Page 179 of Gilt

“You know I never slept with any of those guys,” she admits. “I’d let them buy me dinner and feel me up.”

I take a step closer. If I reach out, I can grab her. “You were a virgin.”

It’s not a question. It’s a fact.

“I’m all talk. After all these years, even people don’t know the rumors about me.” She tilts her head up as if looking into heaven. “I was tired of being all talk. And I was tired of being treated like dirt. We weren’t invited to that party. Did she tell you that?”

“Yes,” Jameson says. He hasn’t moved. No doubt he doesn’t want to frighten her. He, far more than me, holds the absolution she needs to receive.

“We both met the men that would change our lives.” An unexpected gust of wind whips her skirt around her legs, and I leap forward, afraid it will push her over. She holds up a hand to stop me.

“Josie, please come down,” I beg her.

She ignores me. “I didn’t put up a fight. I wanted it. I wanted to look Monroe West in the eyes and know I screwed her daddy. I told myself that she didn’t deserve any of it and that all I wanted was a taste.”

“He was rough.” Her eyes grow distant, rewinding back to that fateful night. “But I didn’t cry. He told me he liked that—that I was a good girl.”

“Why?” Jameson finally chokes out. “What did he do to you?”

“He asked for my name. He wanted to call me, and I just didn’t care anymore. I thought maybe I’d get taken care of for once, so I told him my name. Josie Deckard. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he asked me if Marion Deckard was my mother. When I said yes, he lost it. He grabbed me, and he asked me why I was there. He wanted to know if I’d come on purpose. How I’d found out. I don’t think he knew he was hurting me,” she says softly. “I don’t think I realized I’d grabbed the letter opener. When he accused me of coming there to fuck him for more of his money, I didn’t understand. Not until he asked me what kind of sick girl screws her father.”

I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. Now I understood her erratic behavior over the last few months. Josie had wanted to meet her father her whole life. No one could have expected the truth.

“I can’t remember much except for the way his skin popped when the blade struck him. I hear it all the time. I still feel the way it vibrated across my skin each time I stabbed him. And then I ran and waited for them to come for me.”

“No one’s coming for you,” I say, hoping it will reassure her.

“They should. I’ve stood by and watched while they accused you. I’ve been too scared to make a move. Even when I found out I was pregnant, and I couldn’t lie to myself about what happened, I was stuck.”

Her admission startles Jameson, who lurches back a few steps. I’d kept her pregnancy from him because it wasn’t his business. Now he’s facing it at the worst possible moment.

“What do you think of me now?” she asks him. “Am I so easy to forgive?”

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

“Yes,” he says. “I forgive you.”

“We’re going to make it through this.” I hold out my hand, and she lifts her slowly, her eyes brimming with tears. “We’ll take care of things.”

“No, you won’t.” She shakes her head, her hand still hovering within reach. “My mom used to tell me that we make our own beds. Mine’s a mess, Em.”

“All of ours are,” I reassure her.

“I’ve got to clean it up. You understand, don’t you?”

I nod, inching toward her. “I’ll help you.”

She laughs, and the emptiness of it fills the quiet night. “Deckard girls don’t ask for help, remember?”

“Josie!”

She smiles one last time, and then she lets go.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

A thick blanket wraps around my shoulders. I blink as Jameson swims into focus, the night sky a black canvas overhead. No stars twinkle above as if they’ve gone silent, too.

“You’re trembling,” Jameson explains.