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“The Boyds are Catholic, as you know. It’s not their way to terminate a pregnancy, or get knocked up out of wedlock, for that matter.” Tapping his finger on the desktop, my father stares off for a moment, seeming to chew on his lips. “You’re going to marry her.”

Another punch to the gut. This one harder, the pain of it shooting up into my ribcage. “What? No. I can’t.”

“You have no choice, Lucian. You got yourself into this mess.”

“I’ll be there for her. I’ll raise the child. Ensure that it never wants for anything, but I cannot marry her.”

“You can desecrate her, though? Put your filth inside her?” Boyd speaks through gritted teeth, his anger burgeoning before my eyes.

“It doesn’t work that way, Son. Mayor Boyd has a reputation to uphold. How do you think it looks if his only daughter is pregnant, without a husband?”

I don’t care how the fuck it looks. It’s my life he’s looking to muddle, and it’s not like she didn’t have a say in what we did that night. “This isn’t the seventeenth century. Women get pregnant and have children, without marriage, all the time.”

Cheeks puffed, my father lets out a long, dramatic exhale. “The decision has been made. You’ll marry Amelia Boyd, and that’s final.”

Chapter 34

Isadora

Nearly two weeks have passed since the incident with my mother and the drug dealer. I’ve texted Aunt Midge every day, twice sometimes, to see how she’s doing. If she’s heard anything. Seen anything. Gotten a sense that he might come back.

Everything has been quiet.

Lucian hasn’t said a word to me since I braved barging into his office to thank him. We pass each other in the hallway sometimes, but it’s like two ships passing on a placid sea. Not a word spoken between us. I’ve caught him watching me a few times, when I’ve been out in the garden, or playing piano, but never longer than a fleeting moment before he looks away.

Maybe I’ve thought too much of it, because I’ve had more dreams of him lately. Dark dreams I wouldn’t dare tell a soul about, not even Kelsey. Ones where he keeps me imprisoned in this place, and I find myself questioning whether he’s good, or evil. The other night, I woke up sweating and panting, calling out for him.

Humiliating to think that Giulia may have heard me.

I suppose I’ve always been drawn to older men, having developed well before most girls my age. The boys I grew up with were immature and plain stupid, always touching. Fondling.

Taking without asking.

Grown men tend to be different toward me. Careful, if not curious.

The dark hallway of the first floor greets me, as I step out of the elevator and make my way to the dining room. En route, I pause at the atrium, and look inside where the last few weeks of contractors and construction workers have turned what was once unkempt and neglected into a vision of wonder and fascination. Healthy vines spill down the gilded iron bars, braided in small white lights. Newly painted walls and lush greenery give a splash of spectacular color. Lanterns hang from the ceiling like stars in the night sky, while the floors, polished and shining, reflect the glow above.

Breathtaking.

I step inside the room, empty of workers who must be on their lunchbreak, and take a seat at the piano. A device sits propped against the music rack. Small and clunky, it reminds me of a walkie-talkie.

A large, round button in the center of it carries the symbol for play, and out of sheer nosiness, I press it. Music drifts from its speakers like black ribbons flitting around me. Haunting and darkly beautiful.

It’s a piece I’ve not heard before, I close my eyes, taking in every stroke of the keys, letting it wind around my senses.

The sadness. The longing.

The notes take shape inside my head like a living, breathing entity. A vision of Lucian’s hands dancing over white keys, and up over my arms, his fingertips dragging across my skin. I breathe in through my nose, and exhale through parted lips, while the music takes me back to my most recent dream of him. I reach up to touch my lips, recalling the night he kissed me on the rooftop, my eyes still shuttered to everything but the scene playing behind my lids.

“What are you doing?”

At the sharp, menacing tone, I jolt from my musings and scramble to turn off the device, pressing the first button that stops the music. Muscles vibrating, I turn to find Lucian standing across from me, with a notepad clutched at his hip.

“Tell me you didn’t mess anything up.”

“I … I didn’t.”

Scowl plastered to his face, he strides toward me and swipes up the device.