Page 11 of LA Reign

We’re already on our way to the shelter when I ask Hugo to make a pit stop at the Bakers’ house. It seems only fair that I update them on the recent developments, no matter what Lucia said about them. I stare out of the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of heat and sunlight, and feel that restless, protective ache in my chest that’s been growing ever since last night.

Lucia is in the back seat, knees bouncing, fingers worrying the hem of her sleeve. She spent a few weeks at the shelter when she first arrived in LA—back when she was Lucy Callaghan, eighteen-years-old on paper and trying so hard to appear it. That’s where we met. I can still remember the first time I saw her, chin lifted, eyes too old for her face, daring the world to call her bluff.

Then I found out the truth.

She was actually only sixteen. Still pregnant and terrified, just a child in the eyes of the law. Obviously she couldn’t stay at the shelter after that. Rules. Liability. All those cold, reasonable words that never account for a person just trying to survive.

She’s excited to go back for the day today, to see the women she shared that time with. It’ll keep her from sitting in the house all day, especially as she’ll be home on her own this evening when Alejandro and I go out. The thought of her alone in that big house, feeling like an obligation instead of a wanted guest, makes something sharp twist in my ribs. I wish we didn’t have to leave her, but this dinner has been planned for a while. Still, I can have a word with Magda.

Lucia called the Bakers last night and told them she was staying with us. Just one night. Temporary, she said.

Except it doesn’t feel temporary anymore. And if we’re about to make this more permanent, they deserve an explanation. Or maybe I just need to see them with my own eyes, and figure out if what Lucia claimed was true, or if she was just so unhappy they seemed worse than they actually are. They did come recommended after all

“Here we are,” Hugo says, pulling up outside a neat little suburban house. Even the house looks prim and proper, like it smells of lemon cleaner and judgment.

I step out of the car and straighten my shoulders.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asks through the open window.

“No. I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can handle the Bakers.” I glance back at Lucia. She’s staring at the house like it might bite her. “You just keep an eye on Lucia.”

Her fingers are twisting together so tight her knuckles are white. What is she so afraid of?

I walk up the path, heels clicking against the warm paving slabs, and knock on the white painted door. I feel calm. My pulse is steady, but there’s a strange bristling under my skin, like I’m prepared for anything.

The door opens, and a woman with short blonde hair and bright orange lipstick looks me up and down. Her gaze lingers on my heels with open disdain before she pastes on a honey smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“Are you Melody Baker?”

She tilts her head to the side, like a cobra I once saw at a zoo my grandparents took me to. “I sure am. Who wants to know?”

“My name is Alana. I’ve come to speak to you about Lucy.”

The shift in her demeanor is instant. The sweetness curdles and her entire face turns sour.

“If that girl has stolen from you, or been causing trouble, it ain’t no fault of mine. She can’t be controlled. She stayed out all night last night. Little tramp,” she snaps.

The word hits me like a slap to the face.

Tramp.

For a second, I actually rock back on my heels. I’d heard the Bakers were a good family. A little too God-fearing, maybe, but stable. Safe. Caring. Responsible. That’s what Alejandro’s lawyer assured me.

I look at her face again, really look at it, but all I see is contempt. For a young girl she should be looking after.

“What?” I manage.

“I said she’s a tramp,” she repeats, lips curling. “She hasn’t been sniffing around your husband or something, has she? I saw the way she looks at my Gary. He saw it too. Girls like that don’t know when to keep their legs closed.”

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I can feel it in my throat. She is sixteen years old. Nobody should be talking about her like that, and Gary sure as hell shouldn’t be noticing anything about her other than the fact that she’s a child.

Something inside me snaps. I step forward, close enough to see the make-up caked in the lines around her mouth. Close enough that she has to lean back.

“If you ever speak about Lucy—or any other young girl—like that again,” I say calmly, “I will slap you so hard you’ll be brushing your teeth through your ass for the rest of your life.” The words leave my mouth before I can think of the consequences. I don’t regret them though. Not for a single second. The way I feel right now, I am definitely capable of it.

She blinks. Actually blinks. Like she’s never been spoken to like that in her life.