by Selina Marie
“Miss Carmichael, would you care to dance?” he asks politely—so politely that I question his real age and which century we’re in again. The ten-year-old boys I’ve encountered would be pulling wedgies, picking their noses and running riot at this kind of event, not asking a lady for her hand to go and do the waltz or some shit.
Just before Mel can politely decline, her mother clears her throat intentionally loudly, and sends a stern, pointed glare at Mel from behind where the little boy stands, silently demanding that she dance with him. God forbid she embarrass the family or upset anyone.
Mrs. Carmichael wears a ridiculously enormous, emerald green gown that poofs out at the waist, making her look like one of those toilet roll holders.
Her red hair is twisted up onto her head in some intricate updo, and as beautiful as she is with her jade green eyes and delicate nose, that are so comparable to her daughter’s, the lady really needs to lay off the Botox for a while.
Mrs. Carmichael sashays away into the crowd of her guests, greeting them all individually, her voice reaching octaves that only dogs can hear, I’m sure.
Mel gives the little boy a gentle smile as she reluctantly places her hand in his tiny one, and the boy literally yanks her to the area designated for dancing, nearly causing her to lose her footing. I stifle a laugh, and suddenly it feels as though the air in the room is being sucked out, goosebumps rise on my skin and an electricity flows through my body that I know too well. I’m not the only one who feels the shift in energy though, the guests who float around the room, huddled in groups—women gossiping and men sipping from their tumblers minding their own business—follow the path to the door held open as two men stride in, exuding confidence and power as if it’s their very essence.
I can’t see their faces from where I am standing, still glued to the bottom of the stairs—the heads of balding men and their trophy wives, who reek of too much perfume and hairspray, block my view as they all gradually gravitate toward the entrance, eager to be in the presence of the men who just drastically changed the atmosphere, an air of excitement palpable. Now that I’m alone, as Mel is still on the dancefloor with the little boy appeasing her mother, I make my way through the swarm of tuxedos and lavish gowns, avoiding the glances of snooty women who outwardly judge everyone around them.
I shift further into the house toward a grand hall, that’s always closed off unless the Carmichaels are having an event, meaning it’s pretty much open all the time. Glancing around the room peeking over the tops of heads, I find an elaborate table toward the back of the hall, decorated with pink, white and red roses that cover the surface. There’s an outrageously large stack of sparkling crystal flutes filled to the brim with champagne, waiters and waitresses drift around the room serving various foods that I don’t think I would know how to pronounce the names, even if I knew what they were. Champagne glasses fill the hands of the guests rapidly, and finally when a waiter passes me, I swipe a glass from the tray, swallowing half the contents before he can walk away. He responds by giving me a small smile and happens to be the only other person apart from Mel, who I have willingly made eye contact with.
“It’s been a day.” I return the smile along with my glass, which I have now drained entirely, placing it gently back on the tray. The waiter hasn’t moved on though, and I notice his eyes tracing up my body appreciatively when they eventually move up to mine.
“No judgement here. I get it,” he chuckles, making conversation. His dark hair is quite long, a little wavy and swoops over to the side so that it doesn’t fall onto his head and obscure his vision. He’s quite tall, maybe about five eleven and has an athletic build, dark brown eyes and a gorgeous olive skin tone, admittedly he is stunning.
“I haven’t seen you here before, do you usually come to these events?” he asks me, genuinely interested, his focus fully on me and not his actual job. I worry that if Mrs. Carmichael is around, I could get him into trouble and I don’t want that; he is actually the only person at this party I have actually spoken to and doesn’t look at me with their critical glares, making me feel like I’m an imposter.
“No, I’m just here with my best friend, she kind of had to be here as it’s her parents’ event so…” I respond shrugging my shoulders.
His eyebrows rise as he asks, “Melody Carmichael is your best friend?” I nod, his smile turning a little flirtatious as he continues, “I guess it’s true what they say, beautiful people run in the same circles.”
The man is openly flirting with me, and it kind of makes me feel uncomfortable because of everything with Lukas. A sensation close to guilt swims around in my stomach and I’m unsure why, because I haven’t done anything wrong. But I also feel flattered, my ego receiving a well needed boost after all the events of the past forty-eight hours.
I offer a shy smile because I genuinely don’t know what to say, which is rendered unnecessary when I feel every single hair stand on end and muscular arms wind around my waist—the hands that I long for, but also now despise, settle on my stomach. The waiter’s eyes snap up in shock and I swear he nearly chokes on his own tongue when recognition and fear is strikingly evident in his eyes.
Think of the devil, and he shall appear. The waiter takes a step back, almost smacking into another guest.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t realize—" His voice shakes, full of panic and I start to think that maybe I’m missing something pretty big here. Just add it to the list of things Emilia doesn’t know. Lukas is silent behind me, but whatever he’s doing is putting the fear of god in this guy’s eyes, as he scatters away.
Lukas’s touch, and the heat from his body is absorbed by the satin, sinking into my skin. It soothes me, but the moment I let the feeling reach somewhere deeper inside of me, reality slaps me in the face reminding me of all the secrets and lies.
I still haven’t confronted him about it all and my body is now tense with anxiety, rage, betrayal and desire. The man won’t stop messing with my emotions, and I don’t know if that will ever change.
I realize that almost every pair of eyes is lasered in on us, and I panic that I may have made a scene and attracted unwanted attention. Why are they all just staring?
The men’s eyes trail over my body hungrily, and it makes me want to disappear inside of myself. The women, their eyes dart between Lukas and I, the look of lust and admiration when they are perusing him. Envy and resentment fill their beady glares when they focus on me, and that just fuels my fury—the urge to go over and smack the judgement off of their surgically enhanced faces. Fuck them, they don’t know me.
Shrugging out of Lukas’s embrace, I attempt to shove him back but it’s useless, the man is a wall of muscle and he doesn’t budge at all, so I step back creating space between the two of us.
I catch the women gawk at me as if I have lost my sanity by wanting to distance myself from him.
Why are they still watching us?
There was the tiniest commotion; are they honestly so hell-bent on finding drama, that the situation with the waiter is going to satisfy their hunger for gossip? If that’s the case, I feel bad for them, I may as well jump up on the table, perform a striptease and give them something to actually gape at.
My breath catches when my focus settles on Lukas. Now I understand the ever so blatant admiration from the female guests, including a lot of the men too.
Clad in a black, tailored tuxedo which probably costs over half of the budget of this entire event, he looks divine. Sent straight from hell, ready to burn up everyone in his path obliterating us all into dust. If the apocalypse could be personified, it would be Lukas in a fucking tux.
“Come with me—” He grabs my wrist and pulls me into his side, and I try to fight against his grip but it’s too tight. If I could break free of him physically, I would at least let him know I’m fucking happy about it.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, low enough not to cause a scene but loud enough that he can hear me.
Lukas drags me through the
guests, sticking to the outskirts of the rooms and walkways, drawing as little attention to us as possible. He doesn’t stop to exchange pleasantries with anyone, and there are a lot of people who try. I swear they call “Mr. Elin” as we pass them, but maybe words are starting to blur after I chugged the champagne, who knows.
He’s a man on a mission, and I am royally fucked.
Pushing at a door on the right we find ourselves in a bathroom that’s off one of the hallways, on the right side of the house. Staying true to the theme, the bathroom is clinical, white and glossy, our reflections visible in every surface. Slamming the door and locking it, the sensor lights flick on crushing any hope that I have of not being able to look at this man and for him not to see me, like he does whenever we’re together.
I yank my wrist again and this time he lets me go.
“You know you keep promising those words to me, and I really wish you would follow through,” he teases, but there is an undertone of anger in his voice. How the fuck does he have any right to be angry at me?
“Believe me, the closest I’ll come to fucking you will be with the barrel of a gun in your asshole.” I’m seething, and now that we are no longer touching, any desire has left, along with his ability to tell the truth—which he hasn’t shown he possesses the entire fucking time I’ve known him, so go figure.
Lukas’s lips quirk, another smirk plays across his face but after a moment, it’s replaced by a somber and serious expression that I haven’t ever seen before, and the fire in his eyes is alarming.
“Don’t you dare fucking run from me again. I went home and you were fucking gone. I thought you—” He cuts himself off, running his hands through his hair, gripping savagely. The rapid, heavy rise and fall of his chest displays his torment, and in all honesty, it catches me off guard. I really wouldn’t have expected him to care. Yes, things had shifted between us, I gave myself to him and we fucked, a lot.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that he truly cares for me. If that is true, he wouldn’t have kept all of his secrets. All of the lies have piled up, and the deception is too much for me. I’ve been honest from the start, and the only thing that I want is for people to tell me the truth; it isn’t a lot to ask. As it turns out though, everyone in my life is a fucking liar, in one way or another. I’m not a martyr in any way and the only thing I keep hidden away is my heart, for my own protection. Too many times my heart has been ripped apart by the deception of others, so is it really so bad that I keep it locked up, tight enough that I don’t even know where the key is anymore?
Lukas releases a shuddered breath when I don’t speak.
“I thought you’d gone back there. Promise me you won’t ever go back there.” He pleads with me, his voice softer now. The emotion behind his eyes and the shakiness in his voice starts to crack my exterior. He thought that I had gone back to Grotleyton, the place he saved me from, and as infuriatingly mad as I am at him, I can see how it’s affecting him, and in this moment, his anguish is authentic.
“I came here. To Melody’s… and I promise I won’t ever go back there.” I hope my assurance settles him.
When he makes no move to unlock the door or to leave, I walk over to the clawfoot bathtub and perch my ass on the edge, waiting. Honestly, I don’t know what to say to him, and at this point I know better than to ask a string of questions that he most probably won’t answer, this isn’t my first rodeo with him in that department, and I’ve given up trying. I deserve answers, one hundred fucking percent, but most of the time trying to get answers out of this man is like expecting a rotting corpse to breathe.
The silence draws out, the only other sounds coming from the party on the other side of the door, clinking of champagne flutes and chattering infiltrating the wood separating us.
Lukas takes a step closer to where I’m sitting, and his expression is full of uncertainty. He’s debating something and the look of apprehension in his eyes is crystal clear. His hands burrow deep in his pockets as he stands watching the floor, and when he lifts his hand out of his pocket, it feels as if my heart has dropped into my stomach, nausea rolling over me.
This man, this liar holds my sister’s locket in his heartless hands. He told me, promised me that he didn’t have it; surely, he knew what it had meant to me back then, before everything with Alexis had shattered into nothing.
Still, it means nothing to him to give me back the only thing I thought I had of my sister. I mean nothing to him, and the emotion clogging up my throat is clawing to the surface, begging to be released.
“I know what you’re thinking. I lied, yes, but you don’t know the reason. I don’t know how you or your sister got this locket, but it was never yours to keep. My mother gave my brother and I this locket when we were kids, before our mother was killed. It has a photograph of me, my mom and my brother inside that only I have the key for. The only person that might have been the connection between you and Elijah’s locket, would have been Alexis. I don’t know how she got her filthy fucking hands on it and I don’t care. This—” he lifts the locket between his fingers, so that it dangles, swinging back and forth,
“is the only thing I have left of my mom and my brother, just the three of us, so yeah, I fucking kept it.”
Dumbfounded, I sit in silence, my mouth falls open, and tears glaze my eyes as I lift them to his. Those ocean eyes focus only on me, there is nothing but authentic emotion and sincerity in them, dancing around in the various shades of blue. I go to speak but Lukas raises his hand, stopping any words about to fall from my lips.
“I’m not done yet. I know you think I am a liar, a deceitful bastard, and I won’t even argue with you on that. I absolutely am all of those things. I knew Alexis wasn’t your sister. I knew Felicity wasn’t your real mother. I don’t know who your real parents are, but I do know who Alexis’s father is. He has been involved since the beginning, and I fucking hate myself for not seeing it sooner.” He pauses, taking a breath and I am still stunned into silence at the truths leaving his lips.
“Emilia, the only thing that I didn’t know was where she was. Believe me, if I had known I would’ve done this a lot sooner—” I cut him off, only because finally I can see through the haze of lies and the real reason for everything.
“But you needed me. That’s the truth, right?” I ask him. Completely defeated, it’s taking every ounce of energy from me. “But it still doesn’t make sense because you managed to find Alexis all on your own, so why did you need me?”
His gaze darkens as if I’m getting closer to the core.
The distress in his smile is evident, but he smiles nonetheless, causing a little dimple in his cheek.
“Alexis’s father was a good friend of my father. It’s a long story but they had a disagreement, and her father went his own way and left the Empire that they had created together, along with Nate’s father.” Lukas moves across from me and leans against the wall, crossing his left foot over the right, his brows creased in frustration.
“I don’t know how it all fits yet, but I do know that Alexis’s father—Andrew, is married to Felicity, who is Alexis’s real mother. For their plan to run away and play happy family they needed someone to keep you away, tie you down.” Lukas grimaces and screws his fists up so tight, the blood runs out of his hands, leaving his knuckles deathly white.
“They paid this man a lot of money to do just that, Robert Redman, your stepfather, is that man.”
Rendered totally speechless and unable to move, the tears track down my face silently. Lukas is now kneeling in front of me, he still doesn’t touch me, and I want nothing more than for him to grab me and hold me together while the earthquake that is my life threatens to tear me apart completely, once and for all. His face is contorted, and he looks like he’s in physical pain, maybe he is.
Pain is incomparable to the excruciating shredding I can feel inside of my chest.
Felicity, my mother for all intents and purposes, and Alexis had run away to be with her real father,
Andrew.
They had paid Robert to abuse me physically and emotionally, to crush my spirit, keeping me firmly under his boot. I’d tried to get out of there so many times, I mean a lot of twenty-year-olds I knew were living alone, paying their own way in the world and I desperately wanted to do the same—anything to get away from Robert. I had applied for a countless number of jobs, none ever leading anywhere after an interview, even if I thought I had nailed it. I felt worthless for a long time, not even being able to get a job as a waitress, shelf stocker, nothing.
Everything is starting to make sense to me, chipping away at my soul more and more.
Is somebody responsible for that?
It seems too farfetched, but I’m learning that nothing in the world of the elite is implausible.
It still doesn’t make sense though, why Lukas would need me. This has nothing to do with him. Does it?
As soon as the thought is exposed, bouncing around in my head, Lukas read my mind.
“You’re still wondering why I needed you. Because you were the only link that I had between Alexis and my brother. I needed to know more, to find out… I don’t know, maybe if you knew more? I don’t know why but the one common denominator, the one person that is connected to all of this, is you. I thought you knew about my brother, what happened. Fuck—I even thought you might’ve helped her. When I realized you were in the dark about everything, that you didn’t even know who Elijah was, it wasn’t about using you for information, it became about—” Lukas growls so loud, stopping mid-sentence clearly frustrated, but I can’t make out why.
“I don’t know how to do this—” He waves his hands frantically between us, irritation dominant in his tone. “Fuck. Come on, Emilia. Can’t you fucking see what you do to me?” Lukas yells, pacing the glossy tiles beneath our feet over and over until I get dizzy watching him. He stops and his eyes plead with me, and all I want to do is reach out and stroke all of the lines of distress away from his beautiful face.