Part 40 (1/2)

”Remember what I said. It's time to leave the nest.”

”Thank you,” I said, not sure what else to say.

There was an awkward pause, and with a hitching breath she descended the front steps and walked down the street to her car. I waved as she drove off, and felt a crus.h.i.+ng weight in the pit of my stomach as I walked back to the study that served as my cla.s.sroom. My next tutor taught history and English and we were not so close. Our final interaction was professional, the advice given more about choosing a field of study. I had already chosen. I would be studying business. Tonight, when Father came home, I was expected to inform him which school I would attend, and begin making the arrangements. After the history tutor left, I sat at the desk and arranged the envelopes into piles. I was tempted to choose a college in Oregon, as far from home as I could get, but the idea of being so far away made my fingers tremble and my palms sweaty. It went in the No pile. I don't even know why I applied.

I don't know why I applied to any of them. The envelope sat fat in front of me, heavy with the future. I was offered a full scholars.h.i.+p, not that we needed it.

When Father came home I was waiting for him in the hallway. It was the same, every day. I lurked near the door, walked over as he entered and took his briefcase, and told him about my studies for the day as I walked with him to his office. Once inside I set his briefcase by the desk. He sat down behind the broad expanse of oak and bored into me with his icy blue eyes.

”Well?”

I did my trick. It's a clever trick.

I opened my mouth and his words came out.

”A good choice,” was all he said. ”You're excused. Dinner is at six thirty.”

Father employed a domestic to cook and clean for us. Most never lasted more than six months. Imelda, the latest, had been there for nine. She was quiet, only a few years older than I was, and had a way of looking through me as if I was not there. I ate my serving of steamed vegetables and lemon pepper chicken slowly, cutting neatly, taking small bites.

Dinner conversation was never our strong suit.

”Tomorrow afternoon, you will come with me.”

”Yes, sir.”

I didn't ask where. It wasn't my place.

”We'll be visiting Karen Amsel.”

”One of your clients.”

”She's more than a client.”

My stomach twisted. I looked at a bite of perfectly grilled chicken stuck on the tines of my fork and resisted the urge to put it down. I needed to clean my plate.

Girls are supposed to have opinions about their fathers dating. I wasn't sure what I thought about it. I knew he'd been spending a great deal of time with her for the last several months. He'd been eating with her, but I a.s.sumed he was simply working late. My father was a financial advisor, working with any number of high profile clients. Mrs. Amsel was among the richest. I'd never met her. He wasn't one to show me off to the clients. When they came to the house, either on business or for a social call, I was told to stay in my bedroom. Mrs. Amsel had never paid a call, socially or professionally.

”We've discussed marriage.”

”I see.”

”I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

”Yes, sir.”

”You're excused, when you finish.”

Picking at the vegetables took longer, but I finally finished and took our plates back to the kitchen. Imelda had gone home. She would wash up in the morning. I stacked them neatly in the sink, returned to make sure my chair was neatly pushed in, and left. Father paid me no mind, reading the Wall Street Journal as he sipped his evening coffee.

I retreated to my bedroom. I wasn't allowed to use the Internet except for school and television was also forbidden. After my evening shower, I settled into bed with a book. I had a box of romance novels tucked under my bed. One of my tutors gave them to me when I asked her about them. I'd read them all five times and half of them were on the verge of losing pages, but I carefully repaired them with tape and glue. Tonight, though, I leaned back and read one of the books I was actually allowed to purchase on our last trip to the store.

By nine o'clock I was in bed, dead tired from rising at five. Tomorrow would be a strange day, only a little stranger than all the rest of the days until I started whatever advanced reading I needed for my college courses. I wouldn't have anything to do. I'd never had that much leisure time in my life. For as long as I could remember, my studies continued during the summer.

The next morning I put my responses to my acceptance letters in the mailbox. I'd scheduled a tour for July and I would be receiving my orientation paperwork soon. I was almost giddy at the thought, biting my lip in excitement.

I dressed in a light blue sun dress for the... date? Meeting? Was I being presented? I wasn't sure what to call it, or what it would be like. What if this woman disliked me? I'd be out of the house, soon.

It was a long drive from the city to our destination. I was wide-eyed the whole way, my hands folded neatly in my lap. My heart was pounding when Father turned off the road and drove through a huge wrought iron gate, down a stone path towards the biggest house I had ever seen. It looked like a haunted mansion in a movie, not that I'd seen that many. Two wings curling in a huge U-shape, each two floors jutting out from the three story house. It was topped by a cupola and all brick, covered mostly in ivy. Father parked under a tall portico and handed off his keys to a valet, I suppose he was. After Father let me out, the man drove off in our car, to park it somewhere. He put on a smile and touched my shoulder and led me up a wide, tall set of marble stairs to the broad front door of the house. A serving man in white pulled it open from inside.

Mrs. Amsel was younger than my father, short and plump and pretty, with a warm smile and riglets of thick brown hair that she'd tied back behind her neck. When he walked in she rushed over, touched his arms and kissed him. I looked away, feeling my cheeks burn. Father disliked public displays of affection, but I supposed this wasn't really public, after all. She turned to me.

”You must be Eve. Martin told me so much about you.”

”Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you...”

”Karen,” she finished. ”Are you hungry?”

”Yes, I am. Thank you,” I added quickly.

”We'll be eating out on the terrace.”

”Where's Victor?” said Father.

Karen sucked in a breath. ”He's around. I told him when I expected you.”

Father smiled at her, but his eyes were hard.

Just then I heard the soft thud of bare feet on carpet and looked up.

A sweeping grand staircase lofted to the second floor, and currently descending it was a young man a year older than I was, tall and lean, muscled like a swimmer or a champion weightlifter. He was s.h.i.+rtless and barefoot and I don't think he had anything on under his jeans, either. They were very low on his waist. I stared at him. He looked like one of the models on the cover of the books my old tutor gave me. Except none of them had tattoos. He did. Feathers lined both of his arms, etched in black into his skin, sweeping over his shoulders to connect to a design on his back while an open mouthed, screaming raven spread across his chest. My eyes naturally followed the V-shape of his body, and I felt heat rising. He had veins bulging out even on his tightly muscled stomach, and v-channels of muscle along his sides that dove down into the waistband of his jeans. They looked like they'd slide down at any second.

He stepped off the stairs with a spring in his step.

”Victor,” Karen said, dryly. ”s.h.i.+rt.”

He looked down. ”What? It's hot outside.”

”I'm not amused,” My father said, in an acid tone.

”It's not your house.”

”Victor,” Karen snapped. ”Get dressed.”

”Right, right. High tea with the Queen.” He shot a look at my father.

Then he looked at me. It was like he'd only just noticed me. I expected him to look at me like some particularly curious and unwelcome species of insect, but he actually flinched when she set eyes on me.

Then he walked over.