by Ashley Gee
My breath is slow and even, but I’m still awake hours later when his arm drapes over my waist and he settles against my back. His lips tickle the back of my neck. I resist giving any reaction that might make him pull away.
I’ve never been so completely broken apart.
I can only hope that at some point he plans to put me back together.
Thirty-One
I expect the world to feel different when I wake up in the morning.
It surprises me when everything seems almost exactly the same. Then I remember where I am. I’m not in the bed of my cramped little room, or inside the house that is my family’s last earthly possession in a world that has clawed everything else away from us. Instead, I’m in the pool house of Cortland Manor, next to a guy who is the worst cover hog I’ve ever encountered.
This morning, I wake up as Vin Cortland’s wife.
But it feels like something more should be different. Because I am not the same. The Zaya Milbourne who existed a few weeks ago never would have agreed to any of this.
It should scare me more how quickly things can change, especially the way that I feel.
Now that we’re married, there might finally be cracks in the wall that has stood between us for the last ten years, letting the smallest amount of light through. That isn’t enough for me to think the past is actually behind us, but it gives me hope I might be able to walk away from this with my soul intact.
There isn’t a name for the emotion that wells up in me as I climb out of bed: a mix of fear and anticipation.
Fearcipation?
The thought makes me smile to myself, which surprises me again. Even in my own mind, there has rarely been room for playfulness or cheer. Every day of my life up to this point has been a slog to get from one moment to another without collapsing under the weight of it all.
Vin has always been part of the worst of that, but even he isn’t powerful enough to be responsible for it all. He didn’t lose the Milbourne fortune or cast us down into the muck in the Gulch. He didn’t force my mother to pack her bags and run because she couldn’t face the things she had done.
Vin Cortland had nothing to do with whatever made my last name synonymous with the dirt underneath people’s shoes, even if he has taken advantage of it. Any well-meaning adult could have stopped him from tormenting me, but no one in this town ever cared enough to make the attempt. And I know from experience that he has his own demons.
Already, I’m trying to rationalize the fact that I’ve said yes.
But today is the first day I can remember that I haven’t woken up with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders. My grandfather is under better care than he has ever had in his entire life. Down in the Gulch, Grandpa will be out of bed and doing laps around the living room in his walker with the help of a physical therapist. Just seeing him walking is enough to make me forgive the horrible things Vin has done to me over the years.
Maybe one day, I’ll even forgive myself.
A social worker is already scheduled to come out and evaluate him for placement at the senior care home. Zion is days from getting out of Deception and away from the worst influences in our town with the chance to end up on a much better path than he ever would have been on otherwise.
In a year, I’ll be free. With enough Cortland cash lining my pockets to go anywhere and be anything I want. If Vin hadn’t come along with the deal, I would say it’s too good to be true.
But I can handle anything for a year, even Vin. What is one year in exchange for a lifetime in which nothing would have changed?
I’ve gotten acceptance letters to UCLA and UC Santa Barbara, both close enough that I could possibly commute from home with a car to avoid paying for campus housing. But that doesn’t matter, because neither of them offered me any financial aid. Without access to my mother’s financial records, they couldn’t offer me an aid package. Since Grandpa never adopted me, I have to submit her information.
Just one more thing to add to the list of all the ways she screwed me over by leaving.
But Mrs. Vin Cortland doesn’t need financial aid. She can write a check and pay for all four years of school at once.
Vin seems less concerned about the abrupt change in his routing. He is apparently the polar opposite of a morning person. His eyes don’t open all the way while he gets dressed, and it takes two cups of coffee for him to even seem to realize that I’m there.
When he catches me watching him, he just glares and gestures for me to follow him out the door, which he slams shut behind us.
Definitely not a morning person.
Neither of us speak until I notice we’re driving in the opposite direction of Deception High. “Where are we going?”
“We have an errand to run before school.”
We’re headed back toward the nicer shopping district in town. “What kind of errand?”
“The kind you’ll find out about in less than five minutes if you just shut up and wait.”
“Oh look, you’re being a jerk just for the fun of it. It must be a day that ends with Y.”
“Whatever else you got, get it out now.” Vin pulls the car into a parallel space along a nearly deserted street lined with designer shops. He pushes the gearshift into park and turns to me with a mocking smile. “The next step is slapping Duct tape over your mouth, which might raise some eyebrows around here.”
There are a few people drinking cappuccinos outside a French bakery on the corner, but aside from that we’re the only ones here. “All the shops are closed.”
“Not for me.”
With that cryptic remark, he grabs my arm and half-drags me down the street toward an upscale boutique a few doors down from where we parked. On the glass window, Le Clotherie is etched in white script with Hours by Appointment Only inscribed underneath.
I hesitate at the door, but Vin shoves it open as if he has every right to bust inside. When he turns and locks it behind us, I experience a trill of nervousness.
“For privacy,” he murmurs, catching the expression on my face. “Wouldn’t want someone to walk in off the street and ruin the Pretty Woman moment.”
Before I can think of a suitable response, he gently pushes me through a gossamer curtain and into the back of the space.
A chicly petite older woman with midnight skin and hair so aggressively white that it had to be a fashion choice not to use dye when it went gray comes out from behind a rack of clothes.
“Monsieur Cortland, mon petit crotte. I am having too much happiness when you call. It has been too long. I have not seen you since you were un enfant.” She comes forward with her arms wide and wraps her arms around Vin in a giant embrace that I am shocked to see him return. “I was so happy to get your call.”
This is the only time I’ve seen him accept non-sexual affection with an audience. I expect the sky to fall at any possible moment.
I wrack my brain for what little I remember from the French class I took sophomore year.
“Did she just call you a little shit?” I ask him sotto voce, when the woman steps back.
He grimaces. “Apparently it’s a term of endearment, so shut up.”
“And let me look at you.” The woman grabs my hands and spreads them wide. “You must be the special girl I have been told about. We must take very good care of you. I am Adelphine Turay, and this is my shop. Vin has known me for his whole life. His mother used to come here for her entire wardrobe. She was my favorite customer, only I had the privilege of dressing her.”
Vin’s mouth has thinned into an unhappy line when I risk a glance back at him. He doesn’t let anybody talk about his mother, as if he wants to forget she ever existed.
Adelphine doesn’t seem to notice his frown, or simply doesn’t care. “Sit here while I bring out the racks. What refreshment do you prefer: coffee, tea, lemon water?”
“Bourbon?” Vin mutters.
She waves her hand at him, but the smile on her face is indulgent. “Coffee for you, bad boy.�
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I collapse into a fabric-covered chair, exhausted just from watching her twirl around the room. “Tea would be great. Thank you.”
“So polite, not like the other prissy misses I see all day.” She pats my hand before turning to Vin, her tone changing to one that is more motherly but still gently chiding. “Take care of this one so I am seeing her again.”
“That’s up to her, isn’t it?”
There’s something in his voice that makes me turn to look at him. But Vin picks up a fashion magazine and opens it up. “Casual female nudity. God, I love the French.”
“Those designs are Algerian, my heart.” Adelphine sweeps back in with our drinks before I can say something caustic back to him. She waves me toward a raised platform at the center of the room. “Undress.”
I look at her in pained shock, realizing there aren’t any dressing rooms back here. My gaze swings back to Vin, who has put down the magazine and regards me with eyes full of both challenge and anticipation.
“Go on,” Adelphine encourages as she drapes a measuring tape over her shoulder. “You Americans can be so prudish. You are married, non?”
I raise my eyebrows at Vin in obvious question. He had acted like our quickie ceremony in Sonoma was meant to be a secret.
“Where do you think I got your wedding dress?” Vin’s smug grin makes it clear that he expects me to embarrass myself by making some protest.
I remind myself that it isn’t as if he hasn’t seen all of me before.
A sudden surge of bravado moves through me. If he wants to play games, then I’m already dressed and out on the field.
Gripping the hem of my t-shirt, I pull it over my head, only faltering when it catches in my hair.
“Need any help?” Vin calls from across the room, laughter in his voice.
“No,” I snap back at him. My pants hit the floor on top of my shirt, and I’m left standing in my bra and underwear on the platform. Heat suffuses my skin, and I force myself to stare at a spot on the wall above Vin’s head.
Adelphine clucks over me like a mother hen, measuring my bust, waist, and hips as she makes marks on a little pad of paper. “So wispy like a fashion model. The selection we have will be tres bien for you.”
I can already see that it was a calculated move on Vin’s part to bring me here. Adelphine is so personable and moves so quickly that I don’t have the chance to gainsay her on anything. I try on a dozen outfits in the space of thirty minutes, each one more perfect for me than the last. She seems to understand that comfort is more important to me than style, even while ensuring I still look like someone with refined taste.
The last outfit is a midnight blue tunic dress with billowy sleeves. Tiny red flowers are stitched on the waist and trail down the sleeves. It looks very dreamy California summer without trying too hard. A pair of strappy sandals made of thin gold rope complete the outfit.
When I risk a glance at the price tag dangling across my wrist, I nearly swallow my own tongue.
My mouth opens to say something, but Vin beats me to the punch.
He steps up next to me, head only rising to my shoulder while I’m still standing on the dais, and waves Adelphine away as she approaches with another dress laid over her arm. “We’ll take everything she tried on already. School starts in twenty minutes.”
I glare at him. “How much is this going to cost?”
He pinches me lightly on the hip before I can pull away. “Why? Keeping track of how much you’re worth.”
“I really don’t feel comfortable with all this.” I’m not sure if I’m talking just about the clothes, or something else.
“No backing out now, you already signed the contract.” His hand stays on my hip as he turns back to Adelphine. “Thank you for everything, Mama Turay. I knew we could count on you. Zaya is going to wear this one out. Go ahead and trash everything she came in wearing. Or rip it up if you’re cleaning service needs extra rags for scrubbing the bathroom.”
“The hell are—"
Vin comes steps up onto the platform and covers my mouth with his free hand as he smiles widely at Adelphine. “You mind writing up the bill for me real quick?”
“Of course.” I don’t miss that she gathers up my discarded clothes into her arms before disappearing into a backroom.
As soon as she leaves, I sink my teeth into his palm. Vin pulls his hand away with a muffled curse. “Now you’re making that lovely woman your accomplice?”
“She knows how to read a room. And a bigger bill is good for all of us.”
“This isn’t what I agreed to,” I grind out through clenched teeth, pulling away from him. “You don’t get to play dress up doll with me.”
“We negotiated, remember? It’s your fault for not taking this off the table when you had the chance. I don’t want people seeing you in rags.”
Those familiar feelings of inadequacy are rising back up. “Just because clothes are from discount stores, doesn’t make them rags.”
He sighs, obviously exasperated. “It does when they have holes and ripped seams because they were already well-used when you got them. This doesn’t need to be as hard as you’re making it. Let’s pretend you’re a brand new Zaya, one that wears nice clothes, drives a car with advanced safety features, and does what her husband tells her to do.”
“Is she married to a brand new Vin?” I glare down at him. “Because that’s the only way I see it working out.”
A calculating smile twists his lips. He takes a step back off the platform so I tower over him and his face is level with my waist. “I like you in dresses, by the way. They provide easy access.”
His hands slide up my thighs, and I slap them away. “Maybe the new Zaya isn’t the type of girl who believes in public displays of affection.”
“Maybe the new Zaya is whatever type of girl I want her to be.” His hands grip my thighs as he lifts me up. My hands go around his neck by reflex so I don’t tip over backwards. He backs up toward the chair and sits down, tightening his arms around me when I attempt to pull away. “Maybe I’ll have her right here in the middle of my godmother’s store.”
“Stop it. She’s going to come back…” His lips touch my neck, and the words turn into a soft sigh. My hands press against his chest so I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my palms. “You can’t do just do whatever you want.”
“Watch me.” His mouth nips a trail along my jaw until his lips brush against my ear. “This doesn’t have to be hard. We can make it so simple and so easy. Just enjoy ourselves for a year without turning everything into a fight.”
“Vin—”
He presses a finger against my lips, silencing me. “The next time I get you alone it’s going to be just like this, with you in one of these fucking dresses. Only no one’s going to be there to stop me from pulling your panties aside and plunging up into you. Then I’m going to fuck you so slowly that you’ll be begging me to let you feel every inch.”
My hips grind down against him, only the thin fabric of my panties and his jeans separating us from each other. Part of me wants him to rip off these brand new clothes and screw me right here in the middle of Le Clotherie.
I need to know that this situation makes him as crazy as it does me.
Gripping his hair with my fingers, I force his head closer to mine. I kiss him softly, just because I can. “Do it.”
There is a creak of floorboards behind us, and Vin has me back on my feet about one second before Adelphine sweeps back through the thick black curtain. The knowing look on her face makes me wonder if she made the noise on purpose.
She drops half a dozen bags onto the floor next to Vin and hands him a bill to sign. Taking it back, she kisses him gently on each cheek. “Be good.”
Then she grips my hands and presses her cheek against mine in an air kiss. “Make him work for it. That boy needs a challenge.”
Blushing, I back away from her. It is weird as hell to be hugging Vin’s godmother when my panties are soaked. “I’ll
do my best.”
“We’re going to be late.” Vin picks up the bags and hustles me out of the shop. I barely have time to say goodbye to Adelphine as he pushes me out the door.
As he cheerfully loads the bag in his trunk, whistling to himself, I try to figure out which part this is on the rollercoaster of our relationship. He pings so quickly from one extreme to another that I can barely keep up with him.
Then I ask myself why I’m trying so hard to figure this out. Whatever exists between us has always been beyond reason. This temporary peace doesn’t mean that anything has fundamentally changed.
I’ll enjoy the peaks, because the inevitable plunge will come in its own time.
Thirty-Two
I’ve never slept as well in my life as I did last night.
Not that Zaya would know that. I was up before her and sitting on the couch with my vape in one hand and my phone in the other by the time she rolled out of my bed.
My bed.
I thought I would hate having her in my bed, even if it had been my idea for her to stay with me in the first place. Leaving her alone in that dilapidated old house wasn’t an option. Not that her grandfather would provide much defense against a home invasion, but at least he was lucid enough to be a witness. Her brother is still sitting in jail and her grandfather is in the care home, not that he would be up to providing much defense.
But the minute that the lowlifes down in the Gulch realized she was in that house all by herself, Zaya would be a sitting duck. Bringing her to the manor is the only option that makes sense, doesn’t mean I was looking forward to having her invade my space.
I woke up curled around her as dawn sent pink streaks of light through the curtains, only realizing then that it had still been dark when I closed my eyes. Usually, I can manage fifteen or twenty minutes at a time before something startles me awake.
But last night I slept like a baby, at least for a few hours.
Zaya seems oblivious to my thoughts as she fidgets in the passenger seat of my Maserati, pulling at the hem of her dress. Her gazes shifts to the display every so often to check the time, obvious impatience written into every line of her body.