We were almost to the dreaded staircase when a pair of familiar heels clacked down the hall in our direction. Mrs. Bailey worked late most Fridays, putting together the curriculum for the following week. Seeing her gave me a strange sense of calm and a surge of courage. When she saw me, however, her eyes went wide.
“Josette? What happened to you?” she asked, almost aghast.
“Arranged marriage, that’s what,” I muttered before kicking off my heels in another act of defiance.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” She ran her hand across my forehead and cheeks.
Biting my lip, I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Mrs. Bailey pulled me to her as naturally as if I’d been her own daughter. “What’s wrong?”
“My whole life,” I confessed, holding on to her as if she was the only thing keeping me from sinking.
Her fingers combed through my stiff hair. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing.” I’d felt hopeless plenty of times in my life, but this was an all-time low. Sure, I’d just stood up to my father for once in my life, but what good would it do? I was like a caged mouse chattering at the cat waiting with claws at the ready. I could make as much noise as I wanted—it didn’t change the situation with the cage. Or my imminent death if I escaped. I could yell, scream, and stomp my foot as much as I wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that either I’d marry Constantine or I’d—as he so eloquently put it—marry an early grave. It was sobering to realize that the silk-padded coffin was marginally more appealing than sharing the silk sheets of that man’s bed.
“There’s always something, and I’m not leaving until you come up with something I can do to help.” Mrs. Bailey’s arms didn’t loosen for a moment; they stayed locked around me like they were capable of doing so all night.
My mind searched for some solution that would satisfy her, but what could she do? My father’s mind was made up. Once that happened, even he wouldn’t change it. That was when the clock in the hall started gonging, announcing the time.
The time . . .
Friday night. Mere hours away from when I was supposed to meet him. The thought of Rylan waiting for me to never show made my stomach twist so many times, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be free of the knot. That was, of course, assuming he showed up in the first place, but something told me he would. A quiet confidence I didn’t understand reminded me that he would be waiting for me.
I’d met the first guy I’d ever felt anything for and been sold off-slash-engaged to the first guy I’d despised all in one week. I guess life had decided it had taken it easy on me long enough. Before I could change my mind, I made sure Luca was stationed behind me. I backed Mrs. Bailey up toward the door, and Luca stayed where he was, ever watchful and out of earshot.
“There is something . . . something I’m not sure I have a right to ask you,” I whispered, wiping the backs of my hands across my eyes.
“Ask it, and we’ll see just how preposterous this request is.”
“The . . . person I was telling you about earlier . . .” I lifted a brow to fill in the rest, but from the look on her face, Mrs. Bailey was already up to speed.
“I don’t think that was quite the qualifier you used, but yes, I know who you’re talking about.” Her eyes darted in Luca’s direction, no doubt wanting to make sure he wasn’t hearing any of this.
“I’m supposed to meet him again. Tonight. In a couple of hours.”
To Mrs. Bailey’s credit, her eyes didn’t bulge, although she was fighting not to react. “Please tell me you are not thinking of sneaking out again and meeting this boy at what I presume will be The Line?”
“I want to,” I whispered. This time, her eyes widened. “But I know I can’t. After what happened tonight, I couldn’t risk my parents finding me gone.”
She patted my shoulder, mollified by my decision. “So how is this something I can help with?” She’d no more than asked the question before her face ironed out. “You want me to meet him instead.”
Hearing her say it made my idea seem like the worst possible idea, but I nodded. “Yes. Just to tell him that I wanted to come, but I couldn’t.” I had to take a breath before I could say the next part. “And that I’ll meet him at the same time, same place, next week.”
“Next week is the White Party.”
I groaned. Usually I crossed off the days on my calendar a month in advance, but it had totally slipped my mind. “Okay, then the following.” Two weeks seemed like an eternity, but it would pass. Slowly.
“The following week is Armistice Day.” She lifted a brow, almost implying that circumstance was doing everything it could to keep Rylan and me apart.
I withheld my groan and gritted my teeth. Armistice Day was possibly my least favorite day of the year, but skipping out on it was out of the question. Unless I wanted to have to deal with my father, and I made it a point to never have to deal with my father.
“Just ask him when he can meet me, and I’ll figure out a way to get there. Have him name a day, a time, and a place, and I’ll be there,” I said, knowing my answer was infinitely easier than executing it.
Peeking behind me, Mrs. Bailey slung her arm around me and pulled me farther from Luca. Not a bad idea considering the topic. “You are watched as closely as the president by men who are twice as lethal. What makes you so sure you can escape them and meet this boy at some to-be-determined day and time?”
The answer was simple. “I have to.”
“Despite the consequences, Josette?” Concern creased the skin between her eyes. “I fear you and this boy will only know heartache if you continue down this road. Some differences you can overlook, but this one . . . Even if the two of you can manage to see past it, no one else will.” I lifted an eyebrow, and she let out an exasperated sigh. “Except possibly me, but I’m afraid I’m no match for both the Irish and Italian Chicago crime rings. Wouldn’t it be fairer to both you and this boy to break it off now? To not show up at all? You’ll both be plagued with a bit of heartache for a while, but every minute you stay together adds another minute of mourning when you are separated. Better to end it early than late if you’re unsure.” Her eyes suddenly looked old, tired. Like she’d lived a hundred lives and lost a thousand loves.
“Is that really how it is? You mourn the person just as long as you loved them?”
She nodded, but even moving her head seemed to exhaust her. “It is. When it’s the right person. You’ll meet plenty of people you like, a handful of people you love, and only one you love without condition. That is the person you’ll mourn as long as you loved them when and if you lose them.”
My father had made it a house rule that employees didn’t discuss their personal lives with us, so I knew very little about Mrs. Bailey’s past. “You lost this person?” I guessed, though it was rather obvious.
“I did.” Her eyes shined, but no tears fell.
“But you still wear a wedding ring.” I eyed her simple gold band.
“He might not be with me, but he is still my husband.”
I wondered what had happened, but I knew better than to ask. If she wanted me to know, she would tell me. “You’ll never remarry? There isn’t anyone else you could love?”
Mrs. Bailey studied the gold band with a private smile. “Never and no.”
“Was it worth it?” I whispered as a cacophony of laughter erupted from the dining room. No doubt they were hammering out the details of my forthcoming marriage. “Feeling the way you did then for him and feeling the way you do now?”
Her arm squeezed around me. “There is a price for great love, you know?”
“What price?”
“Great pain,” she answered with a sigh.
“Miss Costa,” Luca called, “I think we should get you to your room.” He didn’t need to fill in the rest.
I knew what he was implying. If dinner finished up and my father wandered out to find me loitering in the foyer when I’d been sent to my room like a mis
behaving child, I would get another earful . . . or worse.
“One more minute. That’s it,” I said before walking Mrs. Bailey the rest of the way to the door. “I know the price—both of them—I’ll have to pay for this, but I’m ready to pay it.”
“You might know it, Josette, but you don’t know what it’s like to live with it.”
“And I’ll never live it if I always scramble back and hide when things get difficult.”
Mrs. Bailey looked almost impressed. “And you’re sure this is your great love?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. But I feel something for him that I can’t ignore. I feel something that makes me think he could be my great love.” I sensed how badly she’d hoped to talk me out of it, but I could also see that my arguments had swayed her. “Will you do it? Will you go to him and tell him?”
She thought for a few moments, chewing her bottom lip. “Am I a sentimental old woman who lets her heart rule her head too often?”
Throwing my arms around her neck, I kissed her cheek, leaving a bold lipstick impression. “Thank you.”
“Do you know what you’re risking? Have you thought about what will happen if your father finds out about this?” She held me at arm’s length, making sure I understood the gravity of her words.
I’d been so wrapped up in celebrating getting her to agree to meet Rylan, but as I focused on what might happen if she was caught meeting some young Irish boy at The Line, that heaviness settled back into my stomach. “He’ll kill you.” How could I have overlooked that? Probably because I’d been so focused on Rylan.
Mrs. Bailey’s brows came together. “That hadn’t crossed my mind at all.”
“It hadn’t?”
“The life I was concerned for”—her head tilted—“was yours.”
Selfless. That was another attribute to stack on top of the rest in Mrs. Bailey’s corner. “My life as it is wouldn’t be anything to worry over. My life is a . . . a . . . shell. Nothing of any substance or meaning. I’m not worried about my life ending if I pursue this thing with him.” My eyes fell to the ground. “I’m worried about living the rest of my life the exact same empty way.”
A few seconds of heavy silence floated between us. Mrs. Bailey patted my cheek. “Well that’s enough sobering thoughts for one night, I’d say. Tell me the when and where for tonight, and I’ll be there. If this boy’s as wonderful as you make him out to be, you’d better watch out. You might find you’ve got a little competition.” Mrs. Bailey waggled her eyebrows at me, followed by a chuckle.
“You’re a married woman,” I chided with my own laugh.
She tittered at me as she pulled a piece of paper from her purse, followed by a pen. I knew what she was asking for. After one more look back—to find the most patient impatient look I’d ever seen on Luca’s face—I scratched down the time and place where I was supposed to meet Rylan.
“Are you sure?” I bit my lip, feeling equal parts guilt and relief that she was doing this for me.
One of her eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure?”
I gave it a moment’s thought so I didn’t seem careless, but the answer was instantaneous. “I’m sure.”
“Then that’s enough to make me sure.” Mrs. Bailey took the note, folded it a couple of times, and stuffed it into the pocket of her long wool coat. “Does this Romeo have a name?” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Rylan,” I said so quietly, I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.
“Begins with R and is five letters . . . Of course that’s his name,” she sighed. “And does this Rylan know your name? Your real name?”
“No, he doesn’t. But call me Jay. He’ll know it isn’t my real name, but at least it isn’t a total lie. At least there’s a hint of who I really am in it.”
“Jay it is.” She nodded and pulled open the door. “Jay with no last name, and he’s Rylan . . .?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know his last name.”
“So between the two of you, there’s only one first name you know? Assuming he told you his real name? This is the person you’re so convinced might have the makings of your one-and-only?”
“Do you fall in love with a person’s name or the person?” I asked as she stepped outside.
“Let’s hope the person, but knowing their name doesn’t hurt. Makes it easier to know whose name to sigh in your dreams.” Giving me one last parting wave and smile, Mrs. Bailey walked down the front stairs.
I watched her disappear down the walkway to the employees’ garage, and I felt a pang of envy that she’d see Rylan soon while all I’d see would be the walls of my bedroom. The walls I’d stared at long enough they should have been close to crumbling.
ANOTHER WEEKEND OF wall staring had not yet crumbled them. After my outburst at dinner, I was grounded for a month: no get-togethers with Serena, no outings into the city, no trips out in the boat. Father had even banned me from the dinner table, claiming he couldn’t stand to look at me yet. The only thing sadder than him grounding me because I’d stood up for myself was that I took my punishment like I deserved it.
Instead of arguing, storming out, or reminding him that I was eighteen—if I was old enough to be married off, I was too old for grounding—I stayed silent and retreated to my bedroom with my head hung. On Monday morning, Mrs. Bailey greeted me like it was any other morning, saying nothing about what had transpired on Friday night. She hadn’t even shot a wink of reassurance my way to ease some of the anxiety threatening to swallow me whole.
I spent most of class much the same way I’d spent my weekend—thinking of Rylan. Not just about the way he looked or how his eyes had flickered when he looked at me or how I’d felt around him . . . I pondered who he was, and who I was, and most importantly, who we could be together.
After catching me tuned out and oblivious for the fourth time, Mrs. Bailey slammed her binder closed and announced a change of venue was in need. Once she’d cleared it with Luca, who’d had to clear it with the head of security, who’d had to clear it with my father, Mrs. Bailey got the all clear to take me out for the afternoon. When I asked her how she’d managed that—since my father was hell-bent on making sure I never saw the outside of these walls—she shrugged and said she’d mentioned the White Party and no questions had been asked.
The White Party was an annual event my father hosted, generally spread out on the extensive estate grounds, and something he held almost as sacred as the Holy Mother. Around here, it was more celebrated than any holiday, more lavish than any upper-crust soiree, and more revered than Sunday mass. My father pretended at religion like the best of them, but those who really knew him knew his truth faith. The White Party was his Easter Sunday—a time to celebrate he and his men’s victory over death.
Mrs. Bailey had merely suggested I needed a dress for the party, and an armored car was whisked around in under five minutes. Of course the one exception to my grounding would be White Party related.
“I really can’t believe you managed to pull this off,” I said as she crawled in beside me.
Luca shut the door behind us and crawled into the front seat beside the driver. Another dark car followed us with yet more security. Not exactly the most inconspicuous shopping outing . . . Sometimes I wondered whether the security detail assigned to me was more meant as a target than a shield.
“It was simple. A woman can get a man to agree to anything if she knows what to do,” Mrs. Bailey said with a dismissive wave.
I felt my nose curling. “Which is . . .?”
When Mrs. Bailey noted my semi-disgusted face, she chuckled. “Employ their superior intellect, of course.”
At the conclusion of our laughter, I scooted closer to her and double-checked that the privacy window was up. I couldn’t wait another moment. “How did it go? Did you see—”
Mrs. Bailey cut me off with a sharp shake of her head. Tapping her ear, she indicated at Luca and the driver. “Just in case.”
I exhaled my disappointment but nodd
ed, knowing she was right. I wouldn’t put it past my father to have installed some kind of hidden microphone in my car.
Traffic was bad as ever, but I didn’t mind the bumper-to-bumper traffic jam like everyone else did. For a person who rarely got to leave their own walls, a drive through Chicago was like a trip to the moon for everyone else. It was always an adventure, always something new to see, potential danger at every block.
By the time the driver pulled up to the back entrance of what I assumed was the store that we’d be shopping in, at least a half an hour had gone by. Thirty minutes of adventure riding in the backseat of a car. The thought made me sigh. Despite knowing one’s definition of adventure was subjective, even I knew that term shouldn’t have been ascribed to a stop-and-go drive.
Yet another item to add to the stack of things I’d missed out on—adventure.
Luca was the first out of the car but only to stand beside my car door. The handful of guards in the car behind us were the ones who entered the store to clear it. The idea of an assassin tucked behind a row of formal gowns almost made me laugh.
After a few minutes, Luca must have gotten the all clear because he stepped aside to open the door. I’d already stuffed my hair into an over-sized hat, plunked on a pair of saucer-sized sunglasses, and cinched my bulky trench coat. No doubt if anyone were to see me, they’d wonder why a small army of guards was protecting an old bag lady.
Mrs. Bailey followed me out of the car. Luca and another guard stood at either of my shoulders as another fell in line a pace in front of me. After eighteen years, I’d gotten somewhat used to the human shield, but I wasn’t sure if a person could ever get fully used to it. Even if they had a thousand years to do so.
We passed through a couple of doors and a long hall before stepping inside the store. Two guards were stationed at the front entrance, and the two who had escorted me stayed at the back. Luca and Mrs. Bailey followed me into the store. There were no other customers of course—that was my father’s policy for our family shopping—and only one sales associate. I’d never been in this store, but it was clearly high-end.
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