Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Safety first,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. He puts on his seatbelt too.
“Explain what?” I ask more loudly, really panicking now.
“Turns out you won’t be attending the local art school after all. You’ll be happy to know I’ve found a small, but highly regarded school down in Georgia, in Savannah in fact. Very pretty city. Have you been?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ll assume that’s a no?”
“Just tell me what’s going on.”
Again, he sighs, then leans his head against the headrest and studies me. “Like I said, my brother feels very protective of you. I can guess why, but not sure I agree with his methods. Regardless, I will do what he wants. Like Val, I’m loyal to my brother too.” There’s a momentary curling of the lip, but it’s gone so fast I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. “You’ll attend the school in Georgia for the next two years, after which the wedding will take place and you’ll come back to Avarice as Santos Augustine’s wife. My sister-in-law.” He sets his hand on his chin like he’s thinking. “Too soon to call you sis?” The last part is said with a questioning look.
I’m struck mute for a moment.
“But… What about my brother?” There’s no one else to ask about. I don’t have friends. I don’t care about my father. But Odin?
“You’ll have to discuss visitation with Santos.”
“Visitation? What am I, a prisoner?” It was meant as a joke, but my voice quavers.
He just looks at me like I’m either the stupidest person he ever met, or I’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world, and I exhale.
Because I am exactly that. Because last night, I was locked in that room. Because I still don’t have my phone or any other way to contact Odin or anyone else—not that there is anyone else. They’ll lock me away for the next two years until I marry Santos Augustine, then I’ll be a prisoner in a different house.
“You can’t do this,” I say, my voice quiet, as we turn onto our street.
Caius types out a text, his attention on his phone, not on me when he speaks. “We can. We are,” he says, and looks at me just as the car comes to a stop. “You’ll find when you’re an Augustine, you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, to whomever you want.” His words sound ugly, his expression uglier.
He climbs out of the car when his door is opened, then comes to my side to open my door. He takes my arm in a grip a little harder than it needs to be.
Once I’m out, he smiles his cool smile. “Lucky for you, you’ll soon be an Augustine.”
10
Santos
1 Year Later
* * *
My father hung on a lot longer than the doctors had expected, but still not long enough. The funeral was hard, really fucking hard, and I need to get away.
Just for a night.
“Just about there, sir,” says the driver, nearly startling me.
I nod, shift my gaze back out the window, and watch the fading lights of Savannah, Georgia.
I’m not actually sure why I came here. It makes no sense. I won’t find comfort here. I know that. I tuck my hand into my pocket and feel the small velvet box there. This is why, I remind myself. It’s bullshit, but it’s what I tell myself.
I have weekly reports about Madelena’s progress at the all-girls private art school where she’s enrolled. Like in her various schools in Avarice, she hasn’t made friends and isn’t trying to, according to the headmistress. The college is a small, Catholic college where most of the classes are taught by nuns. The students all wear the same uniform and attend mass weekly.
I’m not sure why I like the idea. I’m not a religious man. My time with the Commander may even have me repulsed by the idea, but there’s something to it, to the ceremony, the ritual. Maybe it’s the old-fashioned nature of it. Although the scent of incense makes me nauseous. Too many bad memories. Even today, at my own father’s funeral mass, I almost choked on it.
The SUV slows, and I sit up to watch as the large Gothic style mansion comes into view beyond the gates. The mansion is original, and the school itself sits on acres of land enclosed by twelve-foot stone walls. The grounds are gated, the classes given in one of the more modern buildings. The dorms are housed in new construction built to match the old.
Madelena has the best room in the original mansion. I made sure of that. She is also one of the few without a roommate. I knew she’d want her privacy.
A little farther, I can see the hulking shadows of the outer dorm buildings and the chapel. It’s two in the morning. The campus is asleep—apart from Sister Catherine.