House of Glass

by Jen Christie

  “I told him as much, but he said it was a matter of urgency. He looks very determined, Mrs. St. Claire.”

  “I’ll see him then.”

  “I’ll send him in.”

  “No, I’ll come with you to the door.”

  I met him at the door, where he was waiting, leaning against the frame of the mahogany doors. When he saw me, he startled and straightened himself. “I’m so sorry to intrude, Miss Ferraro.”

  “Mrs. St. Claire,” I corrected him.

  “Yes. Well.” He held his hat in his hand. “Is Mr. St. Claire not available?”

  “No. He’s not. You can speak to me.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  I noticed for the first time that he was holding a sheet of paper in the other hand. It was rolled up and wrinkled, clutched in his grip. He held it out to me and as my hand accepted the paper, a feeling of unease spread up into my body and settled over me like a shroud. The last thing I wanted to do was open that sheet of paper. “Tell me what is on this paper?”

  The man rubbed his chin. “Well, there’s nothing to do but just to say it. I come from the courthouse, and the judge has denied your marriage.”

  “Denied?” There was a ringing in my ears, a hollow, far-away sound.

  “I’m afraid so. When Celeste St. Claire disappeared…”

  The ringing became louder.

  “Well, she can’t be declared dead for two more years still. So Mr. St. Claire is already married and his license to you is bigamy, and denied.”

  His words were like a vine growing around my heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter. I felt the life drain from my body, and I almost crumpled to the ground, but somehow I managed to nod my head without falling, and mumbled the words, “I see.”

  “I’m very sorry. Truly.”

  “I understand. I do.”

  When the man left, I shut the door behind him and leaned against it. I rubbed my eyes. Not married. Not dead. A party that started in an hour.

  Chapter Ten

  I confess that my first instinct was to run. There was nothing to do but to run. The old mare was in her stall and I saddled her quickly, and swept onto her back. I was just about to spur her into a gallop when Mrs. Amber appeared and ran in front of the mare, stopping me cold. She grabbed the reins and the horse whinnied in protest.

  Mrs. Amber was so angry that her face was almost chiseled in stone. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Didn’t you hear the man? I’m not Mrs. St. Claire.”

  “Of course I heard the man. There’s nothing that happens that I don’t know about.”

  “Then you know why I have to leave.” I yanked at the reins, but she held them tight.

  “I know no such thing. You have to turn around and walk right back inside.”

  “And be what? An adulterer?”

  “Listen to me, girl. You will be whatever you need to be, but you will not leave this house. If you leave now, you will never be Mrs. St. Claire. Ever. Stake your claim and defend it.”

  I felt desperate and cruel and spoke without any thought to my words. “That’s easy for you to say. Alone your whole life. Bitter. Is that what you did? Staked your claim and then lost? You know nothing.”

  A bitter laugh escaped her. “Foolish girl. I know everything there is to know of love and youth. I know about deception and lies, too. And I know most of all about pretending. Trust me in this: I guarantee that if you leave, everyone, the servants, his business partners, they will all know you are afraid to claim what belongs to you, and most of all if Lucas St. Claire knows you’re afraid of it—then you are doomed. Doomed. You will spend the rest of your life pretending that you’ve never loved. Pretending it’s okay, that you can survive. And trust me, you can survive, but you’ll never live again.”

  Such a passion I had never seen in her. She was alight with a determination. She threw the reins back at me. “Go then. Go on and leave. Hear my words, girl, before you go. I am telling you not as Mrs. Amber, but as someone who cares for you. Take a good look before you leave here, because it’s the last time you’ll ever see it. And if you don’t fight for it, frankly, you don’t deserve to see it again.” She walked away stiff as a board in her black shirt and severe hair.

  * * *

  It was such a shock of reality from Mrs. Amber that it left me in a daze. I stabled the horse and wandered, craving a place where I could sort everything out. Without even thinking I went to the one place that offered me a clear view of the world, and seemed to infuse me with certainty.

  The cottage was surprisingly bright and cheery. The gold statue was there, and today she seemed almost to be waiting for me. I traced my finger along her arm, her face and hair. She was no pretender. What was it that Mrs. Amber had told me? That I needed to claim what was mine.

  Perhaps that is why I did what I did next. I cannot even say that I planned it, or even recalled walking to her bedroom. The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing one of Celeste’s dresses, a long, clingy blue gown. It fit my body perfectly, and was cool and slippery against my skin. I turned around in the mirror, noting the way it hugged my curves. The slit up the thigh exposed my skin almost all the way up to my hip.

  Somehow, the dress bolstered my spirits. I no longer felt confused or overwhelmed, but had a rather catlike assurance about myself. I had become the pretender, and I was good at it.

  With no hesitation at all, I sat at Celeste’s dressing table. Her brush felt perfect in my hand, her combs like they were made for me. I piled my hair high upon my head and fastened the peacock brooch just above the slit in the dress. Her shoes still fit perfectly, those diamond-crusted heels that changed the shape of my silhouette, pushing my breasts outward. It was as if I had become Celeste, a darker version of her, and I felt perfectly prepared for the party as I left her room.

  When I walked across the glass floor, for the first time I understood exactly why she had the floor placed there. I stood perfectly still, watching the water break over the rocks below, violent and unchecked. She wanted the floor—no—she needed it as a reminder of what life would be like without the glass house to support her.

  Chapter Eleven

  The party was a complete success, except for the fact that it brought about my own downfall. A lot of people showed up and I saw that Lucas was right, that all it took was a word or two, and everyone would come see the woman who married the St. Claire. I descended the stairs, and with each step I took more people turned to look at me. The whole room stilled and grew quiet. I wondered for a moment if this was how Celeste felt, the last night she wore this dress. It didn’t matter, though, because everyone’s eyes were on me, and I sought out Lucas, from whom I most craved approval.

  I saw him, apart from the rest of the crowd, staring at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher. There were people everywhere, bumping into me, talking to me and asking me questions, and when I looked up again he was gone.

  I found Mrs. Amber, who gave me a quick nod of approval. Whatever it takes, I thought to myself, and realized that she was right. Good or bad, I would stake my claim.

  “Drink, Miss?” It was a new maid, holding a tray laden with glasses of champagne.

  “Mrs.,” I corrected her, and took a glass of champagne. “Mrs.”

  “So sorry,” she said.

  I saw Mr. Azoulay from across the room and he approached me and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. His monocled eye peered at me intently. “You have risen higher than the sun,” he said approvingly. “It makes me happy to see it.”

  “Thank you,” I told him.

  “It is the only bright spot now when I visit here. Now that Annie is gone.” He shook his head. “She was a dear girl.” Genuine grief crossed his face.

  Then I knew. It was Mr. Azoulay and Annie that I had witnessed on my first night, embracing on the terrace. They were lovers. Not Lucas and Annie. In the darkened shadows I had confused them.

  “A
re you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said, though it was a lie. Things had started to spin out of control.

  A little while later Lucas pulled me aside. “You wear her clothes out of the house? What are you doing?” he whispered angrily.

  “I’m doing what I have to do, what I want to do. You don’t understand.”

  “Well, you can do it alone, because I can’t stand to see it.” He shoved away from me, and disappeared into the night.

  Later, much later, when I finally crawled into our bed, he wasn’t there. I knew exactly where to find him.

  I would go to him. I put on a robe and slipped from the house and ran across the lawn. Devlin Manor was a dark monolith behind me, a sleeping giant from which I had just escaped, and I needed the glass cottage.

  I don’t know what overcame me. Maybe it was the night air, the moon, or just my desire, but I quite deliberately hurried my pace and continued on to the stone staircase.

  There was a light on in the house; I saw its lonely beam stretching out into the night. It was like a beacon calling out to me and I ran down the steps, feeling the salt-crusted rock under my bare feet and the heat of each torch as I passed by. The moon was there, waiting for me, encouraging me to be brave, and the waves cajoled me with their gentle sounds.

  I became anxious as I approached the door, wondering if I should knock or not. No, I decided, Celeste would not knock. I reached out and slowly turned the handle.

  I stepped into the cottage. A breeze welcomed me. The sliding glass doors were opened to the night, and Lucas was on the deck. He was looking out over the ocean and his back was to me. I walked toward him, the wind blowing my silk robe behind me. I stepped onto the deck.

  Lucas turned around. I saw my effect on him, the intake of breath, the widening of his shoulders as he did, even the surprise and anger that mixed together in his gaze. But quickly it turned to lust, and a wicked part of me loved it.

  I took a step. The wind tugged at my robe. I pulled apart the sash and held the robe up in the air. The wind grabbed it, stole it right from my hand, and pulled it into the night, where it fluttered until the darkness claimed it. I took another step, and the stiff wind pushed against my nightgown and silhouetted my body. I saw a rage of desire in him as he eyed my body.

  He came to me. In two strides he reached me, and I crushed against him, kissed him. He moaned and kissed me deeper, and his arousal made me wild, pushed me to a place I was unaware existed.

  He pushed me to my knees and I was glad for it, for the wildness of our coupling. He yanked up my nightgown and shoved my legs apart. When he touched me between my legs and felt how wet I was, he grabbed my hips and pushed himself against me, so hard and unrelenting, so damn tempting that I met him halfway, and he cried out in surprise.

  He reached around to my front, ripped my gown, exposing my breasts. The intensity of it overwhelmed me and I cried out again and again as he pushed into me. The wind grew fierce and it stole my cries of ecstasy right from my lips. When I looked down, through the glass floor, I saw the waves crashing against the jagged rocks and right at that moment I exploded, soaring and falling at the same time.

  * * *

  That night I dreamed of my father. In the dream, I was on a boat in the middle of the ocean. It was night and there were no stars or moon. The dark of the water blended with the sky, and my boat drifted in the nothingness.

  I heard my father calling out to me, and I knew that he was out there, in the darkness. Over and over he called my name. I called back, until I did not know which of us was lost and which was searching. Finally I called his name, and there was no answer, only the wind blowing over the water. The sound of the lost.

  I woke.

  The first thing I saw was the surf rolling onto the rocks below me. The water smashed into the rocks and the foam rose almost as high as the glass floor. Lucas was still asleep, breathing peacefully, completely unaware of the dangers beneath us both.

  Somehow I knew that things were not settled between us. The sick feeling inside me was proof of that. I slipped from our makeshift bed, and could see out the windows that there was no sunlight, only strange, dark green clouds that snaked across the sky. It would storm today.

  Lucas moved beneath the covers, and when I looked at him he was staring at me.

  “Lucas,” I said, “How do you know that you love me, and not just the image or the memory of Celeste?”

  He was quiet for a moment, and I watched the surf break on the rocks beneath him. “I could ask you the same question.”

  It was with horror that I realized he was right. There was nothing I could say, so I walked away, and went into Celeste’s bedroom. My head was pounding, and I was forced to sit upon the bed for a moment. The bed was so soft and luxurious. I had always preferred a hard bed, but ever since coming to Devlin Manor I had lost sight of what I preferred.

  I thought back to the evening before, to the party, where I acted like a brute. Painfully, I realized that I began to change the second that I put my desire of the glass house above all else. When I tried to emulate and ultimately erase the memory of Celeste. To take what was hers. Her house, her legacy. The second I idolized what I myself thought Lucas wanted.

  That immaturity, that greedy desire had blossomed inside me unchecked.

  The first thing I needed to do was apologize to Lucas. When I went back into the living room Lucas was sitting at the table. His blue eyes watched me as I passed by him. I could feel them on my back. He was angry, and suddenly I was, too, that he could harden in such a manner. The room felt smaller and suffocating all of a sudden. For all his beauty, the man could be so very cold.

  I took the chair opposite him and we sat eyeing each other for a moment. How ironic that the three of us, Myself, Lucas and the statue of Celeste between us all sat at the table. Somehow, Celeste always seemed to be between us.

  “Lucas, I’m sorry.”

  Lucas sighed, and rested his head upon his hands. “Reyna, what is going on?”

  “No, Lucas, listen. I just need time. It’s so much to get used to. I have been so wrong. So very wrong.”

  “Reyna, I don’t know what the hell I’ve got myself into with you. I don’t know what to think right now.”

  I wanted him to stop. To stop speaking, and to not say the next words that I knew he would say. I held up my hand, but he barreled ahead and said them, anyway. Even worse, he stood and walked to me, and took my face into his hands, and I had full measure of his anger.

  The next words that came out of his mouth stopped my heart. “I can’t figure you out. You have these wild swings, and an obsession that drives you. It is pushing you away from me.”

  Tears, hot, needful tears sprang from my eyes and ran down my cheeks. “No. That’s not so.” But even I knew he spoke the truth.

  “Yes. It is.” He stood and walked away from me, looking out the windows over the ocean. “The real disaster is that I far, far prefer Reyna, who always needs saving, who trips when she’s nervous, who takes in stray dogs. I prefer her over the woman I see now. I prefer the woman who wears a shell necklace and not the one who wears diamonds..” Lucas leaned over me and slammed his hand on the table. “When you looked at me, when you believed in me, I could see it in your eyes. All these years I was a wrecked man, and everyone looked at me like I was a murderer. But not you.” He turned away. “But now,” he spat the words, “you are a woman more concerned with the house than with me. You’ve gone cold. Like her.”

  I was angry. “It’s a house, Lucas. Just a house.” Even as I said the words I knew that the house had somehow become more to me than mere walls. It represented the certainty of who I wanted to be. “What do you want me to do? I loved you. Loved you. Do you understand? And all the while I am loving you, you are devoted, no you are insanely devoted to the memory of another woman.” I stood and pushed the chair away from the table. It clattered to the floor. “Look at this house! Exactly as it was.”

  “The day you fel
l into the jungle, and I found you, and you looked at me with such hope. I knew right then and there that I loved you. Who are we if we are not remembered?” he asked.

  “Always remember,” I said. “But who are we if we do not go forward? Then we are just shadows of ourselves. Shadows. That’s what I liked about the glass house. It took away the shadows!” I wiped a tear from my eye. “It made my choices very clear. I knew what to do.”

  He grabbed the golden statue of Celeste from the table and hoisted it above his head. “Choices?” he roared, “I will make the choice for you!” He waved the statue threateningly. “I will make the choice like I should have done for her.”

  Time slowed in that strange way it does at moments like those. I realized that everything, every single thing came down to this one moment. A choice between an obsession and love, and that I had to make the choice, not him.

  I raced toward him and yanked the statue from his grip, and with a ferocity I didn’t know I possessed, I hurled the golden statue through the air.

  It sailed end over end, and hit the glass floor with a crack louder than a bolt of lightning. The floor smashed apart, and shards of glass sailed through the air. The sofa and loveseat dropped and fell away. The wind came barreling inside the house.

  The wind roared in triumph. Papers flew into the air, and my hair and dress whipped around my face and body. There was almost a gleeful, evil quality to the wind, as if it had waited a long, long time to break into the house.

  I took a deep breath and felt…better, less frenzied.

  As the wind whipped around Lucas, he was unfazed and calm, and perhaps that’s what scared me the most. I could handle angry Lucas, intense Lucas, but not cold and distant Lucas. “You’ve changed, Reyna,” he said, and his words sounded far away, buried underneath all the noise.

  He was right, but it felt as if a small part of me had just returned. I walked to him and we stood inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes while the world around us had turned dangerous and wild. I reached around my neck and untied the leather strap that held the seashell in place. Lucas watched dispassionately as I took the necklace and pressed it into his palm.