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I retraced my steps, lingering in the doorway ofhisroom, taking in the space, and without the haze of panic, I noticed that his things were already there. The decision of who was sleeping where had already been made.
Would he be at the mixer tonight?
The thought of Paul relaxed, whiskey in hand in a party setting, tugged at something within me. I wanted toseehim like that - wanted toknowthe man I was destined to marry - destined to have children with.
But I would heed my mother’s warning, for I knew full well that my parents’ influence extended far beyond these walls. There were few families that could rival the Montgomery name and what we had created. We were the history keepers. For as long as I have been told, my family has been responsible for tracking, purchasing, and displaying historical pieces around the world. Of course, there was a lot of history we owned that we chosenotto display. Tombs that had been dug up, only to be secured and hidden. Historical scripts and texts that remained locked away deeply in various underground catacombs and secret libraries, for such writing would change the very narrative we operated off of. We were collectors of sorts - the guardians of knowledge - both ancient and new. We were the record keepers of knowledge the world wasn’t ready for - may never be ready for. I suspected that the Mae family, with their own legacy steeped in military conquests and coups, wanted access to some of those ancient manuscripts relating back to wars and strategy.
I retreated back to my room, the sheets white - a blank canvas that I longed to imprint some personality upon.
Were sullied sheets that smelled like sex a personality trait?The thought was unbidden, but not in the least bit shocking. Because for all my stifled upbringing, I was curious - I wanted something I didn’t know how to name, and on those dark nights I allowed my fingers to explore my body, dipping between my thighs as Ifeltandshookandexploded, I lay there after, basking in the shadow of shame and confusion, for thesewantswere always tied to the weight of expectation that I carried daily.
I had watched my fair share of porn - curious about what to expect, wondering what it would feel like - imagining what Paul would look like. But even in my unbidden fantasies, with my fingers dancing between my thighs, it was never his face - his voice - his mouth - that I saw in my mind, it was always a dark, blank canvas of a face - anunknown. Somehow, it made it simultaneously betterandworse, for that blankness meant that I was free to fill in my fantasies with anyone of my choice, but it also meant that I was betraying Paul - betraying my family - betraying The Society.
I pushed forward with the need todo something. But I didn’t have to look long, for this was a role I had been trained in - something I would certainly excel at.
I lifted my bag onto the bed, unzipping and unpacking systematically.
I would make this place a home.
Even if we were here for simply a heartbeat, I would make it comfortable - easy - serene. For that was my duty - a responsibility I knew how to bear.
The dresses were the same ones my mother had systematically chosen - the type of outfits befit for my position. It never showed too much skin, but they were elegant and classic in a way that I knew I wasn’t, and even the act of simplylookingat them made me feel like a child playing dress up in a world of adults. As if working on autopilot, my fingers skated down the light blue dress I had on. At the time, I thought it looked sophisticated - it made me think of what a student might wear to class or for a simple visit to the library. I imagined that it was the kind of outfit I would have worn if I had been allowed to attend university - allowed to pursue my studies. The rounded collar spoke of a need for knowledge, the skirt playful in a way that didn’t feel dated, but seated in the auditorium amongst the other women of The Society, I had feltyoungandinexperienced.
Not all the dresses were like that, but it didn’t make me feel any better because these were dresses that didn’tsuitme. They felt like they belonged to someone else - someone wild, sexy, and graceful. Someone with experience. Someone who knows their worth.
Would I become that person?
It didn’t matter because I had no choice, even if it meant a life filled with pretending. I was a Montgomery, and I would not disappoint my family - I would not let them down. It was up to me to carry our legacy into the next era, and if that meant playing dress-up, then that was what I would do.
Systematically, I hung each item of clothing perfectly, color coordinating the fabric in a way that soothed my nerves. Wordlessly, I moved on to the next compartment of my luggage, and it was here I stalled. The lace and silk fabric pressed against my palm in a way that seemed almost wanton. Becausethiswas not my underwear. The barely there slips were nothing like the clothing I normally wore.
But I didn’t bother searching for the silk boxer shorts I had bought three years ago on a whim, sleeping in them with a t-shirt almost every night since. I knew they wouldn’t be there, in the same way Iknewthat when I searched for some form of pajamas, I would find none. This was my mother’s way ofpushingme - ofsecuringour alliance with the Mae family. This was a seduction of sorts, only in all the things I had learnt during my upbringing, the act of seducing a man had never been one of them. But then - perhaps these scraps of satin and lace were all that was really needed?
I didn’t think about the items as I dutifully packed them away - dividing the fabrics into three colors: black, red, and white. To call the short, satin wrap a robe would have been a stretch, but it was all I had to cover up the ridiculous lingerie that stared back at me. Even in the quiet of my room, I felt the heat burning my cheeks in embarrassment - felt the knowledge of myinexperiencemore than I ever had before.
I shut the drawer that now housed my slew of lacey undergarments quickly before pushing into the bathroom to set up my skincare routine and pack away my makeup.
I knew how to cook, knew how to clean, knew how to command a household full of staff. I knew the rules of etiquette that guided our Society like the back of my hand - knew how to throw a garden party and excel at being the perfect host. I had mastered the art of calligraphy for the sole purpose of writingthank younotes. I had read almost every book in my father’s library, had excelled at my undergrad English literature college course, and, yet, I knewnothingabout sex and seduction.
It was almost laughable at how unprepared I was for this role.
My fingers moved swiftly as I unpacked everything with neat precision.
I pushed the thoughts from my mind, squashing them deep within the recesses of my brain as I took a final walk through the apartment before picking up the phone and calling the concierge downstairs.
They picked up on the second ring, operating as if it truly was a hotel of the five-star variety.
“Good afternoon,” I kept my tone pleasant - professional and forceful, “Please, can you send a bouquet of yellow roses up to my apartment, along with a ceramic vase.”
I waited a beat for her agreement before hanging up.
Yellow.The color of friendship. If Paul and I could start out as friends, perhaps we could create a partnership - amarriageworth boasting about. If nothing else, it was a gesture ofhope.
As for the vase - glass vases were messy, they showed too much of the murky water that lay beneath the floral arrangement, and I had been taught to never air your messy truths.
CHAPTER FIVE: WHISKEY AND MOONSHINE
O’GRADY
