Page 6 of Unholy Nights

I force my face into the bland smile I’ve perfected over years of practice, even though sleep was basically impossible last night. Cohen’s words kept bouncing around in my head like a pinball machine, making my brain buzz and my stomach do these weird flips that are probably a sign of impending death. Or worse—feelings.

We are definitely not discussing what his cologne did to me. Or how his breath on my neck made parts of me tingle that I didn’t even know could tingle.

I mean, seriously. What is that about?

And why does he have to be so handsome?

“Yes, Mother. Thank you.”

She nods, satisfied with her inspection, and turns to her tablet. “We have a busy day ahead. I’ve arranged for a photo shoot this afternoon to promote the holiday collection for the website,” she announces, not looking up. “The photo shoot is at two. Marketing team call at noon. You’ll be present for both.”

I nod because what else can I do? Every minute of my life is scheduled, planned, and A/B tested for maximum brand exposure. I’m not a daughter—I’m a walking, breathing advertisement.

The worst part is she doesn’t even want my input. I’m just supposed to sit there, look pretty, and nod at appropriate intervals while she maps out my entire future. Her master plan is probably saved in a spreadsheet somewhere titled “How to Turn Your Daughter Into a Carbon Copy of Yourself in 500 Easy Steps.”

I’m pretty sure step one iscrush all signs of personality.

Spoiler alert: I’d rather throw myself off the roof than turn into her. I mean, I don’t know exactly what I want out of life, but I know it’s not... this.

Maybe I want to be messy sometimes. Maybe I want to be real.

Not that I’d know what either of those things feels like.

Mother’s imperial ice-queen stare locks onto me again. “And Emerald?” Her voice drops into that tone that means she’s about to issue a proclamation and I better obey. “The Christmas party is approaching. We’re hosting some very important guests this year.” Her lips thin. “Everything must be flawless.”

Flawless. Perfect. Impeccable.

The holy trinity of my mother’s religion. Everything has to be perfect, no matter the cost.

And trust me—I’m not talking about money.

The price is always paid in pieces of your soul.

“I won’t forget,” I mutter, already dreading another night of playing Living Barbie at my mother’s social circus.

“Good.” She sips her tea. “And Emerald...” Her eyes narrow. “Let’s avoid any unpleasantness this year. No boys. No distractions.”

I blink. Wait, what? She says this like I’m some wild child sneaking out to party every weekend. “Boys?”

Her lips twist into something that might be a smile if you’ve never actually seen one before. “Yes, sweetheart. I don’t need you getting any silly ideas in that head of yours. This party is far too important for teenage dramatics.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Since when have Ievercaused drama? Between being homeschooled by the most boring tutors on earth and having every minute of my life scheduled down to when I’m allowed to breathe, I’ve barely even seen a boy my age, let alone talked to one.

And friends? That’s literally a foreign concept in the Delacroix household.

Not that I don’t want those things. God, I want them so badly it hurts. But asking for anything resembling a normal life isn’t just guaranteed to piss her off—it’s completely useless. Mother would never let anyone else into the bubble she’s built around me.

Still... maybe...

“Actually,” I start, hating how small my voice sounds, “I was thinking maybe I could bring someone? Not even a date necessarily. Just... a friend? Someone my age?” Her eyes slice into me and I scramble to add, “Just to talk to? I’ve never—” I swallow hard, despising how pathetic I sound, but I’m so lonely I could scream. “I’ve never been allowed to have friends, and I thought maybe this year...”

She studies me like I’m a holiday tablescape that doesn’t match her aesthetic. Then she sighs. “You know how important appearances are, Emerald. This party isn’t the time for... experiments.” Her eyes get that calculating look that almost never ends well for me. “However, if you behave properly, perhaps after the holidays we can discuss finding you an appropriate companion. Someone who meets our standards.”

Translation: Someone as boring and soulless as she wants me to be.

My stomach drops as the reality of her words settles over me. Of course, even my friendships need her seal of approval, like everything else in my life has to pass her inspection first. I don’t know why I thought turning nineteen would change anything. I’m still completely dependent on her—no money, no life skills, not even allowed to learn how to drive. I’m an idiot for even bringing it up. Now she has something else to hold over my head, another weakness to add to her spreadsheet of my faults.

I force my face into that blank, pleasant expression I’ve perfected over the years. “Yes, Mother.”

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