Yet Charlotte doesn’t lie. I’ve learned that about her. So if she says she loves me, that must be true to her.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” I manage.
Charlotte giggles and points at me with her plastic spork. “You should see your face! It’s like you’ve never heard anyone say those three words before. Is it really so shocking that I love you?” She taps her temple. “I’m in your head. I know you’re a good person. I know the four of us belong together.”
Another bowling ball, aimed straight for my heart. How does she say things like that so confidently? I can’t even manage up a solid “I love you” to Sloan if Daddy’s in the room. It’s too intimate or something.
Cass picks up a banana from the center pile and takes her time peeling it. “Belong together for what? For the plan?”
Charlotte gives Cass an indulgent shake of her head, as if Cass is suggesting something silly. “Sure, for the plan, but beyond that. The plan isn’t just a one-and-done. It’s going to change the world. We’ll be holding on to each other while everything shifts, and long after that.”
Now it’s my turn to get cold feet. “Charlotte, how spot on are your predictions normally?”
“Weathermen predict. Clairvoyants know. I knew you were coming to us; I just didn’t know when, or that it was you specifically. I know what our path is. It’s not for me to obsess about the details. The world will change when it’s ready. But yeah, as much as I know you’re sitting right there, I’ve seen the four us sitting together on the outside. Plus one other person.” She leans over and takes a bite of Cass’ eggs while we all shoot her questioning looks. “There’s a truckleberry tree.”
I glance around, but I know there’s no spot of nature in here. “Where? In the brickyard out there?”
“No, on the other side of the plan. When it’s finished, there’s a tree, and we’re all sitting under it with Prince Paxton. And you know how he’s always wearing sunglasses? In my vision, he’s not.”
I guffaw at her, and Cass mirrors the sentiment. Gray merely mumbles his disbelief and shovels eggs into his mouth like he’s trying to bulk up for a competition. Charlotte rarely reveals anything so concrete about her plan, yet that’s an undeniable (yet impossible) detail.
“That’s not going to happen, babe,” I tell her as gently as I can. “I mentioned before that Paxton and I aren’t allowed to be in the same place. Haven’t seen him in person since I was a kid.”
Cass leans in. “Your family doesn’t work with the royal family? I kinda thought that’s how things went.”
I scoff, not unkindly. “My family doesn’t work with the royals. Dad and Regis had a falling out back when I was little over something or another.” I poke at my breakfast. “King Regis sends me a card on my birthday every year, but Dad never lets me read it. Regis is a good guy, from what I remember, and that sort doesn’t tend to work for Daddy.”
Charlotte’s eyes go dead with sudden gravity. “A good guy doesn’t lock up thousands of innocent people so the true criminals can run free.”
Fair enough. “Okay, then I’ll say Regis is a good businessman, and those types rarely have need for Daddy’s… influence. All the money our parents pay to have us thrown in here goes into running this place and lining the royal treasury. Plus, King Regis got the entire world to go along with his dumb idea. He’s a solid businessman. Maybe you should check your crystal ball. Prince Paxton and I will never sit under a truckleberry tree together, if our families have any say over it. His people go over his itinerary before he travels anywhere, to make sure to avoid me. Mine do the same.”
Cass’ mouth hangs open with too many unchewed eggs in full view. “How would you possibly know that?”
“I hear things. Those stilettos were my best ticket anywhere. Sure, they look pretty, but when I wear them and walk into a room, the men all assume I’m an idiot, so they don’t always keep things hush-hush, like they should. They assume I’m daydreaming about miniskirts.” I smirk at my meal. “Which, I’ll admit, sometimes I am.”
Gray doesn’t say much, but I can tell he’s just as bothered by Charlotte’s latest development.
Breakfast ends, sewing detail begins, and we spend it in our tight square, moving our desks how it best suits us. We don’t discuss anything we should keep quiet, but there’s a palpable air of secrecy surrounding us that keeps anyone else from coming near. I love it.
It’s like having friends.
Because that’s part of me now. I have friends my own age.
Unfortunately, they get called away halfway through sewing detail. All three of them.
And suddenly, I’m alone.
20
Secrets
My stomach dropped when Charlotte, Cass and Gray were called away, but it’s not like any of us could argue with the guard who came to fetch them. We go where they tell us, and that’s the name of that tune.
When they’re not back by the time the bell rings us in for pre-lunch calisthenics, I’m questioning every move I’ve made in the past week. Am I in trouble? Am I losing my cellmates? Are they splitting the four of us up?
I’m so engrossed in my worry that I don’t see the elbow coming at me until it’s jammed into my chest. The air gusts out of me as I stumble backward, catching a glimpse of Jerry’s scowl.
Jerry. What a tosser. I get it. His father is one of Daddy’s underlings. A lackey. A guy who goes down for crimes the higher-ups pushed him to commit. Makes sense that Jerry hates me.
Of course, the officer nearest sees nothing, says nothing. I’m clutching my chest for no reason at all.
Calisthenics aren’t anything I excel at, but we do them outside, so that’s a nice break from the mundane. Another bonus is we have to stand in neat little rows, far enough apart that we can’t swing an arm (or an elbow) and hurt someone by accident (or completely on purpose).
Still, my people aren’t here.
I have people. Sloan’s always been my person, but now I have people.
Who aren’t here.
By the time chow rolls around, my head is jerking around toward the entrance and exit every five seconds, looking for Cass’ inky straight black hair, Charlotte’s spindly natural tight curls, or Gray’s intimidating build.
I miss the clicks my stilettos made on the floor when I entered a room. Something about the sound made me feel commanding, like I didn’t have to question whether or not I had the right to be there.
As I fill up my tray, I clutch the edges harder than usual. I’m determined not to let my food get knocked away from me this time. I don’t want to have to need backup my entire life. I don’t want to rely on Sloan, my friends or my stilettos.
I should be enough.
So I decide that I am. Just like that, with my head held high and a quickness to my step, I assemble my tray and beeline to our table. On the way, I’m slammed into twice and someone’s elbow shoves so hard into my side that I nearly drop my tray.
But I don’t, so I act as if it never happened, even as my side throbs.
I eat like it’s my job, and keep my elbows around my food, probably looking a little deranged as I shovel in bite after bite with a scowl of suspicion on my face regarding anyone who ventures near. I’m not poised and proper; I don’t need to be.
My eyes fix on the entrance until Cass comes into view. My posture lifts and relief chases away my surly expression that’s kept people away for the most part. She, Charlotte and Gray do a quick job of grabbing some food and then plop down at our table.
But none of them will look at me.
“What happened? Why did they take you?”
Cass crunches into her salad. “We can talk about it tonight. You check in with Nurse Jen yet for your cuts?”
My mouth draws to the side. “My cuts are fine. They’re just scratches.”
“Useless pricks, the lot of them,” Cass murmurs as she stabs at her beans.
Charlotte shoots Cass a look of warning. “Cass.”
“I know, I know. Keep a l
id on it until tonight when we’re alone. I get it. I can be cool.”
Gray snorts. “Really? Because I can’t. And you look about as cool as a fireplace ready for marshmallow roasting.”
Cass mimes an obnoxious laugh in his direction.
I jerk my head from one face to the next, searching for answers. “What happened? You look like you’ve just come from a horror movie.”
Cass gives a humorless snort. “That’s pretty much exactly where we came from.”
It’s not until Gray’s arm finds its way around me that I resign myself to the fact that they really aren’t going to divulge anything just yet. His lips find my ear, his hand around my waist gathering me closer. “How can I make it better?”
“Make what better?”
When I look up at him, I’m hit by the sadness in his eyes. “All of it. Any of it. I didn’t realize… But I should’ve.”
I set down my spork. “Okay, you all are freaking me out. What are you on about?”
Charlotte casts me a drawn smile that holds none of its usually bubbliness. “Later. For now, just know that I love you, and we’re together in this. You’re not alone. Understood?” Then she glances at Cass and Gray. “None of us are alone anymore. When we move, we move together.”
The declaration in her words should encourage me, but the ominous pit gnaws at the inside of my gut, turning the food in my mouth to tasteless paste.
Gray’s lips on my ear soften my posture. “Are you okay with my arm around you? It’s not stressing you out?” I can hear a note of frustration, but it’s aimed at himself, not me. “Would you even tell me if it was?”
I answer by cozying into his side more comfortably. “Do I look like the kind of girl who accepts something she’s not happy with? I like being with you. I thought I made that clear. What I didn’t want was to feel like your dirty little secret. If your arm’s around me when we’re in the cell, then it should be around me in public, too.”
Gray buries his lips in my hair. It’s not a kiss, but the intimacy is clear. “We’re going to be one of those couples who talks, then. We’re going to talk about everything. Anything that’s bugging you, we’re going to have a discussion about.”
“Sounds like you’re anticipating more complaining than I usually have at the ready. What’s all this about?”
Again, the evasive non-answer. “Just looking out for you.” He points his spork toward the screen near the back of the room. “Looks like you’ve got a visitor.”
And just like that, I’m out of my seat, running toward the screen to make sure that yes, my name is up there.
Arlanna Scarlett Valentine.
My stomach flips, excited that finally Sloan has come back to visit.
When I turn to go back to my table, I startle to find Charlotte at my side. “Today’s the day,” she says quietly. “I was hoping we had more time before it all started.”
I purse my lips. “You know, when you say stuff like that, I’m only going to ask you to explain yourself. Might as well just tell me the first time instead of talking in Charlotte-code.”
She doesn’t respond with her usual pleasant smile. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes. Be brave. Braver than you’re allowed to be.”
As she walks away from me, I call, “You know, I’m just going to keep asking. That didn’t actually clarify anything.”
Charlotte turns halfway and blows me a kiss, which for some reason doesn’t make me feel any better about whatever’s about to go down.
21
Conan Valentine
There are four of us who have visitors today. Out of five hundred inmates, four of us have visitors. It’s like the world assumes everyone incarcerated at Prigham’s is a leper who deserves to be ostracized.
I don’t recognize the other three with me, but we all wear similar looks of surprise and excitement, knowing we’ve been chosen. That we’re worth being seen.
When I enter the only drywalled room I’ve yet to see in the facility, my heart does a strange thing when my eyes land on Sloan, but then bounce to my father. It’s a flip and then a sudden dip of angst. Happiness mixed with dread. I can’t make sense of it, except that there’s no denying I’ve yet to fully make peace with the portion of my family who sent me here.
Daddy’s going to see me with my face marked up. He’s not going to like that.
No matter. I’m well aware that any feelings of trouble or discomfort aren’t important, and they go away if you ignore them long enough. What’s done is done, and all that.
I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin, feigning that all is well, or well enough for me to handle, at least.
There’s no fooling them, though.
The moment I approach, Sloan is out of his seat, wrapping his arms around me. The solid nature of his strength reminds me how much I need it, and how deprived I’ve been of the muscle that so stalwartly protected me. He didn’t just keep enemies of the family away; he kept my own demons at bay. Being near him again is like being dunked in icy water. All the breath goes out of me and my limbs begin to quake. I’m not crying, but I’m not confident, either.
I’m five and I’ve skinned my knee. Sloan was always the one who carried me home and put band-aids on my knees.
Except he can’t do that this time. All he can do is hold me for this brief period.
It’ll have to be enough. Please let it be enough.
“I’ll take care of it, bunny. I’m here now.”
I grip his white dress shirt, holding him tight to me. Then I dig down deep and muster up the biggest lie I can conjure. “I’m handling it okay. It’s just good to see your face. What took you so long to come see me?” It’s not meant as an accusation, but I can’t hide my hurt. The only thing he can do for me is grant me his presence, which I’ve been sorely deprived of for weeks now.
He holds me tighter. “I got away as soon as I could.”
“From what?” I release him, nostrils flared as hemmed-in questions hold themselves back as best they can. “I thought you retired.”
But the black suit tells a different story. I was so relieved to see him that I forgot to calculate the details. Nondescript suit, shiny black shoes, sunglasses tucked over his collar.
Sloan stands straighter, as if owning the questions we both know I won’t ask aloud in front of the great Conan Valentine.
If I’m not there for him to guard, what other jobs is Daddy making him do?
“I’m helping out around the house.” It’s code for his hands getting dirtier than either of us would like.
“I see.”
Dad doesn’t stand. He doesn’t need to. He clears his throat, so I know he’s agitated.
I turn my attention to him. “Good to see you, Daddy.” I say the words, but I don’t feel them. Is it good to see him? Am I angry? Am I pleased to see family? Am I… Am I nothing?
Maybe I’m nothing. That’s better than hitting him with the brunt of my rage, tempting as that may be.
“Sit down, Princess.”
Perhaps I’m too many things as I take in Dad’s portly belly and rounder, pink cheeks. He’s been in the brandy, which he only drinks when he’s been celebrating good news.
“I see the family’s doing well,” I say, trying not to sound too crisp. Being cross with Dad never gets me anywhere, so I try to avoid it.
Sloan pulls out a chair for me, treating me like I’m composed and not harried and on the verge of falling apart. That simple gesture reminds me that I have options. I can choose a breakdown. I can choose to rant and give Daddy a piece of my mind. I can swallow down all my rage and hurt and let it boil me alive.
Or I can sit here, biting my tongue until the right path opens itself up to me. I can be patient, like Charlotte, keeping calm as I watch for signs that a better future is on the way.
Daddy snaps his fingers at the guard. “Coffee, no cream or sugar. What do you want, Princess?”
I snort at him, which is the most I’ll show flagrant disrespect. “They do
n’t have a waitstaff here, Daddy. Those are guards. They don’t fetch coffee. I haven’t even seen coffee served here. It’s a no-frills zone.” I level my gaze at him, matching my mule’s nature to his. “It’s a prison.”
He scoffs, like I’ve told him there’s no cannoli in the freezer. “Right. Everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He drums his fingers atop the table. “Because it looks like someone took a cat to your face. You’re handling that? Because there’s going to be a photographer in here. I’ll reschedule him for a week from now. That should give your skin enough time to clear up, right?”
Clear up? Like I’m having an acne outbreak? “Why am I getting my picture taken? I have to agree to something like that, and I haven’t.” I remember the strict rules explained to me in acclimation that there are no photos taken inside the walls of the prison, without a disclosure signed by the inmate and warden.
Daddy gestures around the room, showing off his gold rings, including the one with the family crest on it. “To show the humane conditions here. To show it’s not that bad. I dunno. Whatever King Regis wants to show the world. I’ve got him in the palm of my hand with this. Never asked for a favor before, but now that you’re in here… You might just be the golden ticket to linking up the big sync.”
For crying out loud, I forgot he calls it that. The big sync—any deal that might get him closer to doing business with the king again, like they did back when I was a little girl. They were inseparable, which I’m not entirely sure was good for the world at large.
“And what do you get out of this?”
He pauses and studies me. “I get a photo spread of my little girl on the front page of the newspaper. I get to be proud, knowing my princess plays hard for the family business.”
Grinding my teeth isn’t what I was hoping I would be doing, but it’s happening nonetheless. “What do you get from the king? For what purpose are you trading pictures of me? He wants me to endorse his prison. I can understand that motive well enough. What’s in it for you?”
Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1) Page 15
