Page 98 of The Misfit

“You see what you do to me?” I pant. “This is us. This is our normal. And I won’t have anyone else make you doubt that, not even yourself.”

She hangs her head, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face, and lets out a long, stuttering breath. “Will this be my punishment every time I question it? Are you going to make me watch us have sex every time?”

I shrug and gently pull out of her, then get a rag from the kitchen to clean us both up. I don’t bother putting her panties back on. She doesn’t have any more classes today.

After I help her stand and lead her to the couch, she curls her body around mine, resting her head on my shoulder. It takes a moment, but I notice then that there isn’t even a whisper of changing her gloves or needing personal space.

Fuck. I think I’m …

I have to hold back the words as they spring to my mind. She’s not ready for them yet. Hell, I’m not ready for them yet, but they are there, waiting on the tip of my tongue.

Three little words that mean we are well and truly done pretending.

TWENTY-THREE

salem

Sterling Manor’sfoyer gleams with old money perfection, everything arranged at precise angles, which should soothe my need for order. Instead, each perfect surface feels like a challenge. Like a test I’m already failing.

“Right this way,” Katherine directs, leading us toward the grand living room. “The photographer’s been waiting. It’s very important we get Emma’s engagement photos done.”

Lee’s hand tightens on mine, skin against silk, as we follow his mother. He’s been quieter than usual this morning, tension radiating off him in waves I can almost count. One, two, three pulses of anxiety that match my own.

The living room is a mess of equipment and people—lighting stands disrupting the perfect symmetry of the architecture, cables snaking across Persian rugs, and a photographer who immediately zooms in on us.

“Ah, the happy couple!” The photographer approaches, hands already reaching to position us. My breath catches in my throat. He’s going to touch me. Move me. Arrange me like one of the props scattered around the room.

Suddenly, I notice all the things that are wrong. Katherine’s pearl necklace doesn’t match her shoes, and the subtle differences in sheen on her outfit make my skin crawl. The antique curtains hang unevenly, the left side exactly two inches more open than the right.

Silver frames on the mantel tilt at varying degrees, none of them parallel to the edge. Three different staff members shift furniture without measuring the space between pieces, creating dysfunction in what should be symmetry.

Freshly cut flowers are placed in crystal vases, but they’ve been cut to different lengths, making the noise in my head louder. Even the morning light streaming through those uneven curtains hits the room at angles that make the shadows irregular, unpredictable, wrong.

“Salem?” Lee’s voice echoes off in the distance like he’s a million miles away. “You okay?”

No. Nothing about this is okay.

“I-I’m okay. Just a little overwhelmed.”

“It’s going to be all right. I’m right here with you through the whole thing. Maybe count the books on the shelf over there.” He points. “Kinda sad, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single person pick up one of those books and read it.”

His comment makes me smile, and I want to believe him, but ten minutes in, and he already isn’t here. I can already feel him slipping through the cracks, disappearing as he eyes the drink cart, no doubt to escape his parents’ judgmental gazes and the other socialites’ whispers. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want to add more pressure to what he’s already feeling. I just need to get through this photo op we’ve been roped into, and then everything will be back to normal. Back to us.

“Areyouokay?” I ask.

“Peachy.” Lee smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I give his hand a tight squeeze to let him know that I’m here and that I see him, feel him. That I’m trying to be suitable, even when this place and these people make me feel like I’m falling apart at the seams. Even if Katherine’s smile holds that edge of triumph as she watches me catalog every imperfection in her perfect world.

The photographer takes a step closer, and I start counting my heartbeats, lacking ceiling tiles to ground me in this perfect nightmare of asymmetry.

“Let’s position the newest addition to our family first.” Katherine’s voice drips honey-coated venom as she gestures for me to move forward. “Salem, darling, do try to look natural.”

The word is a blade designed to slice.

Natural.As if anything about this is natural. I force myself to step away from Lee, measuring each movement. The photographer circles me like a vulture, adjusting my shoulders, tilting my chin, arranging me like a doll.

Lee’s other family members, a couple I met at the gala, stand waiting, watching me, too. Emma, his sister, her fiancé, who I can’t remember his name, Lee’s grandfather, and father all stare, watching and waiting.

“Perfect!” the photographer exclaims, though nothing is perfect. My silk gloves feel too tight, the buttons not quite aligned. Thanks to his positioning, the hem of my chosen dress now sits asymmetrically. “Now, just relax those shoulders.”

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