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“He sounds great, actually. You seem very happy.”
“I am. I love him. I’m in love with him. But aren’t you? With Santiago, I mean?”
“Um…” I look away as we walk, and I think about how to answer. “Our relationship is a little different. I mean, we didn’t start like you and Jackson.”
“No, I guess not. But you’re happy, right? I mean, love is hard in these arranged marriages. At least right at first. But you care about him, right?”
I nod. It’s true. I do.
She tugs me closer and smiles wide as we pick up the pace. “I think it’s more than that, Ivy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have eyes in my head. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“How he looks at me?”
She nods.
“Well, Santiago is…complicated.”
“That he is.”
“Do you know the history between my family and Santiago’s?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Just…” I turn to her. “I guess I don’t know why he chose me. He can have anyone. Even with…what happened.” The scars. The skull face tattoo. “I’m certainly not elevating him within The Society.”
“He was close with your dad. And now that he’s taken over his care, maybe he felt—”
I stop. “What did you say?”
She stops too and looks at me, forehead wrinkling.
“He took over my dad’s care?” I ask.
“Didn’t you know?”
I shake my head.
She glances nervously at the office window then back. “I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything. I’m sorry.”
“I won’t tell. Just please tell me. I feel so lost. I don’t know what’s going on. I feel like there are moments I’m so close to him, but then, I’m so completely in the dark. I don’t understand…I guess it just doesn’t make sense he’d choose me without some motive, and at least in the beginning he hated me, Colette. I think he married me to torment me, and…” I shake my head and Colette pulls me in for a hug.
“It’s okay, Ivy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just had overheard Jackson say something to someone the other day. I thought you knew. Please don’t say anything. I don’t want Jackson to know I know.”
I draw back. “Of course not. Is he okay at least? My dad?”
“I think so. Nothing bad happened or anything. Haven’t you been to see him?”
I shake my head, my mind elsewhere now. My chest feeling constricted. The memory of last night in his office, him inside me, the things I felt and the knowledge that it wasn’t enough and that it wouldn’t be enough. And that it would break me.
Santiago isn’t the man I make him out to be. The man I want him to be. He’s had an agenda since the first day, and he hasn’t made a secret of it. If my heart breaks, it’s my own fault.
29
Ivy
Santiago doesn’t return home that night or the next, and he doesn’t call either. Or if he does, it’s not to talk to me.
And all the while, all I can do is make up scenarios to try to understand why he would take over my father’s care. What it means. And why he hasn’t told me. I feel isolated and alone, and when I ask if I can at least call my sister, Antonia only gives me a pitying look and tells me I must ask Santiago.
It’s an infuriating circle because I can’t ask him if I don’t have any way to talk to him.
I want to trust him. I know it will take time for us to trust each other, but what Colette told me and then this, his absence, combined with my isolation from my family, from anyone outside these walls, it makes it hard.
By the third night, I’m worked up and feeling more angry than anything else. At least anger is better. Anger means I’ll fight, not roll over and let him plow over me.
When the staff have all gone to bed, I make my way down to his office. It’s locked again. I guess Antonia has a key. But I know another way in, and I go through the library to that secret entrance. I’m not even really hiding anymore. Or at least I tell myself that. I need to know what’s going on with my dad. How could Abel have approved Santiago taking over his care? And why hasn’t Santiago told me? Why hide it from me?
His office is dark apart from the monitors, and it’s been cleaned since I was last here. I set the notebook with the sketches on his desk and sit in his chair. If I concentrate, when I inhale, I swear I can smell his aftershave.
I take a deep breath in and tell myself I have no choice but to do what I’m about to do. Even though just a few nights ago the thought of looking through his things felt so wrong, tonight feels different. But a part of me wishes he’d tell me, too. Wishes he’d just be honest with me.
