Page 45 of Necessary Cruelty

I text her again.

He has to get married to get his inheritance.

“That’s not really an answer to my question.” Amelia sits gingerly on the edge of my bed and crosses her legs at the ankle. Today she wears a calico-patterned dress that has short sleeves but bunches of ruffles down the front. I catch the hint of a bright pink bra strap before she pulls the ruffled neckline back into place. “There are a hundred girls who would take that deal, even if there was nothing coming on their end but the name. Why would he pick you?”

I shrug, even though it isn’t just confusion swirling through my head. Amelia doesn’t know anything about the history between Vin and I, nobody really does. But nothing from the past would explain this bizarre turn of events.

And I don’t want to speculate on the whims of Vin Cortland, because that is the best way I know of to get my feelings hurt. He either chose me because torturing me has been a favorite pastime of his for years, or because he thought I would be easy to control.

Neither of those options is particularly flattering.

It should tell me something that I still have his gift in my hand, an expensive phone that I should have pawned at the first opportunity.

I think I’m going to get rid of this thing. Hammer maybe?

“Don’t you dare!” Amelia snatches the phone out of my hand and turns it over to inspect the back. “This is some top-of-the-line crap. Sell it if you have to, but trashing it would just be a waste. Then you’ll only have something else to feel bad about.”

I hate that she’s right.

It makes me want to share a thing with her that nobody but me knows, if just to see what her reaction will be. I need to know just how far from sanity I’ve let myself go.

When I pull the shoebox out from under the bed and drop it in her lap, Amelia looks at me like she thinks there might be a bomb in there. I nod at her to open it when she hesitates.

Her face is gratifying, because clearly I’m not the only one going crazy here.

“Where did you get this?” She gasps the question as she thumbs quickly through the bills, clearly doing a mental calculation. Then she catches the look on my face, and her eyebrows shoot up. “From Vin?”

I nod as she hands the shoebox back, gaze lingering only for a moment on the pile of cash before she lets the lid fall shut.

“That’s wild.”

Picking up my new phone, I text her again.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.

“Well, don’t throw it away,” she insists with a laugh. “In fact, if you’re ever feeling generous just make sure to keep me in mind.”

I know Amelia well enough that I don’t think she’d come back here with a crew and try to roll us over. She isn’t like that, and not just because her family is religious. Amelia is a straight shooter. If she was thinking about robbing me, she would give me fair warning to keep my belongings locked up.

Which is why she is the only person I feel comfortable coming to for help. I trust her to tell me precisely what she’s thinking, just because I asked.

Jake is taking me to the Founder’s Ball. I need you to help me get ready. Like really ready.

“Sounds like you’re hoping to turn heads,” she comments. “Or maybe just one head in particular.”

I shrug as I gesture toward my closet. Even though I rarely have more than two quarters to rub together, my closet is full to bursting. My mother didn’t take much with her when she blew out of town. Initially, I told myself that meant she had to be planning to come back eventually. But with each passing year, it seemed more and more likely that she just didn’t want to waste the time it would have taken to pack up her stuff.

So I still have everything. From the “lucky” jean shorts she’d always wear on Saturday nights at the bar to the wrinkled uniform the Cortlands gave her that is still covered in grass stains and smells like glass cleaner.

Amelia lets out a surprised gasp when she opens the door and a cascade of fabrics in every possible color burst from the closet. Julia Milbourne’s tastes trended toward the cheap and flashy, but nobody could fault the variety of her wardrobe.

“Holy forking shirt balls. I feel like I’m in the wardrobe department at the theatre. The only thing missing is a space man costume.” She sifts through the hangers so quickly that dresses move like flashes of colored light. “You should have told me to bring my sewing machine so we could alter some of this stuff. Although, I do love a good vintage item.”

I already knew Amelia makes her own clothes. Her father buys yards of plain fabric from the farming supply store with the only instruction to cover everything below her neck and above her ankles. The way she eyes the mini-skirts and slinky tops in the closet, I wonder what she would do if given free reign.

Amelia pulls out a flaming red dress, so bright that it practically glows stoplight. It’s low-cut, lower than anything I’ve ever worn outside of the house before, with a slit up the side that stops at mid-thigh. She holds it up to herself and lets out a low whistle. It’s one of the few dresses in the closet that is classic instead of dated. “If you want to make a statement, this one will get the job done.”

I take it from her with shaking fingers, unsure why I suddenly feel so nervous. She turns her back as I pull off my sweatshirt. It isn’t necessary to try the dress on to know it will be a perfect fit, but I do anyway. I inherited my build from my mother, curves that don’t disappear even when I don’t get enough to eat and wide hips that I’ve always hated.

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