But this guy speaks with a conviction that makes my skin prickle.
I glare at him, trying to look unimpressed. “Who are you, anyway? Apart from a jerkwad of the first order?”
“Taliesin Bevan, not at your service,” he mumbles, already closing his eyes again. “Now quit bitching. You’re interrupting my rest.”
Not at your service.Unbelievable.
Fuck. Maybe I am a tiny bit grateful to Taliesin Bevan, not that I’ll ever give him the satisfaction of knowing it. My body is still shaking. He did get me out of that hideous predicament.
Fuck.
This degenerate can’t know my brother. The idea of the two of them having been in the same room, let alone having a conversation?
Bullshit.
It has to be bullshit.
Don’t trust anyone. Rule one.
I lean my head back against the wall, and close my eyes. I need to find a version of myself that can survive this place. I don’t know who she is yet—the girl who isn’t afraid, the girl who bites back—but I’ll force her into existence if I have to.
Somewhere in the distance, echoing through the labyrinth of the sub-levels, a manic laugh rings out.
It reminds me of London.
I hope his cage is more comfortable than mine.
I hope he’s still laughing.
In a place like this, maybe laughter is the ultimate rebellion.
???
Hearty male laughter echoes down the landing.
I really shouldn’t be sneaking around, but Marta forgot to lock my door tonight. And honestly? If she’s going to be that careless, I’m taking the opportunity to see if I can learn what the fuck is going on in this house.
Tiptoeing along the carpeted corridor, I reach the balustrade overlooking the entrance hall. Below, a group is saying their goodbyes, their voices boom up the grand staircase.
“I couldn’t be happier,” Thomas Crankshawe says. His voice is smooth, but it makes my skin crawl. “It’s an honor.”
That guy gives me the major creeps. Every time he looks at me, I feel like I need to take a bath in bleach. He doesn’t just look; he strips me bare with his eyes.
Poking my head through the railings, I can see Mother, she’s staring off into space like she’s mentally on another planet—standard procedure for her. Father, on the other hand, looks smug. Actually, he looks thrilled.
“You’ll still have to wait three years, Thomas. Even I cannot bend the marital laws of the land. But after that, she is all yours.”
She’s all yours. Wait. What?
“Half the stocks will be transferred tonight,” Crankshawe nods, stroking his disgusting little mustache. “The other half on our wedding day.”
Wedding day?
“Keep her pure for me,” he adds.
“Of course. She will continue to be homeschooled, and you are more than welcome to visit with Aurora whenever you like.”
Fuck. He’s talking about me. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
