Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“I thought Dad said you had that under control,” Abel says.
I take a deep breath in and turn my head to look at him as the fog around the edges of my vision clears even as sweat dampens my forehead.
“I’m just anxious. It’s worse then.” I have vestibular balance disorder. It’s usually manageable, and I know how to keep it in check, but when I’m out of my element or stressed, it comes back with a vengeance.
I’m not complaining. So many people have it much worse than me. People who don’t know me just think I’m clumsy. And a disorder where I lose my balance or knock into things is the least of my problems, considering.
“Well, get your shit together. Let’s go,” he says, grabbing hold of my arm and taking my bags with his free hand.
“That’s almost gentlemanly of you,” I say as he marches me toward the stairs. “At least it would be if you weren’t leaving a mark on my arm.” I don’t mention the tightness in my face where he slapped me. I’m pretty sure that’s bruised, too. He’s never hit me before. He’s come close, but he’s always known Dad wouldn’t allow it. But now, I guess Dad’s rules don’t apply.
“Fuck you, Ivy,” he says but lets go of my arm. I didn’t expect him to, and again, like when he slapped me, I wonder if he’s nervous about leaving a mark. Nervous the man who “chose” me will be pissed off. Because although technically, as head of household, Abel could choose to beat me to within an inch of my life, at least as far as The Society is concerned, he is mindful of leaving a mark.
My mind goes back to Santiago De La Rosa. My husband-to-be.
I know him. I even met him once. Actually, I’ve seen him on a few occasions. I only spoke with him once, though. I’m not sure he noticed me apart from the day in my father’s study.
But that was before the accident.
No, not accident. Incident.
I wonder why a founding family member would choose me for his bride. Is it because his options have diminished, considering? I’m not privy to many details. All I know is he’s become a sort of recluse and has remained holed up in his estate ever since that night.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs. The De La Rosa family is one of the original families who founded The Society. Imperium Valens Invictum. Strong unconquered power. It’s a little arrogant if you ask me. Obnoxious even. But it’s an organization that spans the world over, a secret society. Exclusive. Elusive. And dangerous.
The families that make up The Society are powerful. Heads of state, leaders in every sector of government. Medical experts. Scientists. Professors. Church leaders. And, of course, the lower castes, like my own family, who do their bidding.
The De La Rosa family is at the very top of the food chain. They’re like royalty within The Society.
There are thirteen founding families. I remember it because when I’d studied the history, I’d thought how fitting the number thirteen. An unlucky number that seems to play again and again in my life.
I was thirteen when Hazel disappeared.
Thirteen when the society intervened, and I was forced to attend one of their schools.
Thirteen when I first met Santiago De La Rosa.
I remember that day. It was during my first week at the all-girls Catholic school I’d been forced to attend. It’s not like I’d had a lot of friends at the public school I went to before, but at the new school, I was treated like the lowest of the low. All it took was one girl to spread the word of who I was. How and why I’d even been accepted into the exclusive school only daughters of the higher echelon attended.
I still wince at the memories of how mean the girls had been. At least at first. They’d taunted me about my eye. I’d had to wear my hair pulled back from my face, whereas before I used my bangs to hide it as much as possible, but the nuns had rules, and if you broke them, you were punished.
It’s ironic how cruel nuns can be to the children of Christ whom they’re supposed to protect. To cherish. Or maybe I’m reading too much into the teachings of the Bible.
I’d met Santiago after a particularly ugly day at school. The girls had been taunting me for days, and as much as I tried to act like I didn’t care, the things they said about me, about my family, about my deformity, as they called it, hurt. I was lonely enough without needing to be singled out and it was like they felt that vulnerability, and one, in particular, Maria Chambers, went in for the kill.