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He was holding a long, rectangular sheet of construction paper. Painted on it were the words: Until we’re old and gray, and then long after.
I clicked on the picture and realized I was shaking while reading his caption. Come back to me, Briar Rose. I’ll wait for you.
“Goddamn it,” I hissed, shoving away from my desk.
It was probably better that I didn’t look at her updates. There was a reason I wasn’t supposed to look up the girls I bought, and I had learned that reason extremely well upon reading that first news article.
But it was impossible to stop.
If anyone found out I was keeping close tabs on her disappearance, I’d told myself they would understand if they knew she’d been taken by mistake.
The argument had been weak at best, even then.
No one could know I knew about her old life. No one in this world could know I hated myself for doing this to her. If you broke the rules, you were a threat to the way we lived.
We took care of threats.
I had only calmed down marginally by the time my driver arrived with the shopper and food.
I led them upstairs and had the driver leave the food on the kitchen counter and wait for us there as the shopper and I walked into Blackbird’s room.
She was sitting up in bed, covered in the sheet with an expectant look on her face.
“Briar, this woman will be your personal shopper for some time to come,” I explained, and gestured to the woman.
We didn’t learn the names of the people who helped us. They preferred it that way. It kept it impersonal and helped them feel better about taking our money and keeping their mouths shut about what they knew went on in these houses.
“I’m going to need you to stand up so she can take some measurements.”
Briar hesitated, but finally stood. Her eyes anxiously darted to the open door behind me before settling on the woman.
“Drop,” the woman said sternly, and she gestured to the sheet.
That conflicted gaze flitted to me briefly. With a slow, shaky breath out, Briar closed her eyes and dropped the sheet.
“Gorgeous,” the woman said in the same tone. “This will be easy,” she murmured to herself as she went about measuring. “Bodies like this look good in anything.”
“She likes to be covered,” I said gruffly.
The woman stopped writing down a measurement to send me an annoyed glare, and Briar’s eyes flew open.
I gestured to my blackbird and said, “Don’t make her uncomfortable in what you choose for her.” The threat in my words was clear.
The shopper tapped her pencil quickly against her pad of paper once the fear receded from her face. “I can do beautiful and modest. She wi
ll be gorgeous . . . alluring.”
“She already is.”
Briar’s sharp inhale let me know my words had been spoken out loud.
I swallowed a curse and held her surprised stare, daring her to respond to my comment instead of pretending the words had never been vocalized. Because now Briar was looking at me with a mix of surprise and that same indecision from earlier, which only complicated things for us more than my need for her did.
As soon as the shopper took a few steps away from Briar, I broke our eye contact to look pointedly at the sheet on the floor, then held up a hand in a silent command for her to stay as I walked out of the room—leaving the door open.
“I’ll be back tonight with all she needs,” the woman snapped as we walked toward where my driver stood.
“She has nothing. No shoes, under—”
