Page 34 of Reign

“She was eighteen when she got pregnant with me.”

Lynda’s knife scrapes across porcelain. Her wide-set eyes flick up to mine. “Oh. Oh, sweetie. Here I am being so cavalier when the whole time, you’re thinking I know … oh, gosh, that I might know who your father is?”

Her shock resembles my own. I didn’t expect to say something like that. I only wanted to dig up more dirt about Sabine and Mom’s history. What with Ivy’s brutal killing, my mom’s murder, and my alliance with Chase morphing into a rivalry, I don’t have the capacity to handle my missing baby daddy baggage.

So why is my stupid mind bringing it up?

“How are two of my favorite girls doing?” Dad breezes in, ruffling the top of my head and kissing Lynda’s before taking a seat across from me. “I’m surprised half this lamb isn’t gone by now.”

Lynda’s attention doesn’t stray. I freeze in my seat, internally begging her not to bring it up while Dad’s here.

She blinks, then breaks our stare and turns to Dad. “Give me time, babe. This meat is mine.”

Releasing a whoosh of breath, I paste on a smile, cutting into my dinner, then chewing and swallowing just like they are.

None of us bring up my haggard phone call for the rest of the meal. The few seconds of weighted study Dad gives me every time he looks up from his dinner is couched with a smile and a wink.

We pretend we’re fine.

That Briarcliff isn’t strung between us on a butcher’s hook.

We’re not.

13

Callie

Christmas Eve in New York City is snowless, blinding with the sunlit shine of skyscrapers, and colorful with determined workaholics, fascinated tourists, and expertly hung Christmas lights.

The day is mild for winter, and I offered to take Blair on a stroll down Madison Avenue to see the decorated storefront windows. Dad hedged around the offer, blinking rapidly and wringing his hands. It felt awful, watching his trust crumbling away from me like the side of an abandoned building when we’d vowed to try and make it better. I bit back the urge to reason with him that I’d never, for one second, consider harming a baby for crying out loud, but my history isn’t a shining one, and our relationship is so, so tenuous.

Lynda ended up saving us both. Considering her view of the Virtues and my valid suspicions over being lied to by my mother’s membership, she urged me to take Blair out for fresh air. That, and the purple overtaking the red in her eyes clearly begged for quiet solitude away from the baby, which I was only too happy to give.

Lynda’s driver, Clifton, drove us to Midtown, parking in a nearby side-street and unfolding the stroller before hanging back a few blocks and watching my every step.

I don’t mind Dad’s not-so-subtle instructions to their driver to keep an eye on me. Sabine’s odd silence causes a queasiness that has me glancing in every alleyway, hesitating under any scaffolding, and biting down on the back of my tongue every time Blair’s stroller hits a pothole in the sidewalk. Sabine must be biding her time—or enjoying her vacation—after so successfully killing my best friend and getting away with it. It’s her mind games at work: Sabine’s well-aware of her power over me and how small I am compared to her. She doesn’t need to end my life to show how easy it is to implode it.

Breathing in cold air, I set my shoulders and push the stroller faster, determined to enjoy this small slice of time with my new sister, even as a dark cloud hovers over my head.

It’s not likely a two-week-old will have any interest in the beauty of retail celebration, but my spirits are lifted as I park the stroller in front of each window and admire the view. Blair’s bundled tight and slumbers through most of it. I’m thankful for it, since I have no idea what to do with a screaming baby other than to shove a bottle in her mouth. Every so often I get a text from Lynda making sure Blair’s okay, but otherwise, I’m deep in the Christmas drift of midtown, pushing the stroller slow and steady through the dense foot traffic of admirers and commuters alike.

A flash of blond strikes my vision just as I pull up to an intersection and wait by the lights. My heart kicks up, beating into my throat, but it couldn’t be.

Chase is in Rhode Island.

Another gust of wind ruffles familiar, thick blond hair, and I watch, mystified, as the guy crosses Madison, his gray peacoat flapping behind him.

I shake my head, dislodging the image as the tall blond merges with other well-tailored, suited men in various shades of black.

“Lady? You gonna walk or you gonna keep fairy-footin’ around?” someone barks behind me.

I turn around and glare at the man before Blair and I travel into the intersection.

A screech of brakes jolts me alive, and I fly back with the stroller right before a car blows through us.

“Jesus Christ!” I screech, then point to the pedestrian walk sign at the same time the driver flips me off. “Are you blind?”

He rolls down his window, his elbow spearing through as he replies, “Fuckin’ use your eyeballs, bitch!”

---