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“Why no boyfriends?” she asks, skipping right over the chores expectation. “I’ve never had one. Shouldn’t I before I’m expected to wed.”
“No,” I answer firmly. “There is no need for unnecessary risk. Boyfriend equals temptation, and I don’t trust any fuckers to be disciplined enough to keep their hands off you. This is nonnegotiable. The choice is yours. Things can just stay as they are if my terms are not satisfactory to you.”
“I didn’t say your terms were unsatisfactory. It was merely a question. I will do whatever is expected of me, but can I make one additional request?”
I don’t fucking negotiate, yet here I am trying to be considerate for my sister. Unlike Aurora, she isn’t mouthy or disobedient, so that goes a long way in her favor. “Spill it,” I say, still feeling my patience wearing thin.
“Our restaurant,” she mutters. “The Irish one.”
“What about it?”
“I would like to help run it in some capacity. The chores part isn’t a problem because I’ve already been helping out where I can at home to keep from being so bored. That includes cooking. I found a bunch of our mother’s old recipes that I’ve been practicing. I’d love to try them at the restaurant.”
I admit that I’m impressed by the initiative that she has already shown. She deserves to be given a chance to be more than a vessel for her virginity. I want her to have a real opportunity to enjoy the things she’s passionate about.
“Honor and commit to all that we’ve spoke on and I will make that happen. You will need your own phone now. Once I get your security detail and bodyguard, we will move forward. And, Aisling …”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let me down, and don’t ever not answer your phone.”
She promises, but I’m already halfway back to the backyard. I need to say bye to my brothers and make sure they remember tonight’s conversation never happened. I told Fergus and Flynn that I’d be in touch in regard to my upcoming changes with our sister.
The ride back to Staten Island is ample time for thoughts about my own situation. Things can’t remain as is with Aurora. I need to push forward, always moving forward, so I need to determine what that should look like.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Aurora
Today has been somewhat productive. I’m getting around much better on my crutches now that I can bear some weight on my left ankle. I manage to do a load of my own laundry and prepare myself some lunch. The house staff has been standoffish these last few days, with good reason. Because of me, Mr. Doyle was fired. Mona has been moved up to take his position. I’ve tried to communicate with her a few times to offer my help in the kitchen, and she’s ignored me each time. Fiona really didn’t need excuse not to like me, but even she has been noticeably absent from dropping off fresh towels for me. Bridget has taken over this task, but a half smile is the only thing she has managed to muster when she has been forced to make eye contact with me.
The staff has not been consistent with letting me out of my room, so I’ve missed some meal times and, worse yet, my pain meds. I’ve got my hands on some ibuprofen that was conveniently left out on the kitchen counter—my guess is courtesy of Bridget. Everyone else hates me. During lunch, I hoarded as much food as I could to bring back to my room— mostly deli meats and fruit. I suspect I won’t be let out of my room for dinner. After my laundry, I spent the remaining chore time selecting some poetry books to take back to my room. This isolation and starvation tactic will have to end once Lennon returns. Surely, they wouldn’t want him to know they’ve been mistreating me. And I won’t be the one to tell. I don’t want anyone else to lose their job because of me. Mr. Doyle was punished for something he shouldn’t have— all because I wanted to be nosy.
The locks were engaged on my door at promptly four o’clock. And as I suspected, I didn’t hear the familiar unlocking at seven fifty-five, nor did anyone bring me dinner. I grab a couple of bananas from my stash and sit back on the bed, prepared to readPride and Prejudicethat I took from the West Wing’s library when something silver and shiny on the chair in the corner catches my eye. It seems out of place since I haven’t noticed it there before. I ease out of bed to investigate, choosing to hop over rather than grab the crutches from next to the bed.
I sink down into the chair, baffled. It’s a fucking iPhone … and it’s unlocked. I look around the room for cameras. I’ve never cared much before. I gave up on privacy and dignity a long time ago in this place. I didn’t even consider the potential for cameras in this room when I attempted my grand escape. But now, I question whether I’m being tested. Lennon carries two phones. Could one of them have slipped from his pocket when he was last sitting here?It’s not likely.He’s too meticulous and hates incompetence. Even if he did, he would have noticed it long before now. It has to be a test, but why? Curiosity wins out. I have to see if I can make a call out. Surprisingly, my father isn’t my first choice. I can’t face him just yet.
I dial the only other number I have memorized besides my father and brothers. I call Amerie. Her phone rings exactly three times before an unfamiliar male voice answers.
“Hello? Hello! Who is this?” The tone is harsh and unwavering. “I’m going to trace this call. Is this Aurora?”
A lump forms in my throat as my hands shake. The locks begin to unlock in the near distance. I throw the phone, the fear of being caught adding to my overwhelming dilemma. I should hang up the phone and try again later. Fuck! I reach for it just as Lennon enters the room. He locks eyes with me and then the phone. The voice filters through the receiver still trying to decipher if it is me on the other end. Lennon’s long strides eat up the distance between us in mere seconds. His eyes are murderous as he ends the call.
“Do you have a fucking death wish?” he booms. “I show you mercy and this is how you thank me?”
He snatches my tank and drags me toward the bed. He picks me up in a single lift and tosses me to the bed, causing me to cry out from the pain. Without the Vicodin on board, it’s more than I can handle. I managed to curl up in a ball to embrace the blows I believe to be coming my way. I begin to sob uncontrollably, deeply triggered by what I know is coming next. I’m no stranger to a man’s fist or the pain that lingers behind. I’m no stranger to the bruises left where nobody can see. I’m no stranger to being forced to keep quiet to keep the peace in my house … to keep my father from killing my brother, Antonio.
“Please don’t hit me,” I wail, my body shaking with unbridled fear.
“Look at me now. I’m all out of favors. You don’t get to ask me anything.”
I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to see his arctic, hardened gaze. I can feel the coldness of his words penetrate to the bone. I know following his command won’t save me from his wrath, but I do as he says. I look at him, not surprised by what I see. Disappointment and rage peer back at me, his forward head scrunched with disapproval.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter as the pain still reverberates through my ribs. I splint with my hand, desperate to manage the ache. “I’m so sorry. I knew it was a test, but I had to know.”
He pulls me closer to the edge of the bed, and I squeeze a panting breath through my teeth.
“What goddamn test? Who did you call?”
