by Skye Warren
“Exactly,” she says before hurrying over to a man with questions. All of them are allowed to inspect the house prior to the auction.
There are folding chairs brought in, which only emphasizes the lack of furniture. More and more the house is hollow, a once-grand oak tree now brittle and dead.
“We’re about to begin,” Charlotte announces.
Some men in suits sit down, holding cardboard placards. I head over to Gabriel, determined to ignore my embarrassment. The knowing glint in his eyes speaks to mouths and hands, to the touch I can still feel in the secret places on my body.
“The diary,” I say, my voice soft so no one else hears.
He shakes his head slowly. “I think I’ll hold on to it.”
Desperation is a fist around my heart. “Please, Gabriel.”
“I do love hearing you say my name. Even more when you’re naked and spread wide, when—”
“Stop.” My cheeks flush. “It’s my mother’s diary. She means everything to me. And if I don’t win this auction, it’s all I’ll have left.”
“Then you should try to win.”
Helplessness steals the air from me. I want to slap him again, but then everyone in the room would see my anger. My weakness. Most of them already know that Gabriel Miller bought me at auction. They know we’ve had sex, even if they don’t know he was touching me just minutes ago. I won’t let them see me affected by it.
I look at the fireplace, where a portrait of my mother used to hang. Even that was sold to an estate dealer, the artist famous enough to command a decent resale value. “Tell me this much. Do you think a million dollars is enough?”
With his command of real estate, with his personal knowledge of the people in this room, he will know how the bidding will be. “The truth is, I’m not sure.”
Charlotte stands beside a small folding table, about to begin.
“Gabriel,” I say, pleading.
One eyebrow rises. “I’m telling you what I know. It would usually be enough. The bad press about your father kept away some of the big players. Everyone here wants it for a quick flip or a conversation piece—neither is worth very much.”
“So I can win?”
“If you play it right, you might. But…” He looks thoughtful.
“Last call,” Charlotte says, gaze directly on me.
“But what?” I whisper.
“But the man on the end there? I don’t know him.”
A wild card? I look at the last row where a man in a tailored suit glances at his watch. I’ve never seen him before either. And Gabriel knows everyone.
Without another word I hurry back to find a seat—right up front, because I don’t want to miss anything. Charlotte hands me a cardboard number and returns to the table.
I want that diary, but first I need to win the house back. This is where my father wants to spend his final days. This is the place that holds my family’s legacy. My mother left it to me for a reason, and I won’t let her down.
“The bidding starts at two hundred thousand,” Charlotte says. “The contract will be signed on immediate conclusion of the winning bid. Anyone who hasn’t already prequalified will be required to present proof of fiduciary capability. Any questions?”
“Are you free Saturday night?” a man near the front says.
Charlotte gives him a flat look. “Why? Do you know anyone worth my time?”
The men laugh, except for the man in the corner. He looks impatient. And except for Gabriel. His sharp look promises some small retribution for the disrespect, but the other men don’t seem to notice. That’s why he stands in the back, I realize. To watch over everyone. An almost godlike presence who metes out punishment and rewards. I’ve become intimately familiar with both the pain and the pleasure at his hands.
“Let’s begin,” Charlotte says brusquely. “Do I have two hundred thousand? Two hundred?”
It’s clear that she’s done this before. It’s also clear the other men have plenty of experience. Their cards lift only an inch when they bid, such a tiny distance to signify thousands of dollars.
My stomach ties itself into knots and then straight again by the time the bidding lands where I need it. “Three hundred thousand,” Charlotte says.
That’s my cue. I raise my placard high. “One million dollars.”
The room falls silent. “Can you repeat that?” Charlotte asks.
“I’ll bid one million dollars for the house.”
The silence stretches out for one heartbeat, two, as I wait to find out if I’ve won.
“Well,” Charlotte says, sounding pleased. “That certainly changes the game, gentlemen. What do you think? Are you willing to put more than one million into this house?”
One of the men stands. “Too rich for my blood.”
With that he’s on the phone talking to a broker about a different property, already moved on before he even strides from the room.
The gray-haired man who was at my auction, who came close to bidding on me, stands as well. When he turns to me, his eyes are kind. “Congratulations, young lady. I must say that I had thought the house would be an enticement to have you after Gabriel here, but in both cases I appear to be outgunned.”
With a cordial bow he leaves, his gorgeous assistant in tow.
The only man left in the audience is the one in the corner, the stranger who even Gabriel didn’t know. He’s been impatient this entire time, looking as if he’d rather be somewhere else, but now he leans forward. “What’s the next bid?”
Charlotte pauses, hiding her dismay behind a cool smile. “One point five million, anyone?”
My throat closes. I would never be able to match that. I can’t spend a dollar over a million. I know that Charlotte is trying to help me, but the dread in my bones tells me it won’t work. There’s some reason this man is here, some purpose I can’t discern.
The stranger lifts his placard.
And just like that I lose everything.
Chapter Fourteen
The motel room is empty. Harper’s Louis Vuitton steamer bag is still on the floor, overflowing with a sparkle dress and unicorn socks. Worry eclipses my grief over losing the house. What if someone else convinced the motel owner to let them inside? There’s no sign of a struggle, except for the assortment of lotions and bath bombs strewn over the bathroom counter.
I head outside, following the sounds of banging and drunken laughter.
Behind the motel a wall of boxes and trash cans do little to hide a makeshift camp. I realize this is where Will must sleep every night, in one of the low stacks of blankets tucked against the wall. There must be more men than I realize, but only two figures surround the fire rising out of a rust-coated barrel. Sitting on a crate is a hulking figure with a low rumbling voice.
On the opposite side of the fire an animated Harper tells a story with her hands. I don’t even have the energy to get mad at her for being reckless. It’s so quintessentially Harper to make friends with anyone and everyone. And besides, the circle looks inviting to me now, when my heart feels heavy as a stone, eyes burning from the tears I shed on the way home.
Will spots me first. “You look like hell.”
Harper takes one look at me and envelops me in a hug, her slender arms surprisingly strong. “Oh no,” she murmurs. “That asshole. That fucker. I’ll kick his ass.”
I give her a watery laugh. “Thank you, but it wasn’t Gabriel. At least I don’t think so.”
“Sit down,” she says, guiding me to an upturned blue cooler. “We have cheap beer and all night long. What the hell happened?”
“I went early, before the auction. In the attic I found a diary that belonged to my mother. I never even knew she kept one.”
And the men she talked about, vying for her hand. Her reluctance to agree to my father’s proposal. She should have been going to concerts with friends, thinking about a career, but Tanglewood high society had very strict rules for women.
Even twenty years later, for me, there
hadn’t been much give.
My throat tightens. “There’s so much about her I didn’t know.”
“That’s amazing,” Harper says.
“It would be, except I don’t have it.” There are some things too personal to share, and what Gabriel Miller did to me against the fireplace is one of them. “The diary was part of the house, so it went to whoever won the auction.”
Will makes a rough sound. “Rich people out to make a buck.”
I’m not sure if he knows that Harper is richer than God—at least, when her stepbrother gives her permission to use her trust. “I don’t know if it was a real estate person. Gabriel hadn’t seen him before. He didn’t talk to anyone else. But he seemed intent on buying the house. As if he would have spent anything.”
Harper looks thoughtful. “Like he wanted to live there?”
“No, he didn’t seem interested in the house itself. He kept looking at his phone, like he wanted to get out of there. It was strange.”
They’re silent a moment, digesting this. Then Will holds something out. It takes me a second to realize that it’s a joint, rolled up thick and short. Justin did some partying with his frat brothers. I went with him when he asked, but he knew I preferred to stay in. Movie nights. Study sessions. That’s more my speed. And I knew it would crush my father if I was caught with something.
I don’t have to worry about his opinion now. He’s not aware enough to ask questions, but I’ve already failed at everything. Dropped out of college, my fund depleted to pay his court-ordered restitution. Lost my mother’s house. And that’s nothing compared to his horror if he learned I had auctioned my virginity. I never plan to tell him the worst part, but any claim to fatherly pride is long gone.
Why shouldn’t I have fun now? What else is there to lose?
I take the joint and put it to my lips. A deep breath.
And a cough. “Oh my God.”
“My little innocent,” Harper says, taking the joint from me. “That was your first hit, wasn’t it? You took too much.”
Will eyes me with suspicion, as if I just revealed that I’m armed and dangerous. “How old are you exactly? You aren’t jailbait, are you?”
“Of course not,” I say, grabbing a sweat-slicked can of beer from the stash. “I’m going to turn twenty-one in two weeks.”
“That’s not actually old enough to drink,” Will says, not appeased.
“She’s eighteen,” I say, pointing at Harper. “The genius skipped a few grades.”
“Tattletale,” Harper says before taking a drag.
Will shakes his head. “Kids these days.”
“I can’t believe Gabriel didn’t buy the house for you,” Harper says, studying the smoke from the fire as if it contains the answers.
“He couldn’t. Something about Miller Industries being the court-appointed holding company, so if he bid on the auction, it would be a conflict of interest.”
She shrugs as if unimpressed. “He knows other rich people. A couple mil is nothing to them. Surely he could have gotten it if he wanted to.”
“I don’t see why he would. He already gave me a million dollars.”
“Still think he’s an asshole,” Harper says, passing the joint to Will.
“I agree,” Will says.
“What do you even know about it?” I say, uncomfortable with their assessment. I know that Gabriel Miller is an asshole, but somehow it feels weird for other people to point it out. I have a strange impulse to defend him that I force down.
“I know that anyone who lets you live in this shit hole isn’t a good guy,” Will says.
I put my head in my hands, defeat washing over me in waves. “I can’t believe I lost the house.”
“It’s Gabriel Miller’s fault,” Harper says in a pragmatic tone. “He’s behind everything—your father’s trials, losing the money. Even the auction for your virginity.”
He’s always been the man behind the curtain, making everyone dance, tearing down my family brick by brick. And I let him touch me. I almost came for him against the fireplace.
“Give me that,” I say, reaching my hand out for the joint.
After a slight hesitation, Will gives it to me. “Not too much.”
I take a deep drag, desperate for any oblivion I can find. After a minute the world feels a little sharper, my body alive in a new way. As if my skin can smell and see and hear the world around me. As if the air around me speaks. “Wow,” I breathe.
Harper nods in satisfaction. “We’ll do a ritual cleanse.”
Another drag. “What?”
“My mom taught me this. In between husbands three and four she got into this pagan phase, like with divining crystals and tea leaves. Most of it’s bunk, but I like the cleanses.”
“Is this another one of your juice fast things? Because I don’t have a juicer in my motel room. Or, you know, fruits and vegetables.”
“No, silly. This is where you expel someone negative from your life.”
And then I can’t help myself. “I’m not sure Gabriel Miller is really negative. I mean, he is. But in his own way there’s a reason for it. He hasn’t hurt me specifically.”
Will looks skeptical. “He’s the reason you’re here?”
“He doesn’t have to be evil,” Harper says. “Even though he kind of is. It can even be someone who’s good and kind. It just means that they’re negative to you, so this helps you remove their influence. Like imagine there’s an invisible string between you and them. This is cutting the string, setting you free.”
Free. That sounded good.
Because where was I, really? With a million dollars and a father in a nursing home. A sad state of affairs but not an impossible one. I could build a life this way, if I could let go of my old one. If I could forget Gabriel Miller. “How does this work, then?”
“We need some herbs to throw in the fire. Sage. Maybe rosemary.” Harper bites her lip, looking all of eight years old as she struggles to remember.
Will glances around. “There might be some grass where the concrete’s busted.”
Harper pulls a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper from a paper bag. “This will work. It’s almost like an herb.”
“Is that marijuana?” I’m not sure why I’m even asking. Sage and rosemary won’t make me forget about Gabriel any more than this joint has.
“It’s medicinal,” Will says gravely, as if we’re performing a serious operation.
“Fine,” I say, taking another drag. I really do need to be high for this. “But if I’m going to do this, you guys have to, too. There must be someone you should cut out of your lives.”
“Christopher,” Harper says immediately.
Her stepbrother has been a thorn in her side ever since her father married his mother. The fact that they since divorced made things easier, but when her father died, they found out he’d put Christopher in charge of her trust.
“The cleanse isn’t supposed to have bad effects on the person, is it?” I ask, because Christopher’s a good guy. In fact the only time I met him, he was both nice and funny. Except whenever he has to deal with Harper, he seems to turn into the Grinch. They’re a bad match, but I wouldn’t want him harmed—even by a pretend ritual cleanse.
“No,” she assures me. “And oftentimes severing the link is the best thing for both parties. Like if two people are in some kind of infinite loop. Then it helps both people when the bond is broken.”
“It won’t matter to Gabriel either way.”
He was completely unmoved by the fact that I’d lost the auction. His expression had been blank, his attitude all business as he oversaw the stranger’s contract with Miller Industries. I waited until the very last page was signed, on the one percent chance that his backing would fall through. That Gabriel would find some secret way to let me buy the house instead.
He was completely stoic as he signed away the house, my mother’s diary inside.
“It will help Christopher,” Harper says, sounding aggrieved.
“He spends way too much time focusing on where I go and what I do. I bet he’ll be relieved to cut the string.”
I glance at Will. “Do you have someone picked out?”
I’m a little nervous to learn about his life. Is there someone he’s hiding from? Is that how he ended up on the streets? Someone who threatens him? There’s darkness there. A history filled with shadows and violence. “Yes,” he says, sounding more sad than angry. “I picked someone.”
He doesn’t seem inclined to say more.
“Okay,” Harper says. “Hold the person in your mind. Think positive thoughts for them. You wish them well, away from you. Blowing in the wind.”
She touches the bundle of weed to the flame, catching the end on fire. Then she blows it out, its embers still glowing like the end of the joint. Then she waves it around my head and down my body.
“Over your eyes,” she says, as if remembering. “Your third eye. And maybe your chakras. I don’t really remember, but I’ll just do all of you to be sure.”
I cough at the thick swell of smoke. “I’m pretty sure all this is doing is getting me really high.”
Harper repeats the same motions over Will. “If you can’t get rid of the bastards, being really high is the next best thing.”
She waves the bundle over herself and then tosses it into the fire. The sweet scent curls around us, sharp and strong. Smoke stings my eyes, and I blink against tears.
“Now our spirits are cleansed and free. Do you feel better?”
“I might be floating,” I say, squinting against the curls of smoke.
“This is some good shit,” Will says, sounding impressed.
“You know what else?” I lie down on the cooler’s plastic bottom, looking up at the smoky sky. “You’re right. Gabriel Miller is a bad man. A very bad man. And I never want to see him again.”
“Um, Avery?” Harper’s voice sounds wobbly, like she’s holding back a laugh.