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The driver slows to a stop, and the heads of two men and one woman turn to watch.
It’s the brothers, Ethan and Gregory. I know their names.
They’re in the same suits they wore to the ceremony. Sebastian is talking with the pilot. He hasn’t bothered to look in my direction. I guess he has all the time in the world.
Ethan is already grinning like a hyena. Do hyena’s grin? I guess I picture him as that sort of animal. A scavenger.
“There’s a reason it was you, child.”
Maybe my aunt is right. Maybe it’s best I’m the Willow Girl.
But I can’t help the feeling that I’m somehow expendable. Like if I don’t survive, my family will. They’ll go on without me, and when the next generation comes of age, the library will again be lit with a thousand candles as one of my sisters puts her daughters on their designated blocks, thanking her lucky stars she wasn’t the Willow Girl.
Will I even be there to witness it?
I know I’m different than my sisters, pretty much in every way. The outside is just a reflection of everything inside. I’m the one they look up to, the one they used to come to when they had a bad dream, the one who has always protected them.
But right now, I don’t feel very strong.
Lucinda Scafoni is wearing a pair of wide-legged, high-waisted black pants with a cream-colored blouse. Her dark hair is pinned into a bun, and it’s so tight that it distorts her face a little. Her eyes are narrow, calculated slits as she watches me, unblinking.
I wonder if she can see through the tinted windows because she’s looking right at me.
Gregory, the youngest Scafoni, is as handsome as Sebastian. I’d know they were brothers just from the resemblance in features.
Not Ethan, though. Ethan looks very different.
Gregory simply stands looking on, almost bored, giving away nothing of what he’s thinking, and something tells me to be careful with him. He’s not as uninterested as he appears.
The driver opens my door and doesn’t quite meet my eyes. He’s Italian too, I can tell. They all have that olive skin and dark hair that belongs to the Mediterranean-born. I wonder if he even speaks English because he doesn’t look like an American-Italian.
But what do I know about American-Italians? I was born and grew up in the Midwest. I’ve traveled some with my family, but those occasions were rare. My parents usually went places alone and left us safely tucked away on the property.
I guess I understand why now.
It’s when I step out of the SUV and the driver shuts the door that Sebastian finishes with the pilot and finally deigns to look my way. His gaze sweeps my dress, hovers at my choice of footwear, then meets my eyes.
One side of his mouth curves upward.
I’ve already seen that look, and I hate it. It’s his victory smirk. His I scare you and I know it triumph.
I steel my spine and straighten. In that instant, I decide I can do it. That I must do it. It’s him or me. Survival of the fittest.
And I have to be the fittest.
From my periphery, I see that his mother—bored, I guess—turns and heads up the jet stairs, giving the order to “Bring her,” as she disappears into the plane.
The driver takes hold of my arm when I don’t move.
The three brothers stand watching me, and it takes all I have to keep my eyes locked on Sebastian’s as I’m made to close the distance between us.
I’m an idiot because I feel that pang of attraction, like I did when I first saw him, even through the hate.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask when I stand before him.
I didn’t think about this part, didn’t think I’d be a plane ride away from my family.
“You don’t speak unless spoken to, Willow Girl,” Ethan says, cocking his head to the side as if daring me to challenge him.
I raise my head and narrow my eyes. My hands fist at my sides. He takes a step toward me.
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” I say.
Gregory chuckles, but my heart races as Ethan’s face reddens.
I’m grateful that before I have to back away, Sebastian’s hand closes over his shoulder. All I can do is look at it and think how big it is.
“Get on the plane, Ethan.”
“She needs to learn—”
“I’ll take care of it. Go on.”
Ethan’s black eyes haven’t left mine during this exchange. I force my lips into a smirk.
He shoves Sebastian’s hand off and leans his face into mine.
“Smile now, whore. You won’t be when it’s my turn to have you.”
Being called a whore by him doesn’t bother me, for some reason, but his threat—I know he’ll make good on it. If he even waits his turn.
He spins on his heel and doesn’t give me another glance as he, too, disappears into the belly of the plane.
