Page 47 of Deviant Illusions

The expression on her face isn’t one that I’ve seen before. I’d almost categorize it as fear, but the Lerouxs are too powerful to know fear. Fucking arrogant dickheads.

But I lie in the hopes that it is.

“Yes, Mom,” I say, then drop my voice and widen my eyes. “I remember everything.”

A lump forms in her throat and she audibly gulps as the new tormentor joins us. My father doesn’t look at me and he nearly runs out of the room as he says over his shoulder, “Get her ready and make sure she doesn’t ruin this.”

Ever the dutiful wife, my mother follows him. My eyes close in refusal to acknowledge the newcomer as I say, “Touch me and I’ll fucking kill you.”

My hands are tied behind my back, and I can’t even sit myself up, but I’ll find anything to do it. Even if it harms me in the process. Especially if it does. Yet they don’t attack me, choosing to remain silent as the door drags and booted footsteps move further away.

Their heels click until they’re standing beside my head and their voice is soft—too soft—and caring. “Where did my little princess go?” they ask, and I pull my head away from their hand as it brushes my forehead. “Dilly.”

My eyes snap open at the horrible nickname and my voice cracks. “I’m not a pickle.”

Ruby is older, obviously, but she sits on her haunches with a thick, wool coat wrapped around her. She still wears her signature nude lipstick, and she looks exactly like the beautiful princess she always has. Her hair is shorter than our mother allowed it to be and sits just above her shoulders. Moreimportantly, her eyes are the brightest they’ve ever been. They were always a dark, inky navy when I was a child and I used to wish that mine were the same so that I had something in common with her. Now they’re a bright blue, like deep waters that shimmer.

“You’re my little pickle,” she whispers, scrunching her nose up while lightly bopping me on the nose like I’m a child. She gently presses her fingers under my shoulders and helps me sit up. A sigh blows past her lips, and she shakes her head as she undoes my bound wrists. The cold air kisses the abrasions, and I look at my oldest sister, the person who was always there for me until she left, with tears burning the back of my eyes.

“Are youreal?” I whisper, half mouthing the words in fear she’ll disappear.

Warmth spreads over my cheek as she delicately strokes my cheek with the back of her fingers. “I’m sorry, it’s all real. But he’ll treat you well or I’ll kill him.” She sighs again and lowers her voice. “Do you remember what I told you? About how you might need to run?”

I nod at the vague memory of her sitting Scarlet and me down in her closet. She was weird that day and made us promise that if we were ever approached by a man named Rowan, that we’d run. Not hide. We were to run into the biggest spotlight we could find and make sure everyone knew our names, make so much noise that everyone in the vicinity had no choice but to watch us. In horror or in awe.

She looks over her shoulder at the door before leaning forward and whispering into my ear, “It’s too late to run, Dilly. I’m really sorry. I tried. I promise that I tried to stop this.”

“Stop what?” I ask, sounding weak.

“I tried to stop you living the life I was supposed to, but it’s too late now.” She wraps both arms around me, hugging me so tightly that I’m sure there’s going to be an imprint of her limbsagainst my shoulders. “Kane will keep you safe. Safer than I could. Don’t trust anyone else and lie to yourself. Tell yourself that you’re marrying the boy you always loved instead of the reality.”

“Ruby, you’re scaring me.”

She shakes her head and softly kisses my cheek.

“Don’t be scared.” Her reassurance is bullshit. “Not now and not in front of anyone.”

Blowing out a breath, she pushes the gentleness away and rises to her full height. The edges of her coat part, revealing a small bump. My eyes widen at the sight of it and I slowly look up. “Tell me you’re bloated.”

A small smile lifts her lips, and she stops her hand cradling her stomach by curling her fingers into a fist. “Not bloated.”

The smile falls as she helps me stand. She becomes mechanical. Everything about her demeanor is clinical as she guides me to the corner of the room where a gown bag is carelessly placed on the floor. I don’t know anything about what a pregnant person should do but I don’t think lifting things is high on the list. So I take it for her. “Do you need to change?”

She shakes her head, and her eyes soften. “It’s for you.”

I slowly pull the zipper down, staring at the fancy lace like it’s a snake ready to attack.

“We don’t have time for me to explain everything,” she says softly. “Not like I had, but?—”

“Why the fuck is there a wedding dress?” I push the gown bag towards her. “I am not getting fucking married.”

She slowly nods and whispers, “You already are.”

What the fuck is she talking about?

I can’t fight her because she’s pregnant, so I try to keep my tone as calm as I can.

“No.”

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