by M. D. Waters
Declan slides the tube open and helps me out. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and I try to relax. It is only snow. It is only my home. Right? I wanted to be here more than anything.
“This is it,” he says and walks down two steps into the living room. His heels make sharp raps against the wood floor, which has shades of brown that vary from pale to dark in random placements. He looks right at home in his cream-and-burgundy sweater and pressed jeans.
He spins and smiles up at me. “What do you think?”
I bite my lip and look around more closely. Now that I’m near the living area, I notice the grayish redbrick fireplace in the corner and the large fur rug lying in front. I hope it is a fake. There is so much wood in the place that it smells of the outdoors, like cedar maybe. Cedar and burning wood. The furniture is pale wood like the walls, with dark brown square cushions.
Declan lifts the lid of a chest and pulls out a throw blanket. He lays the folded fleece in a large chair near the fire and points toward the bedroom. “You can change out of those scrubs if you want and I’ll start a fire.”
What I want is to fold into a ball and lie on the floor with my eyes shut tight. There is so much snow and it is cold and I am really alone with my husband for the first time. I do not know who I am in this mountain home with this man who claims to love me.
My fear must show on my face because he jumps the stairs and pulls me into his arms. “We’ll take it slow, Emma, I promise. Just breathe.”
The burn of my oxygen-free lungs surprises me and I gulp air. “I am sorry,” I whisper. “I think I need a minute.”
He smiles gently down at me and brushes my hair back. “I know just what you need.”
He leads me into the bedroom and through an archway into a bathroom. The room is huge, and like the rest of the house, one side of the room is a window to the outdoors. In a corner across from the window, Declan spins the tap over a large tub.
“A bath?” I ask.
He lifts a small blue box. “With lavender and chamomile to help you relax. You can turn on the jets and soak.”
He arranges the bath as if he has done this for me a million times. He lights candles and pours the bath salt into the water. My fingers itch to do something other than watch, but I do not know what else I can do.
Once he has everything set up, he lays out a thick white towel and a red robe.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he says and kisses my forehead. “Take your time.”
He kisses me again, this time on the lips, and I want to bask in the seawater of his eyes. I am lucky, I realize, and do not deserve him.
“I love you,” I tell him.
This brings a smile to his face that lights his eyes. “And I love you.” He glances over his shoulder at the running bath. “Go on. Get in. Call if you need anything.”
Left to my own devices, I slide into the bath before it is ready, but it is enough to make me sigh. The water is soft against my skin and the smell is amazing. And the heat . . . I want to live in the heat of this bath. Once I shut the water off, I let my eyes slide closed and drift into semiconsciousness.
• • •
Every few seconds, a single drop of water pinged against the bath-water and small ripples traveled to the end where I lay against his hot chest. The hot water turned the room into a sauna, and beads of sweat tickled my brow.
The sun’s reflection off the ocean shimmered on the slatted blinds above the tub. The color shifted from a soft yellow to burnt orange as the day turned late. With each passing day, I grew to regret the sunset no matter how progressively beautiful the atmospheric effects became. They signaled another day gone, and I didn’t want to leave.
I shifted, lifting an elbow up out of the water to rest on the cool porcelain. “Let’s stay,” I said, my voice a bomb in the quiet space.
He nuzzled his abrasive chin into my neck. “Say the word. We never have to go back.”
I reached back and ran a hand over the side of his head, fingering his sideburns. Across the tub, I watched the next drop of water build in the faucet. “In another lifetime, I wouldn’t give it a second thought.”
A kiss whispered over my ear. “I know. I promise we’ll come back to stay. In our lifetime.”
“And not when we’re old and wrinkled.”
His chuckle was nearly silent. “No, of course not. In a few years when we’re ready to start a family.”
“If I’m still fertile th—”
“You will be.” His hands found mine under the water, and the dying suds lapped up against my breasts. He linked our fingers and wrapped our arms around my abdomen, holding me tighter. “We’ll be responsible for populating the world with so many Tuckers, the world won’t know what to do with them.”
I laughed. “Especially if they’re anything like you.”
“The men in this world won’t stand a chance with one of our daughters in the room. Not if they look like you.”
“Badass?”
He chuckled. “I was going to say beautiful, but that works, too.”
CHAPTER 13
I jolt upright, gasping. I turn to find I am alone in the bath Declan prepared for me. The fading light outside is wrong, and cold winter air seeps through the windows. My mind floats in the remains of the dream and the shock of reality confuses me.
The room is warm, not hot, and the light is graying and yellow, not orange. There are no slatted shutters. There is no man relaxing behind me speaking of our future children. A man whose face remains hidden from me but is most definitely Tucker from the beach dream. And as impossible as it sounds, his absence shreds my heart and twists my stomach. His absence feels like death. If not for the missing brand, I might believe I have a right to this grief. But it belongs to Wade, whoever she is.
I grip the edge of the tub and press my forehead to the porcelain surface. I breathe deeply of the soothing scents and tell myself to calm down. I am on the verge of a possible breakdown and need to get my head on straight. I cannot show this weakness to Declan or he will tell Dr. Travista. I cannot live in the hospital again. I will not.
I coat my cool face with the warm water and pull my knees into my chest. The only sound in the room now comes from the single heavy drops pinging in my bathwater. It is too close to the dream, so I stand and let the water fall from my body in a shower. I flip the drain switch with my toe and climb out.
I leave the bathroom in the soft red robe and find a navy blue turtleneck and jeans lying on the bed with a set of nice undergarments. I flush thinking about how Declan picked out the flesh-toned silk underwear and bra.
A knock sounds on the door. “Emma?”
I jump and tighten my robe. “I am just getting dressed. I will be out in a moment.”
“Okay.”
My hands shake as I slide the silk over my thighs. Hooking my bra with trembling fingers is an even bigger feat. After pulling the rest on, I am calmer and ready to face what is to come. I hope.
I press the button near the door and it slides aside with a soft shiff. The temperature difference is significant. Declan has started a fire that lights the entire living area. The heat warms my face and wraps around my bones.
Then I smell dinner. I am tired of the bland food I eat every day. I need something rich in flavor.
“Mmmm,” I moan and step toward the kitchen. “What did you make?”
Declan lifts a large pan and spoons food over two plates. “Asiago cheese tortellini.”
I bend over the nearest plate. A creamy sauce, mushrooms, and spinach cover the cheese-filled pasta shells. Steam coats my nose and chin.
Declan takes me by the shoulders, turns me, and points to a candle-lit table in a nook of sorts surrounded by now dark windows.
“Go sit,” he says and kisses the top of my head.
I go, ignoring all my negative thoughts about being so near the windows. I will make the most of my first night here and will report to Dr. Travista that I am still well enough to stay home.
The
fire’s warmth reaches into the dining area, dispelling my fear of feeling the winter chill through the windows. I sit and run a palm over the soft white cloth covering the table. It is as pristine as everything else. Not a single wrinkle.
There are two tapered candles, but there is also a small vase of indigo flowers. I want to pick them up and bury my face in them but do not wish to risk petals falling anywhere.
Declan sets my plate on the table and sits diagonally from me. He watches me carefully. Maybe my nerves are apparent in my expression. Can he see the inkling of guilt that remains after the dream I experienced only minutes ago?
I reach over and slide my hand into his. His fingers are warm and slightly damp from washing them. “Everything looks lovely,” I say, smiling.
He lets out a breath and a smile breaks out over his face. “Thank you.”
His fingers squeeze mine before releasing our hands to take up the heavy, ornate silverware. Its weight does not feel natural in my hand but I do not complain. For all I know, I picked this set out myself. The tablecloth could be pristine because I like it that way. Maybe I always set flowers out on the table. Maybe I wanted this house and all its windows.
I’d rather live in a well, She says.
Not now, I tell Her.
• • •
Declan picks up our empty plates and stands. “Go sit by the fire and relax.”
“Let me help you with the dishes.”
His head nods toward the living area, a tiny smile playing over his mouth. “Go.”
“You are doing so much,” I say, taking the steps down.
“I don’t mind taking care of you. You’re worth it.”
I pick up the fleece blanket automatically and sit angled on the couch so I can watch Declan. His focus is on his task, which sets a crease between his eyebrows and his lips into a fine line. He clearly does not like this menial task, but he does it without complaint.
He must sense me watching because he looks up from where he wipes the island countertop and the creases and hard edges vanish. He smiles and it is brilliant. I wonder how such a handsome man can manage these two contrasting faces in the space of an eye blink.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing. I like watching you.”
He turns, still smiling, to finish. “I like you being here to watch me.”
A log snaps in the fireplace and startles me. I turn to watch the embers fly toward the protective screen and die out. The logs shift and reassemble.
Declan appears in front of the fire and removes the screen. He kneels and uses a poker to stoke the glowing embers below the logs until the fire blazes to twice its height, then adds two more small logs.
Finished, he brushes his hands together. “That should do us for a while. Is there anything you need?”
“No.”
I pat the seat beside me when he looks unsure of where to sit. He angles into the corner and props a knee up behind me so I can sit between his legs. I hesitate at first, recalling the dream in the tub, but decide to go with it. He is my husband. Why should I not sit this close to him?
I turn and lie down on his chest. His arms fold around me automatically, his hands seeking mine. He links the fingers of his manicured right hand with my left and I stare down at our skin. Mine a shade lighter. No branded hearts.
“Why do we not have marks?” I ask and feel Her annoyance. I have asked something before She was able to stop me.
“Marks?”
“The linked hearts.”
His chest stills under me for so long I worry enough to turn. He stares at me through narrowed eyes but does not appear angry.
“You said ‘we,’” he says carefully. “As in both of us?”
I twist slightly to look at him. “Yes.”
Declan’s eyes focus on the fire across the room, his thumb absently rubbing my skin. “Men don’t mark their skin. As for you, I chose to leave you unbranded. You are not in the city long, if ever, and so there is no need to worry about another man claiming you.”
“Claiming me?”
His dark eyebrows pinch together and his eyelids narrow. “You remember the brand, but not why?”
I twist my legs around farther to sit more comfortably. “It must be part of the process. Some things I know, while others are still in the dark place with my past. I wish I could explain it.”
But the truth is you only know because of a dream you can’t admit to, She says. You have to nip this line of questioning in the bud. It will only lead to trouble. Trust me.
“There is a very specific law,” he begins slowly, “that says a man cannot take another man’s property. His wife. The brand signifies that she is taken. A ring can be forgotten, while a brand can never be removed.”
I do not like this word “property.” It causes a rise of heat to flush my cheeks. “I am your property?”
He shakes his head, his nostrils flaring. “You are here by your own free will, but out there”—he points over the couch toward the obsidian night—“you are my property because it will save you from another man taking you as his own.”
There are too many questions and too many pieces to put together. I cannot keep quiet as She asks. “What is the reason for this fear? Why would another man want me so badly?”
“There are not enough women to go around,” he says. The threat of anger in his voice seems to be diffusing. “And even less to bear children.”
I recall the things Dr. Travista told me, in addition to things I have learned from my dreams, and the pieces finally fall together. “You purchased me.”
His gaze looks past me to the fire. The flames reflect in his eyes, obscuring the sea-green color. “I chose you and created a life for us that I swear will never reflect the outside world. I don’t want that life for you or for us.” He looks into my eyes and brushes my hair back. “I will not mark your skin because that means I am giving in to that world, which already rules my every waking decision as it is. You are my peace from that.”
Guilt washes through me for doubting him. He has never treated me like a piece of property, and after seeing Charles and Ruby, I know the difference. She will not be as lucky as I am.
CHAPTER 14
Trinda tapped her heel beside me and cinched the skirt of her yellow dress into her fist. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she gnawed her lower lip to shreds and blood appeared.
“Stop it,” I whispered harshly. “You’ll have no lips left if you keep at it.”
She pressed her lips together until all blood disappeared. The tapping didn’t stop, and I waited for the guard to turn his back before I slammed my knuckles into her thigh.
“Cut it the fuck out.”
On Trinda’s other side, Melanie leaned forward to wordlessly thank me. From a row of chairs in front of us, Uganda bit back a laugh. This was all fun and games now, but when they dragged Trinda off and punished her for it, the laughter would end in a hurry.
“I’m nervous,” Trinda whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“You meet asshole men every day,” I said. “We call them guards. This will be no different.”
“They’ll dress better,” Melanie said.
“I bet they’ll smell better, too,” Polly said from directly in front of me.
Uganda added, “Fuck better.”
Everyone gaped at her, but I schooled my face to impassivity. “The rest of us wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Right?” Trinda said, pinching her face in disgust. “So disgusting, Ugie.”
Uganda shrugged a single shoulder. I knew all about her and what she did with the guards. Had known. We had the same goal, she and I, only I didn’t plan to spread my thighs for those murdering bastards. I’d get out of here with my self-respect intact, thank you very much.
Guard Taggert entered the room, and both rows of girls—nineteen in all—sat up straight and crossed ankles. Hands folded into laps. Eyes forward. Utter silence filled the room.
“Thirty seconds, girls,
” he said. “You know the drill. If your number is called, stand and walk through that door.” He pointed to the door to the left of a large mirror. “From then on, remember your manners and everything will work out just fine.”
In other words, there’d be no beatings, no starvation, and no solitary confinement. Too bad I couldn’t add slave labor to the list.
Taggert left the room and it began. I’d been through this twice already. This time around was my final callback. Someone wanted me. According to the repeat faces, more than one someone. Only one was semi-good-looking, and I wasn’t holding my breath he’d outbid the others.
When I turned eighteen in a couple of weeks, the winner would be revealed. With any luck, I wouldn’t be around to find out.
Guard Mack lifted a hand to his ear and then nodded to the room. We stood and walked in single file past the mirror, then stopped in the center to pose. One thing was for sure: We looked great. We wore standard issue while in the camp, but for this—the big sale—they gave us nice dresses. We saw a hair stylist and makeup artist, too. They gave me a teal wrap dress made from a soft, flowing material. In another life, I might have loved this dress. In another life, its sole purpose wasn’t to dress me up for sale on the open market. I couldn’t wait to throw it into an open flame.
I was just about to take my turn in front of the mirror when Guard Taggert ran into the room. “Wade, you’re with me.”
I nearly tripped in my damn heels. Not that I cared, but had all of my suitors just rejected me? I didn’t ask and didn’t miss a step on the way into the hall.
“You’ve been taken out of the running,” he said.
“My suitor changed his mind?” Curiosity was a huge weakness of mine.
Guard Taggert hesitated. “Not exactly. They’ve been denied. Your buyer . . . well, let’s just say he doesn’t need to wait in line.”