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She rocked back and forth in her chair, the wood of the floorboards beneath her creaking loudly. “And though you have grown up with privilege as being the only child of the Kingstons, and you have had so many opportunities in life, I often wonder what it would have been like for you if wealth, arrangements, and the Southern way didn’t control your life as well.”
I stared at my mother, again shocked by her words. I thought she was content with the sacrifices she’d made in her life, that she was more than satisfied by her place in society and on all the charity committees she filled her days with. Then again, lately she had been spending more time working with her hands in the dirt amongst our extensive gardens rather than out doing the society circuits.
“Mrs. Kingston,” the housekeeper said softly as she walked onto the porch, interrupting our conversation. “Mr. Kingston just called to inform you he wouldn’t be home for supper tonight. He said he would be home late and not to wait up.”
Mama kept rocking in her chair, her cool elegance as stately as ever as she inclined her head ever so slightly without looking at the girl. “Thank you, Liza.”
“Is there anything you would like for supper in particular, Mrs. Kingston?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever is in the refrigerator.”
“Will your son be joining you?”
I cleared my throat. “No, thank you, Liza. I’ll have to be leaving shortly.”
Liza left and I turned my attention back to my mother. “You gave me a wonderful life, Mama. I love you for it.”
She reached over and patted my hand. “I know you still have a lot to do, so I don’t want you to feel you have to visit your old mama any longer. But promise me something.”
“Yes?”
“When you feel you have lost your soul in the rooms of the Oleander—and trust me, you will—I want you to know you haven’t. This entire process is a fairytale. A dark, twisted, and depraved tale you will be experiencing. But there will be a happily ever after. Keep telling yourself that to maintain your sanity.”
“I promise.”
“And one more promise,” she added. “Allow yourself to truly explore the deep, hidden desires inside of you. Don’t hold back. Discover the bad. Explore the side of you that has always been suffocated by Southern charm. This is your time to be broken too. Don’t fight it.”
“All right, I will.”
I said the words because I knew it was what she wanted to hear. But to be honest, I had no idea if I truly believed them myself. I had no idea what I would be walking into.
I only knew one thing. I had 109 days.
109 days to endure a rooted history interwoven with thorns and strangled with poison ivy.
5
Grace
I woke up the next morning and everything was… the same.
Because duh, obviously.
Last night, Delilah had made it all sound so dire and important. But now that I blinked my eyes and looked around the dingy master bedroom of my trailer, the dirty brown carpet, the peeling linoleum of the bathroom that I could see from my bed…
I flopped back on my pillow.
I was such an idiot. Some weirdo in a Halloween costume probably high on meth came into the diner last night and gave me a pretty piece of paper—and of course Delilah romanticized the hell out of it and got dreams of grandeur.
It was probably just a prank. The Order of the Silver Ghost. The name sounded familiar, so I googled it when I got home last night. There are conspiracy theories about it, but they all sound as fake as crap about the Illuminati.
I wanted out of my life so desperately, I was willing to grasp at straws.
But I wasn’t Cinderella and there was no such thing as dreams come true.
A sudden banging at the front door had me jumping out of my skin.
“Jesus!” I covered my beating heart with my hand as I climbed out of bed and yanked the robe from the hook on the back of my door.
“Coming!” I called even as I squinted at the midmorning light. God, what time was it? It was the first day in forever that I didn’t have a shift and I’d been looking forward to sleeping in. The microwave clock said it was 9:23. Who the hell was banging on my door at 9:23 in the morning?
I swung the door open without even looking. And froze in my tracks.
It was the guy in the Halloween costume from last night. Starched white tuxedo shirt and black coat tails, his graying hair perfectly coifed. He was holding a huge white box that almost engulfed him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
He lifted the huge white box toward me. “Do you accept the dress? The ball is tonight. You must arrive three hours early, prepared and wearing everything in the box.”
