Page 53 of Picture Perfect

"William," he begins, voice deep and resonant, "I must say, Genevieve has been ever so taken with your Adelaide." He nods toward me, and I feel my cheeks warm, unsure if it's from pride or embarrassment. "And Rhett," Mason continues, casting a sidelong glance at the brooding figure across from me, "has expressed a particular fondness for her as well."

Saint shifts in his seat, his dark curls falling into his eyes, shadowing whatever thoughts lurk behind them. I can't help but steal a glance, searching for some sign, some clue to what he's feeling. But like always, he gives nothing away.

"Of course," Mason's words roll on, smooth as the polished silverware, "I am aware there have been negotiations with the Montgomerys regarding Adelaide. But," he leans forward slightly, hands clasped together, "how serious are those talks, hm?"

William, a man who wears his cunning like a second skin, smiles thinly at Mason's inquiry. My heart quickens with a pulse of anxiety. What game are they playing now? And where do I fit into their strategy? The fruit in front of me suddenly seems too bright, too artificial, just pieces arranged for show. Like me.

"Quite serious, I assure you," my father responds, his tone suggesting layers upon layers of unspoken deals and promises. "Addy's future is of paramount importance to us."

Is it? Really? Or is it just another transaction? I force myself to pick at the fruit salad again, each bite tasting more sour than sweet, as I listen to the men weave their web around me.

"We all want what's best for the girl," Cheryl joins the conversation.

What's best for the girl...

The phrase feels hollow, and I can't help but wonder if what's best for the girl ever truly factors into their decisions. I keep my face impassive, a mask perfected over years of practice, while inside, the turmoil brews—a tempest of doubt and defiance.

My fingers twitch around the fork, knuckles whitening. There's a fire building within me, one that's fueled by the yearning for something real, something mine. Yet, there's also anger, a burning indignation at being discussed as if I were livestock at an auction. And beneath it all, revulsion churns; they see me, yet they don't.

"Barrett does seem quite smitten with our Adelaide," Cheryl continues, tilting her head in her husband’s direction. "Don't you think?"

Her eyes lock onto mine, gleaming with something wild and untamed—a feral grin spreading across her features.

I glance over at Saint. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, and I search them for an ally, for sincerity. But what greets me is an impenetrable fortress.

I take in Dre, with his ice blue eyes that have known too much coldness, and Chess, whose smirk doesn't quite reach the storm brewing in his hazel gaze. My mind reels as the realization dawns—my plans, my hopes, they're dissolving before my eyes.

I thought they were different. I thought, maybe, I could come to trust them. But the truth cuts deeper than any knife. To them, I am just another shiny toy to be bartered.

A pawn. A plaything.

The future I had painstakingly pieced together in my dreams, one where I could stand on my own, feels like a mirage now.

"Plans change," I whisper under my breath, a mantra to steady my resolve. “I can still do this. I can still get out.”

A mask of indifference settles over my features. My heart hardens, calcifying against the harsh reality of their world. If a doll is all they want, then I'll be the finest porcelain—beautiful, empty, and cold to the touch.

I’ll don the silken gowns and painted smiles. I’ll dance on their strings and curtsy under their gazes.

Mason leans forward, steepling his fingers. "I can assure you, he is. He's a good boy, he will take care of your daughter. And, it is a union that can benefit both parties."

William, a shrewd negotiator, narrows his eyes. "But what assurances do we have that this union will be fruitful for us?"

"Rest assured, Senator," Mason says, his voice dripping with an eerie calmness. "An alliance with me is always fruitful."

My heart pounds in my chest, a silent drum of resistance against this arranged fate. I clench my fists under the table, desperate for some semblance of control over my own life.

"What do you think, Adelaide?"

I take a deep breath, my gaze drifting away from the calculating stares of the men surrounding me. I refuse to let their games break me, to let them strip away my agency.

"What do I think?" I repeat, my voice brittle.

"Yes, darling," Cheryl's laughter tinkles like broken glass. "I know you're fond of the Montgomery boy, but I think Barrett could be an excellent addition to the family."

The family. Right. A reminder that the family's needs come far above my own.

I plaster a simpering smile on my face. "I think you're absolutely right, Mother," I lie smoothly, setting the fork down. They want to see me calm, collected—oblivious and pliable. So, I'll give them a performance worthy of a standing ovation.

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