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I’ve only spent minutes outside, but I’m trembling by the time I make it to the house, my nose—the only part of my body uncovered, between my scarf, glasses, and my hat—turning ice cold.
After pressing it and not hearing a thing, I remember that the doorbell is useless, and I knock, too softly at first. I make myself knock again.
There’s noise inside. Movement. Footsteps.
Though it could very well be the fun brat I’ve grown to view as an annoying little sister, my entire body freezes when I hear someone unlock the door.
Then she opens it, and she’s there.
I’ve seen some updates. I should have been prepared. But she’s too different.
Taller than I remember. Curvier. Softer and stronger all at once. The only thing that hasn’t changed is those pale eyes. They’re exactly the same.
Devastatingly beautiful. She always was. There’s a reason my father chose her for me. He’d seen her parents, both classically handsome, smart, hard-working, kind. And then, the two picture-perfect fairy tale princesses. He knew how she’d look in the history books, her portrait next to mine.
Perfect.
Logical.
Mine.
“Poison.”
“No.”
And she shuts the door in my face.
A smile crooks at the corners of my lips. God, I missed the fuck out of her.
THIRTEEN
Ivy
Two truths and a lie about Less Valmont.
He raped me. I liked it. He did it again.
I’ve never quite worked out which ones were the truth.
I don’t know if he raped me. I could have told him I’d talk to our fathers, found another way to end our engagement, and I know he would have stopped. I was given a choice and I chose to let him continue to preserve my pride. He’d hurt me too much that day, and I wanted to hurt him right back.
Taking away our betrothal seemed to achieve that, so I didn’t give in. We fought, and we both won.
I don’t know if I liked it. I know I came so hard I saw stars. I know I wanted it again and again right that second.
Which brings me to the second point. Did he rape me again, or did I let him fuck me every day as he said he would because I wanted him to?
I never said yes. But I could have said no. I could have really ended it. Or tried.
All I know is that by the end of high school, after years of being bullied by everyone, and fucked like a whore every day, I had enough. That couldn’t be my life forever. So I left, and all was much better in England.
Another lie. Another truth.
I missed how he hurt me.
I need an emergency appointment with my shrink.
His throaty laugh behind the door makes my bones quake.
