Page 64 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

After freshening up in the ensuite bathroom, I pad over to the walk-in closet that is fully stocked with expensive designer clothes and shoes, all of which are in my exact size—like that’s not creepy at all.

After donning a simple A-line shift dress and matching cardigan, I go to the door, finding it unlocked. This could be my chance.

My heart leaps into my throat, my muscles tightening in anticipation of making a run for it. When I open the door, however, the same girl stands right outside in the hallway, along with a big, burly guard, waiting to escort me. My shoulders slump with disappointment as I fall in line, following them down the stairs.

Without being obvious, I look around, trying to take in all the hallways and doors and committing them to memory so that if ever given the chance to run, I won’t find myself backed into a corner.

Once we reach the dining area, the girl shuffles me inside. She slams the doors behind me, the sound echoing loudly in the large opulent room. The walls are a dark green with heavy velvet drapes that reach all the way to the marble floors. The center of the room is dominated by an oversized mahogany table that seats at least twenty.This is where they eat breakfast?

All heads seated at the table turn in my direction, and I shrink back under the weight of all their attention.

Next to my birth parents sit an older couple: a heavyset man with white hair and a ruddy face, and a tall, birdlike woman with dry, pinched lips. The oldergentleman, I notice, has the same green eyes as me and my father.

These must be my grandparents.

My assumption is confirmed when they stand, moving forward to make their introductions.

Ronan, my grandfather, gives me a big, warm smile before wrapping me in a tight hug. I leave my arms by my sides, not returning the gesture. He appears nice enough, butnicehas never gotten me anywhere with strangers.

My grandmother, Lydia, however, looms behind him, regarding me with shrewd dark eyes. Once he releases me and steps back, she swoops, in circling me like a vulture.

“She is lovely, Colin. Nice skin. Good hair,” she says, taking a strand between her wrinkled fingers before giving it a hard tug that has my scalp stinging. “Petite, modest bust,” she says as my cheeks flame.

She continues to comment on my looks, picking apart my attributes and flaws, while everyone watches on, as if this is an everyday occurrence.

Once she is finished, she turns to my father. “Well done. She’s certainly pretty enough, though perhaps a little too robust in the bum for my taste…”

Did she just say I had a big ass?

They continue speaking like I’m not even here, but it doesn’t matter—I’m not listening anymore. I am too outraged at the audacity of this woman. Who in the hell does she think she is?

My intentions are to play nice, to try and win their trust, in hopes of gaining enough freedom I need to escape, so I force myself to keep my mouth shut.

Lydia continues her assessment. “I think it’s safe to assume she’s no virgin. That may deter some suitors, but she’s easy on the eyes. I have no doubt you’ll secure a good match for her.”

Suitors? A match? What the hell are they talking about?

“And she has the McGregor eyes,” Ronan says with pride. “That will help with the questions they’re sure to have about her legitimacy. No, you’ll have no trouble. She’ll make a fine bride.”

“Bride?” I ask, on a whisper.

All the blood drains from my face as nausea churns in my gut. These people are all insane. What is this, the 1830’s? They can’t just marry me off to the highest bidder. I have a fucking boyfriend, for God’s sake—at least, I hope I still do.

Oh God. Archer.

What will he think if he finds me and learns I’m married to someone?

I choke back a sob, unwilling to fall apart or show weakness in front of these people. I push it down. I cannot think about that now, or Iwillcrack.

“You’re all fucking crazy,” I say quietly, but no one is listening to me.

They continue to discuss my future as if I’m not standing right here. I don’t catch everything they say, but I hear something about securing alliances—whatever that means—and a lot of talk about my potential husbands.

Breakfast dishes are brought in, and everyone moves to the table to re-take their seats.

I no longer have any appetite. All I want is to get the hell out of here.

I take a few steps back towards the exit. I would rather be locked up in my glorified prison than stay here another minute with these people.

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