when she was supposed to sleep, ate when she was supposed to eat, and smiled any time we pointed a camera at her. And then you came along, and we just assumed you would be like her.”