Page 37 of The Fence Between Us

Usually she avoided cursing, but under the circumstances, it felt appropriate. The stumbling, the confusion, the pounding and persistent headache—all of it made sense. Only one puzzle piece continued to elude her. Why was she in her old bedroom?

Skye searched the room, exploring every corner and testing anything she might be able to use as a weapon. While she looked, she ran through every recent conversation she’d had with Dylan and her parents, trying to find the anomaly that would lead to this conclusion. Despite their encounters being charged with anxiety and strain, none of their words stood out as anything out of the ordinary.

They left the room like a shrine dedicated to her childhood years; the little girl they’d trained to be the perfect princess. When she left for college, she never looked back. The reason why glared at her in every inch of the room, especially the things she chose to leave behind. Nearly every gift her parents gave her sat on the vanity. Diamond bracelets. Emerald rings. Pearl necklaces. The wealth atop the vanity was staggering. Designer dresses she’d long sense outgrown still hung in the closet, the names on the tags ones she could never afford on her teacher’s salary. In truth, she had no desire to own anything like those clothes again.

Maybe she was crazy to leave those here, to take the solo route paying for college, but she learned long ago that her parents did not give gifts. They traded favors to unwitting participants and then collected on the favor later, with interest.

Buying her expensive things became their apology letter, but the jewelry, the dresses, and other gifts were just a pretty bejeweled prison for a confused, sad teenage girl. Skye wished she’d seen the gifts for what they were earlier, but the bribes never worked on her. She had only ever wanted one thing, and her father had successfully ripped that away from her.

Her parents always obsessed over maintaining societal standards, spending her youth wrapped up in themselves and whatever they thought might further their social standing. With Max in the mayor’s office, Gayle thrived under the attention she received as his wife. She planned parties and charitable events, anything to fulfill the imaginary expectations of the Wellington name. Skye snorted. She knew who her parents really were—power hungry opportunists, plain and simple.

Across the room, the doorknob twisted, and the door creaked. Skye spun around, putting her back to the wall. Pushing down the instinct to freeze, she bent her trembling knees and steadied herself on the balls of her feet. Every screaming part of her wanted to cower, to hide behind the bed, but she squashed it, hard.

Dylan, dapper as ever in a black pin-striped suit and tie, waltzed in as if he owned the right to the room and all of its trappings. He scanned the space with bland and hooded eyes, a smirk growing on his face as he noted her position against the far wall. He tucked his hands into his pants’ pockets and for all the world appeared like the cat who ate the canary.

“Skye,” he said, voice deceptively soft, “we are so glad you have decided to join us.”

Beneath the gentle tone, an underlying note of condescension lurked. She’d always hated that.

She bared her teeth at him in a feral snarl, surprising herself with her ferocity. “Dylan, what the hell?”

Apparently, she should have been harsher when she broke up with him in college if he still harbored some delusion that she had any interest in him. His obsession passed from an annoyance into a different realm of concern.

He tsked. “Is that any way for a gentle lady to speak?”

Skye resisted the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to let him out of her sight for a moment. She opted for flipping him off with both hands.

Behind him, the sharp clack of high heels on the wood floor grew louder until Gayle Wellington glided through the door.

Skye felt the color drain from her face, and her voice came out as a whisper. “Mother?”

Gayle’s red-tinted lips curved upward at the corners in a sorry excuse for a smile that contrasted with her saccharine sweet voice. “Good evening, darling. Why, when you didn’t wake up right away, you gave Dylan and I quite a scare.”

Skye’s mouth dropped open a fraction in disbelief. Surely, they weren’t serious.

Gayle strode to the closet, her steps marking the seconds like a clock. She nearly floated in her grace, ever the perfect lady, and hung a hot pink garment bag from a hook on the closet door, its bottom barely dragging on the carpet.

Skye’s stomach dropped. Her nausea came back in full force, and she pressed herself tighter to the wall, wishing the wallpaper would come alive and swallow her whole. Her newly discovered inner-fortitude quickly ebbed away, evaporating a little more with every new and horrible puzzle piece that clicked into place.

“No matter, sweetie.” Her stepmother executed a sharp turn, the deceptively serene uptilt of her lips plastered in place. “Now that you are awake, we can move forward with the wedding.”

Skye’s head shook back and forth in appalled denial, her tangled hair swinging languidly about her face.

Gayle waved a hand dismissively at her and gave a small laugh, the sound like tinkling bells. “Oh darling, Dylan’s been quite smitten with you since your first date. With the mayor and the senator both up for reelection, wouldn’t it be just perfect for your love story to help voters make the right choices in November?”

Skye flicked her gaze toward Dylan, hoping he wasn’t as delusional as her stepmother. Gayle had always been driven and manipulative, but this? This plan to force Skye, her own stepdaughter, into a marriage she didn’t want? And for what—political gain, more power, higher social standing?

Dizziness coursed through her, making her stomach roll. She crossed her arms over her belly as if she could stave off the queasy, bubbling feeling as a cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Dylan, for his part, listened to Gayle speaking with an intensity that startled Skye. She expected his eyes to glimmer with glee, but she found the solemnity in his gaze far more frightening. She contemplated pinching herself in an attempt to wake up from this nightmare. The longer Gayle stared at her expectantly, that placid smile fixed on her lips, Skye’s hopefulness drained away, agitation rising to fill the emptying space.

“You cannot seriously think I’ll go along with your hairbrained scheme?” Incredulous disgust rang in her voice. “Why the hell would I even stick around for this?”

Skye took a step forward, aiming for the door, but Dylan moved toward her, angling his body to block her path, his hands out to physically stop her if she continued forward.

Gayle smoothed her wrinkle-free navy sheath dress and sniffed daintily. “Come now, dear. Enough with this childish behavior. You’re old enough to stop playing games.”

“Games? You hear how insane you sound, right?” Skye’s voice rose shrilly as she realized the sheer depth of her stepmother’s delusion.

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