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“Now don’t act innocent!” Kevin brandishes his hands in front of my face. “That’s exactly what the offers look like that this dopey Horst is always bringing in.” A jolt goes through him; I can see him reining in his annoyance with a hard hand. “But fine: it’s your inheritance, after all. If you want it bad enough, I promise I’ll buy you a place just like it in five years. Maybe in six. Seven or eight at the most. By then, I’m sure my agency will be making enough profit for it.”
“Indeed?” That’s all I can think of right now.
“You see! Why not just like that at first?” Kevin seems to have perceived my sighed exclamation as ayes.
But before I get around to correct him, he’s already talking on.
“Well, that’s settled then. What do you think, when you can transfer the sum to my business account? It won’t work now between Christmas and New Year, but before Epiphany, it should fit in. Shouldn’t it?”
“No.” It chokes my throat as I squeeze out the syllable. So, I shake my head with extra vigor. “No. You can’t.”
“Why?” bursts out Kevin. “Why wouldn’t it work? Is this some kind of stupid game of yours again?” He approaches me with a raised index finger. “Listen to me, Celine. This farce with the marriage proposal has been enough for me. You’re not going to get me to make a spectacle of myself for you all the time. So, when is the transfer possible?”
“Not at all,” I whisper, backing away from him.
“What do you mean?” Kevin contorts his mouth into a not-at-all funny caricature ofBeakerfromThe Muppets Show. “You won’t, or you can’t?”
“I don’t want to.” I have no idea where the courage suddenly comes from to say that to his face—which promptly changes color, reminding me, along with Kevin’s wide eyes and his hair standing tangled on end, ofThe Animal. Is it because I compare him to the ridiculous characters from theMuppets Show? No matter. I take a breath. “And even if I wanted to—or lacked the courage to resist: I’m very glad I can’t.”
“You can’t?” Bewilderment beads from every single pore on Kevin’s face. Or are they sweat droplets, driven out by his unmistakable anger? “Why not?”
“Because I invested the money in a company stock,” I hear myself say. As I do so, I watch, strangely unmoved, Kevin’s facade of manners collapsing like a house of cards. “And before you ask further, the earliest I can get to that is eight to ten years from now. Which coincides perfectly with when you want to purchase thePonderosa Ranch in the Village.”
SMACK.
His hand hits me in the face; my head whips to the side.
Pain flashes through me. I grab my temple—and feel a wave of nausea wash over me. My hand is… full of blood.
So is his ring finger—and a flap of skin hangs from the edge of the gemstone.
Myflap of skin, my brain slowly puts together. “You hit me…”
The firm grip of hard hands grabs me by the throat. “You fucking tramp! Stupid whore!” Kevin’s saliva hits my face. “I don’t want your fucking Ponderosa ranch! Never did and never will!”
I falter as he shakes me with rage. I feel like a dirt mat being beaten out in front of the door. Air. I can’t get any air.
“Why did I spend years with you?” rages Kevin. “Endured your agonizingly boring manner? And now you tell me your money is gone?”
My visual field narrows. I feel my knees buckle, and I find myself on the floor, held upright only by Kevin’s fingers around my throat.
He’s going to kill me.
Strange how cool and unfazed I come to this realization. Fatalistic. Resigned to my doom. And yet this sudden realization ignites a spark of resistance in me.
With lowered eyelids, I grope around on the floor.
I feel the fluffy carpet and pine needles that have fallen from our mini tree. The candles from the Advent wreath I must have knocked over when I fell. The cool glass of a bottleneck.
With difficulty, I scrape together what’s left of my will to live and of my breath.
My fingers close around the bottle.
I open my eyes. I realize that I can’t see anything on the left. Something keeps running into my eye.
Blood.
But this time I don’t feel sick.
