Page 86 of Picture Perfect

Dre steps forward, his voice hard as stone. "You should see her, Mason. She couldn't even walk today she was so weak. I can count the spaces between her ribs. She won't tell us anything, won't let us in that house without a formal invite."

Chess adds his piece, his usual light demeanor nowhere to be found. "I caught her sneaking a granola bar. That was all I'd seen her eat, besides green juice, for two damn days."

Mason's gaze sharpens, the gravity of our words sinking in. "Are you certain? Sometimes young women have problems—"

"Problems?" I cut him off, feeling the anger bubble inside me again. "She's been eating when she's with us. I feed her. Breakfast and lunch every school day. She eats. She's been getting better. This isn't some problem she has; it's one they're giving her."

"Starving," Dre emphasizes, as if the word alone could convey the urgency. "They are starving her."

"Okay." Mason holds up a hand, signaling for calm. "I'm not sure what you think I can do, but if what you're saying is true..."

"It is," Chess says firmly. "We wouldn't lie about this. We wouldn't just jump to this conclusion."

"Alright." Mason nods, a new resolve in his posture. "I'll make some calls. We'll find a way to help Adelaide."

"No. I want her."

"Rhett, you can't possible expect me to—"

"You already have, haven't you? You started the discussion with her father. A trade, right? Like she's livestock we can bid on. So bid on her."

"That would involve entering into a business relationship with William Winthrop. That man is..."

"It gives you an in, doesn't it? Use it to take the bastard down. I'm already eighteen. She will be in a few months. Make her my wife."

Mason leans back in his leather chair, rubbing the tips of his fingers against the bridge of his nose. I can feel his gaze on me, analyzing my every move. His narrowed eyes and furrowed brow give away his skepticism, his doubt of my words.

But this is no joke—I have never been more serious in my life.

Finally, he sighs, running his hands through his hair. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. Negotiating with the Winthrops will be delicate."

"Thank you." The tension drains from my shoulders. Maybe there's hope yet. For Princess. For us. But mostly for her, because no matter what, Princess deserves to be treated like a queen.

Chapter forty-one

Addy

The weight of my eyelids feels heavier than the backpack slung over one shoulder as I push through the glass doors into the cacophonous halls of Saint Ignatius. It's a buzzing hive, students swarming in their cliques, flitting back and forth as they spread gossip like pollen.

I shuffle forward, each step an effort to keep myself anchored to this routine that's wearing me down to the bone.

"Hey, Addy," someone calls out, a voice lost in the sea of chatter. I don't look up. What's the point?

I'm so tired—tired of pretending, of fighting, of constantly being on edge. The thought bubbles up unbidden, a desperate whisper from the darkest corner of my mind: What if I just run?

"Are you okay?" A girl brushes past me, concern fleeting across her face before she's pulled back into the current of students.

"Fine," I mutter, but it's a lie even a stranger can see through.

A fantasy takes hold, a siren's call coaxing me toward an invisible precipice. I could leave, I think. Just turn around, walk out, and never look back.

My heart hammers against my chest at the thought. I'd be homeless, sure, but freedom might be worth sleeping on a park bench. There must be a shelter somewhere that would take me in until I'm eighteen—a few months of hiding, a few months of living without looking over my shoulder. I could do that. I've survived worse.

"Watch out!" Too late; I bump into a locker, the metal cold against my arm, snapping me back to reality.

"Sorry," I mumble, not sure who I'm even apologizing to—the locker, the nameless faces around me, or myself for even considering escape.

I could do it, couldn't I? Just disappear? The bell rings, a shrill reminder that I'm still here, still trapped in this life, but only for now. Maybe, just maybe, there's a sliver of hope. Maybe I'm more than this school, these walls, this suffocating existence.

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