by Nicole Fox
I straighten up and let loose a long, slow exhale. Charlotte takes a breath in sync and throws Evie a don’t-worry-about-it smile over her shoulder.
But when she turns back to me, her cheeks are flushed with defeat.
“Curfew’s at eight,” she echoes numbly.
I nod. “Glad we got that cleared up.”
Her eyes blaze at me defiantly as I leave her.
I’ve won the battle. A battle I don’t care about at all.
But it’s important to establish precedents.
Even if something tells me that this woman is not any other that I’ve ever met.
She isn’t bending to my will.
She’s learning.
She’s adapting.
She’s lying in wait.
Of course, it won’t matter in the end.
I’ve never met a bird whose wings I couldn’t break.
12
Charlotte
THE NEXT DAY—EN ROUTE TO STAFFORDSHIRE PREPARATORY ACADEMY
The heels of my Louis Vuitton stilettos keep scuffing the floor of the plush Rolls Royce that’s carrying us towards Staffordshire Prep.
I’m nervous.
I was raised in a trailer park, for crying out loud.
And now I’m supposed to convince the headmaster of an elite private school that I’m the wife of a powerful and wealthy businessman?
“Businessman” is in air quotes here. Obviously.
I’m not ready for this role. And the dress I’m draped in only serves to drive home that point.
It’s not that it’s not comfortable.
The point is, I’m not comfortable.
I don’t think I’ve ever worn a dress remotely like this before. It’s white, with a high-scooped neckline, and figure-hugging, with sleeves that come up to my elbows and a hemline that ends just above my knees.
It’s smart and elegant.
Dressy enough to make a statement, yet not so dressy that I look like I’m trying too hard.
Lucio doesn’t want to let me make choices.
And I hate that, of course.
But there’s no denying that he chose well.
Evie was more excited than I was when she saw me emerge in the dress. That made me smile. It reassured me that there was definitely a little girly girl in there somewhere, underneath the mucky little explorer who loves caterpillars and mud pies.
I glance towards her now. She’s sitting next to me in her powder blue dress, a white Alice band holding back her blonde curls.
She’s cute as a button—albeit with a fair share of sorrow lingering in the depths of her eyes.
I reach out and take her hand. When she looks up, I give her a big, cheesy wink.
But I don’t get a reaction. She barely even smiles.
I keep holding her hand, knowing that she’s missing Paulie.
I still can’t believe that her father forced her to leave the toy behind.
Reluctantly, my eyes move towards Lucio. He looks good, I admit to myself grudgingly.
Dark blue suit. Crisp white shirt underneath. Silver cufflinks. Open collar, with tendrils of tattoos peeking up to graze the hollow of his throat.
“Something wrong, Charlotte?” he asks with palpable disinterest.
I bite back my retort and glance out the window. “Not a damn thing.”
He has the gall to smirk in my direction before his eyes fall on the silent child between us.
“You okay, Evie?”
She nods, but it’s clear she’s scared shitless.
“Don’t worry, hon,” I tell her. “I’m going to be right there with you the entire time. Okay?”
She nods again.
This time, it’s more genuine.
“I miss Paulie, too,” I add softly.
That gets a reaction. Evie’s innocent gray eyes find mine and I can see how nerve-wracking this whole thing is for her to do on her own.
You and me both, kiddo.
“You’ll be with me?” she asks softly.
“The whole entire time.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I tell her.
I don’t realize until after I’ve said it that those are the same words my mother used to say to me when I was growing up.
The difference is that Mama broke her promises all the time.
I’m not breaking this one.
When I raise my eyes, I realize that Lucio is looking right at me.
Except his gaze is not threatening or calculating like it normally is.
He looks thoughtful. Pensive.
“Something wrong, Lucio?” I ask, flinging back the words he’d just used on me moments ago.
His expression shifts back into control mode. “Not a damn thing.”
I roll my eyes as we approach huge, wrought iron gates encircling the sprawling Gothic edifice. The school logo is worked into the metal archway over the entrance.
It’s the perfect setting for a nineteenth-century novel.
“Whoa,” I breathe. “Is this it?”
I feel Evie tense next to me, so I squeeze her hand.
“It’s beautiful, Evie,” I tell her.
Not the word that’s running through my mind—“intimidating as hell” would probably be a better fit—but it works well enough.
When our driver stops the car in front of the white marbled steps that lead to the columned façade of the school, the nerves jump right to my throat.
I cover up by getting out of the car.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. “Is this supposed to be a school or a palace?”
Lucio walks around the car towards Evie and me.
“Are you straight on your role today?” he asks me.
I temporarily forget about my nerves and glare at him.
“Don’t mistake me for the bimbos you usually spend time with,” I snap. “You only have to tell me things once.”
He gives me a smile that just pisses me off further.
But before I can sling an insult his way, I hear approaching footsteps.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Mazzeo! I’m Headmaster Whitford. Welcome to Staffordshire Preparatory Academy. We’re delighted to host you for the day.”
The man walking down the steps towards us is definitely impressive. Probably in his mid-sixties, he has snowy white hair peppered with gray.
He’s at least six feet tall as is, but he looks even larger because of how rich and imposing he is. Especially in full suit and tie.
The only thing that softens his appearance is the bright, sincere smile on his face.
“And you must be Evelyn,” he says cheerily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Evie clings to my side, trying to bury her face in the pristine white skirt of my dress. I place my hand on her head and stroke her hair.
“She’s shy,” I explain.
“And clearly a mama’s girl,” Whitford says with an understanding grin. “I’m sure she’ll loosen up in time. You’ll see how wonderful our school is, Evelyn.”
“She prefers Evie,” I say—a little too quickly.
I can feel Lucio’s eyes boring a hole in the side of my face, but I ignore him pointedly.
“Evie,” Dean Whitford repeats. “I can see why. I had a great-aunt named Evelyn. She was scary. You look much nicer than her.”
He’s friendlier than I expected and unfazed by Evie’s resistance.
But he still gets nothing from her. She’s studiously avoiding looking at him, and he’s forced to give up for the time being.
Instead, he straightens up and turns to Lucio. The two men shake hands and start talking, but I grab Evie’s hand. The two of us walk towards the steps.
“You okay there, princess?” I ask.
“This place is scary, Charlotte.”
“It’s not scary,” I lie. “It’s just big. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
“I want to go home.” Her bottom lip is threatening a meltdown.
“I kn
ow,” I soothe, “and we will. But first, let’s explore a little, okay? Remember what I promised you?”
“You’ll stay with me the whole time,” she repeats carefully.
“Exactly,” I say. “Chin up now. I’m sure Paulie will want to hear all about this adventure when we get back. He’s gonna be so proud of how brave you’re being.”
She doesn’t say a word as we’re led into the school by Mr. Whitford.
The man tries his best to make Evie feel comfortable, but the more he tries, the more nervous she becomes.
I have to admit—the school is impressive. The grounds are sprawling, armed with two different pools, as well as a stadium and a field for sports and recreation.
Inside, they’ve got a room for everything. Music. Theatre. Art.
The classrooms are spacious and well-equipped.
The teachers seem enthusiastic and passionate.
The kids look happy.
But I’m not relating to any of it.
My childhood was so different from this. I just can’t seem to fathom a world where schools are a place of wonder and excitement.
I’m used to them being a garbage bin for unwanted kids.
I mostly just trail behind Whitford and Lucio, holding Evie’s hand and trying to keep her feeling safe and secure.
Things seem to be going well and I actually think I’m pulling off my farce of a role…
When we’re thrown a curve ball.
I am, anyway.
“Now that the tour’s over, we can retire to my office for the interview,” Mr. Whitford tells us.
“Interview?” I mouth to Lucio.
He of course just ignores me.
Mr. Whitford’s office is predictably large, probably to accommodate the little play area that’s been set up on the side.
There are building blocks, an assortment of educational toys, and a blackboard armed with chalk. I notice Evie eyeing it, but she doesn’t release my hand.
Whitford introduces us to his secretary, Mrs. Keller, when she rolls in a cart with an assortment of beverage choices.
“Why don’t you go play with those blocks?” she suggests, smiling at Evie. “I’m sure they could use some attention.”
Evie looks at me uncertainly.
I give her an encouraging nod. “I’m right here,” I whisper to her.
She slips off towards the play area, leaving me alone with the adults.
And just like that, my nerves start buzzing again.
Apparently, Evie is just as much my security blanket as I am hers.
“What would you like to drink, Mrs. Mazzeo?” Mrs. Keller asks.
I barely notice her words.
Mr. Whitford is settling into a seat behind his gleaming mahogany desk, but his eyes are on me. He looks confused.
Can he see right through me?
Can he tell I don’t belong?
“Charlotte… Honey.” Lucio’s fake-loving tone is foreign to me.
I almost gasp when he reaches out and takes my hand.
I gawk at him in disbelief. Has he completely lost his mind?
There’s a smile on his face, but his gaze is direct, severe.
“Mrs. Keller just asked what you would like to drink,” he prods gently.
Oh. Right. Shit.
Mrs. Mazzeo.
That’s supposed to be me.
With my hand still clasped in Lucio’s, I turn to the gray-haired woman with bright red lipstick.
“Just water,” I manage to croak. “Thanks—I, uh… thank you.”
Lucio squeezes my hand. But there’s no mistaking the gesture.
He’s not trying to reassure me.
He’s warning me.
Tread carefully. Play your part. Don’t you dare fuck this up.
“Coffee for me,” Lucio adds seamlessly. “Black.”
I try and sneak my hand out from under his, but his grip is a vice. He refuses to let me budge.
“I must say: you two make the most beautiful couple I’ve seen in a while,” Dean Whitford says admiringly.
I glance at Lucio. His answering smile is Oscar-worthy.
“Credit belongs to my wife. She makes me look good.”
“May I ask how long you’ve been married?”
Whitford is looking right at me when he asks the question, but Lucio steps in anyway.
“Almost seven years,” he replies casually. “We eloped in Italy, believe it or not.”
“Oh, how romantic!” Mrs. Keller exclaims as she sets down a cup of black coffee in front of Lucio.
The bitter aroma reaches me from here. “What a beautiful bride you would have made,” she continues.
I smile, unsure how I’m supposed to respond to that.
The whole conversation leaves me feeling stranded and helpless. I don’t know what’s expected of me, but it feels like I’m being tested somehow.
And I’m floundering.
Lucio takes charge of the questions, leaving me behind. For once, I’m okay with that.
What I’m less okay with is how keeps a stranglehold on my hand for most of the sit-down interview.
Nothing about his touch puts me at ease. It just feels like I’ve been taken hostage.
Which, technically, I have.
And yet somehow, I can’t help but notice certain things.
Ridiculous things that I have no business noticing at all.
Like how big his hands are. How rough and masculine and callused his palms feel.
I bet he can do a lot with those hands.
I shake the thought from my head. What’s wrong with me?
I shouldn’t want his hands anywhere near me.
Especially given the fact that, if they ever get this close again, they’re most likely going to be wrapped around my neck.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Xander’s midnight visit to my room.
I’ve agreed to be a spy for the Polish mob.
Which essentially means I’ve signed my own death warrant.
And here I am, playing yet another part. There are so many now that I’ve lost count.
The doting nanny.
The loving wife.
The victim.
The spy.
None of it feels like me. None of it is me.
But then again: you are the choices you make.
And maybe that’s what I am most of all.
A liar.
“Honey?”
I blink, realizing that both Lucio’s and Mr. Whitford’s eyes are on me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “What was that?”
“I simply asked if you had any questions about the school or the staff,” he repeats kindly.
“Oh… uh, no,” I say, far too quickly. “No questions.”
We’re almost done. I’m ready to get the hell out of here before this house of cards comes tumbling down.
“Then why don’t we get Evie over here? She might have some questions,” he suggests.
“Evelyn!” Lucio calls. “Come here for a moment, please.”
She leaves her blocks immediately and walks over, but she approaches me, not Lucio.
“Evie, dear,” Mr. Whitford says directly to her, “this could be your new school very soon. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them.”
She looks at him only for a moment before averting her eyes and shaking her head.
“I know it can be scary to start a new school,” he continues. “Especially when you have to say goodbye to your mama and papa, but—”
“They’re not my mama and papa,” Evie blurts suddenly, as though the dean’s assumption has shocked her into correcting him.
Her words land like a record scratch.
I freeze in horror.
I sense that Lucio’s trying to determine the best way to establish damage control.
We were so close…
And because Evie is so damn smart, she realizes that she’s said the wrong thing.
Her mouth snaps shut
and she flees out of the office, where Mrs. Keller is sitting in the adjoining room.
Lucio and I stand up, and Mr. Whitford follows suit, looking noticeably flummoxed.
Everything’s happening so fast, so fucking fast, so overwhelming, that I don’t think—I just speak. Pure instinct, trying my best to salvage the situation.
“I apologize, Dean Whitford,” I say, in a tone that I barely recognize myself. “Evie… she’s an amazingly imaginative child, but she suffers from social anxiety issues. You’ll think this sounds crazy, but she copes by pretending she’s an alien who has crashed down on earth. And in that crazy reality she’s dreamed up—”
“You are not her parents,” Dean Whitford finishes sympathetically.
“Exactly,” I say with audible relief. “I’m so glad you understand. This environment is very intimidating for a child. If I’m being honest, it’s intimidating for me, too.”
Mr. Whitford’s eyes twinkle slightly just before he lets out an appreciative little chuckle.
“Never fear, Mrs. Mazzeo,” he assures me. “You’ll fit in just fine.”
13
Lucio
She’s been quiet and detached for most of the interview with Dean Whitford.
Even though I’m sure she’s trying to pass it off as disinterest, I can sense her nerves.
She’s not comfortable in this setting. Certainly not in the role I’ve thrust on her.
But somehow, she emerges from her chrysalis long enough to save the situation before it snowballs and exposes the lie.
An explanation rolls off her tongue seamlessly.
An alien…
Crash-landed…
Intimidating…
It’s so convincing that it impresses me.
And that’s saying something—especially given the fact that my job brings me in regular contact with the best liars in the world.
The dean has no reason to disbelieve her.
Even if he did, it would be a tall order to call her out on it, considering how perfectly Charlotte suits the part I’ve forced upon her.
Dressed to the nines in her svelte white dress, she looks angelic.
The elegant updo and understated makeup give her the maturity she needs to sell who she is.
Or rather, who she’s pretending to be.
My wife.
I swallow back a chill surging through me.
