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My gaze swept across the marble counters that sat in the kitchen - the surface shining and gleaming in that way you only accomplished through a generous amount of polish.
A vase filled with flowers deserved to be seated on the shining countertop.
The thought came unbidden, rolling through me in a way that made the sharp ache in my chest somehow more prominent. It was the reminder that while I had lived with my parents - boasted a beautiful bedroom with my own four poster bed - I had never truly had ahome,had never once had a place to truly call my own, a place where I could let my walls down, a place where I could crumble if I needed to.
The thought thatthismight be that place left me breathless with apprehension. The truth was I wasn’t even certain that such a place existed - or, if it did, if I would be able to drop my guard.
I had no illusions when it came to what was expected of me. My mother had made it clear that Paul and I would,likely, be deemedroommates. It fit with The Society’s program, and considering we were ultimately going to end up together, I supposed it made sense.
Dread settled in the pit of my stomach, a weight that seemed almost enough to bring me to my knees, for when my mother mentioned that something waslikely, it was a certainty.
I walked through the apartment, taking in the clean lines, noting everything I would change, even if this was simply a temporary pitstop.
The apartment was fitted with two bedrooms, two en-suites, a sitting room, and a kitchen. The glass panes of the window stretched from floor-to-ceiling, overlooking the pool. Because, of course, this place had a swimming pool - from the outside you would never be able to tell that this was a basecamp belonging to The Society - it looked like ahotel. But that was The Society’s way. I knew better than most exactly how important appearances were.
One bedroom was visibly larger than the other - the bed was bigger, the cupboards stretched the full width of the wall. I swallowed audibly, the sound jangling me into action - to keep my feetmovingas I pushed past the room, leaving it vacantfor him. And even in the silence of the apartment with solely my own company, I was annoyed that I had allowed such a reaction to slip - to show the smallest hint of discomfort or displeasure, even when there was no one else here.
My chest fluttered with the smallest ounce of gratitude, for my mother was a hard, beautiful woman, but she hadalwayslaid out the facts - hadalwaystold meexactlywhat was expected of me. And when it came to sharing an apartment, she hadn’t minced her words.
“Being matched with Paul means that you’ll share an apartment with him - share a bed with him.”Her blue eyes found my own, and even when it could have been so easy to fall into the same hue as my own - to imagine that I was gazing at myself, that was where our similarities began and ended. Where she was blonde and curvy, I had light brown hair and lacked the curves that she had been gifted. Where she was smart and eloquent, I was shy. Where she could have been a reigning pageant queen, I was better suited for track.
And these stark contrasts only seemed to cement me as a constant disappointment in her eyes because I wasn’t the daughter she had wanted - the one she had wished for. I was simply… me.
“Grace!” She snapped my name, her mouth curving downwards in displeasure. “Are you listening to what I am telling you?” Suddenly, the blue of her eyes turned a hard, cold, icy color - a look that I could never master.
“Yes.” I spoke the words in an even tone, keeping my face neutral but pleasant, allowing my own lips to turn up with a hint of excitement.
I may not look like my mother - may not have her curves and elegance, but I had mastered the art of manners, etiquette, and pretending.
Although, even while she sat there glaring at me, I wasn’t fully certain that I was pretending. The idea of Paul intrigued me - the notion that I wasn’t going to be someone else’s problem but their partner was almost exhilarating. Because it meant that I would be away from my parents - away from this house - away from the stifling routine of it all.
My mother’s gaze darted away from me, suddenly inspecting her French manicure in that way she had that told me exactly what topic she wanted to discuss next. For as long as I could remember, Eileen Montgomery, my mother, had never boasted anything but the perfect French manicure and golden blonde styled curls. I had never seen her look anything but polished. Not even when I was little in the haze of sleep, seeking comfort, because not even then had I been permitted to cross the threshold into my parents’ bedroom. No. Instead, there had been a host of nannies that had kissed my boos boos and soothed me back to sleep.
Without tearing her gaze from her nails, she spoke the words I knew were coming.
“You have remained pure for Paul, so if he wants to experience his fiancée, you will allow it.” The way she placed her emphasis on the word ‘experience’ left me with no delusions about what the expectations were. While I knew it wasn’t true, sometimes I felt as if I was the only twenty-one year old virgin on the planet. Did all Society girls save themselves for their match?
“We’re not officially engaged yet - he hasn’t proposed, and I don’t have a ring.” As excuses went, it was a feeble one. My mother waved it off as I knew she would. “That’s easily fixable and simple formality in this process. You belong to Paul. Your marriage will unite the Montgomery family with the Maes.”
I swallowed quietly, nodding my head in understanding. I belonged to Paul, but did that mean he belonged to me?
“And another thing.” My mother’s voice was hard, steely, and even. I fought the urge to flinch as her fingers found my wrist, digging into my flesh, ensuring that I wouldn’t move - wouldn’t flee - wouldn’t run.
It had happened once when I was twelve. There had been a dance - a formal of some sorts, and I hadn't wanted to attend. I didn’t have any friends - the other kids were mean to me, and, so, I fled. I didn’t get far before one of my mother’s guards found me at the arcade. It was the first and last time I had acted on such a notion, but, even now, at twenty-one, I felt the repercussions of the act of a twelve-year-old. “There will be a mixer - a cocktail evening on the first night you arrive. It is a way for members of The Society to loosen up and get to know one another.” I stilled, perking up internally at the prospect of a party - of people like me - of people I could mingle with - of the possibility of friends. But I should have known, for my mother never offered such a pause if it didn’t serve the purpose of dramatic effect. “You will not attend. Montgomery women do not dabble in debauchery.”
And just as swiftly as I had allowed the hope I normally kept bottled up to leak out, lighting my veins up with something a lot like excitement, so my mother doused those electric flames.
My gaze fixated on her grip - on the way her fingers pressed against my skin, creating the slightest indentation. My mother had long since mastered the art of not bruising my skin, for even if I was a disappointment, I was still a Montgomery.
I lifted my gaze to hers once more, taking in her open expression - one that spoke of honest discussions and family commitment. She wore that same expression when listening to donors discussing their tax benefits from the various charities she assisted. If I was good at pretending, it was because she was the master.
I nodded once, conveying my understanding. Still, she held me there a beat longer than needed, but it was unnecessary, I wasn’t going to run - I mean, where would I go? I understood my responsibility - understood that under no circumstance could I bring embarrassment and scandal to the family name.
I inhaled, breathing in the present - breathing inthe cleansing smellof bleach and some cleaning products that boasted an underlying lemony smell. It wasn’tbad, it just wasn’t what I was accustomed to at home. But perhaps that was agood thing.
I found my bags seated at the end of the bed in the smaller of the two bedrooms, and something about seeing my Louis Vuitton luggage left in a room that was all my own made me wheeze with relief. Paul wouldn’t expect us to share a room on the first night - not when we barely knew one another because being part of The Society meant being well versed in the rules of etiquette and expectations. It meant that I was alady, and he was mygentleman.
Simply repeating that in my mind settled something within me.
