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“I haven’t had nearly enough,” Jani retorts, her voice dripping with anger and condescension.
Guilt wells up inside me. I had no idea this was happening. How could I have known? “I’m sorry, Jani. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t apologize to her,” Tatum interrupts, her voice laced with venom. “Jani, you damn well know that they purposely left each contract unsigned because Brooklyn wanted the boys to choose. She wanted them to fall in love with us of their own accord, and if they didn’t, then the contracts were void.”
I hear her words, but something inside me tells me they aren’t exactly true.
Jani grinds her jaw, tears welling in her eyes, her throat visibly working. “I need a minute.” She grabs her glass and storms out of the kitchen, taking all the tension with her.
Harlow exhales, breaking the heavy silence. “Brooklyn wrote up betrothals for her boys. None of us were supposed to know whom she chose for them.”
My mouth falls open again.
“This is the first time Mama has allowed Jani back into the house,” Tatum adds, glaring at the door through which her cousin disappeared. “She stole the file last time she was here, and the only reason she isn’t dead is because of Desmond.”
“You mean there are other contracts?” I wonder.
Tatum shakes her head. “I don’t want to know.” She turns back to me. “None of us know when or if she will enforce it.”
Harlow pushes the folder about my dad back to me. I stare at the manilla envelope, unsure if I want to delve into its contents. Finally, I make up my mind. “I can’t do it right now,” I say, my body buzzing with mixed emotions. “I can’t read through that right now, especially with everything I just learned, and I don’t know if I can handle what’s in there.”Yet.
“I’m going to put it in your room,” Harlow whispers. “I’ll hide it in your pillowcase.” She backs away, taking the folder with her. “I’m also going to have a conversation with Jani.”
“Now that we spilled the tea,” Tatum says, clapping her hands, “let’s have the best Halloween we’ve had in years. Shall we?”
“Do I even want to know what that means?”
Turns out, I don’t.
Chapter Eight
As a young girl,my Halloween memories are encapsulated by a single costume—a witch. It was the costume I yearned for, with its dramatic black hat and an enchanting spider web witch dress. In my innocent mind, that’s how I envisioned witches dressed.
Halloween held a special place in my parents’ hearts. They delighted in dressing up and would join me as my henchmen. Dad completely embraced his role, even adopting a limp, his foot trailing behind him as he played his part flawlessly.
The memories of those Halloween nights remain vividly etched into my mind. I can still picture the witch hat I cherished, carefully stored in my cedar chest of memories at home. Even during my teenage years, when I believed I had outgrown trick-or-treating, I couldn’t part with that hat. I’d wear it proudly, accompanied by my loyal companion, Milo.
For seven consecutive years, I took Milo out with me on Halloween night. However, this year is different. When Mama Black asks and Milo pleads, I find myself agreeing, though it’s a departure from our usual tradition.
His laughter is the only reason I don’t break down, and I realize it’s okay not to be everything all at once.
By the time I get back to the house, everyone is in party mode and nowhere near ready to call it a night like I want to. Only the girls, the brothers, and a select few others are allowed here. Luckily, the house is spacious enough that when I lift a sleeping Milo out of a chair and carry him upstairs, it gets quieter.
“Let me carry him,” Desmond whispers as he joins me on the steps.
I hug his little body close to mine and give Desmond a soft smile. “I’ve got him.”
Desmond just hums at me but doesn’t argue as he follows me down the hall and toward the wing where our rooms are.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he questions. Desmond doesn’t often ask me questions, mostly it’s in demands.
“I did,” I whisper, hugging Milo to my chest a little tighter. “I used to walk him around the house to get him to sleep at night just like this,” I tell Desmond in the soft light of the hallway, the laughter fading behind us.
I look down at my little brother. His wig sits crooked on his head, his cheeks flushed from excitement, and his candy bag overflows.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Desmond says.
“I’m lucky to have him,” I correct. “He turned my world upside down, but I wouldn’t give him up for anything.” There is an underlying meaning there, one I’m not so sure even I grasp, but it hangs in the air between us as I enter the hall to our rooms.
