Page 88 of The Depraved Prince
I grip the sheets, make sure it’s up to my breasts, and stop at my collarbones.
“Go to sleep, baby. I’m sure whatever it is will be quick, and I’ll return to bed to watch over you while you sleep,” he promises me. I nod as he runs a hand through his black hair.
The sun will rise soon, and my eyes feel dry and slow. I rub them with my hand and try to get comfortable. He grabs his cigarettes from the dresser and tucks them into the back of his pants. He flashes to the balcony and closes and locks them with a key only he has. When he reaches the door to his bedroom, he gives me one last glance, turning slightly toward me, and stares for a couple of seconds like he’s entranced. He stands there like a statue, watching me.
“I love you, Mille. I’ll see you…” he clenches his jaw, waiting patiently for me to respond.
Weirdly, it gives me a warm feeling in my chest and veins. It’s our little dark routine of words we do right before I fall asleep. He smiles, waiting for me to finish his sentence for him.
Dammit.
I’m falling for him. I’m craving him. I’m missing him already, and he hasn’t left his room. He’s caught me now…truly caught me like a mouse, and now I don’t want to try and escape him.
He’s won.
I return the smile, and his eyes brighten like I’ve never seen them do before. The blue in his eyes looks vast, sharpened, and full of hope. I think he knows he has me, too. I rest my head on the pillow and say, “I’ll see you next moon.” This time, the words feel and sound natural…like when the sun reveals itself after a treacherous rainstorm. I didn’t force it out; it just came. The solace smile painted across my flushed face tells him everything.
His shoulders relax, giving me that dashing smile that could make any girl melt for him.
“We’re getting married in just a few more weeks. Only your family and closest ones, like your parents and brother, can attend the wedding. They can attend the Cathedral. They willbe unharmed by every single Northern Vampire, so you don’t have to worry about that. They will have everything that they need. They will stay here in Montana foronlythe wedding…and then they must leave.But you are not leaving meor this town without me.”
I tossand turn in Hayden’s cold, dark room, expecting another southern vampire to come to kill me. I’m expecting maybe even one of the Kingsguards to take me for himself, drain me, and unlock their powers, or whatever that means. On a positive, eerie thought, it’s like no one would dare betray Hayden when he has a reputation for being merciless and unhinged when it comes to me or anyone who crosses him or his family. I mean, look what happened to Gerard.
I’ve become slightly paranoid, but after everything I’ve been through this year, it’s hard not to fear my demise brought forth by monsters I always thought were fictional.
When an hour passes, I realize whatever Hayden’s father wanted from him was more important than he thought.
Dawn is here, but there’s no Hayden. Usually, I’m long asleep, curled up against him, or he’s holding me with my back to his chest. I’m in my velvet-textured, black nightgown, turning the pillow over for the colder side with sweat forming on my brows. I find myself drifting off to sleep, thinking about my father andmy mother.
30
MILLIE
One Year Ago
I knockon my mother’s door. I hold potato salad and pieces of Turkey in a tray wrapped perfectly in aluminum foil. It’s still relatively warm here in South Texas, so I’m in a light orange sweater and tight black leggings. It’s Thanksgiving day, and I spent the day at my grandparent’s place. After battling for the bread rolls, tamales, and cranberry sauce with my cousins, my grandmother tasked me with an assignment. She wants me to take food to my mother’s house since she didn’t show up, even though my grandmother extended an invitation to her and her boyfriend.
I stand there, knocking on an all-white door with a fall wreath. After three knocks, I wait for what seems like the longest minute of my life, but she doesn’t open it. I turn over my shoulder and spot both of their cars parked in their driveway, so they must be here. I smell turkey stuffing through the door, and even though I ate about an hour ago, my mouth waters. Turkey stuffing is one of my mother’s specialties; she passed down that recipe to me.
Suddenly, I hear the locks being played with and turn, and I wear the same welcoming smile I always do when I see my mother—the smile I refuse to give up on because one day, my mother will return one to me.
The door swings open fast, and I startle. I take one giant step back when I realize it’s Santiago. My smile falls straight to the floor, and I turn away from his reddened, irritable, contorted expression and face the front window of their house. He doesn’t say anything to me—not a respectable-mannered hello or even a happy Thanksgiving.
I never expected him to act like a civil human being or treat me like his girlfriend’s daughter. He whips past me and almost brushes his shoulder against mine aggressively, but I dodge it in time. I watch him get into his car, turn it on, and reverse out of the driveway with harsh purpose, like he’s trying to run away. He speeds down the road faster than what anyone should be driving down a neighborhood street.
Oh god. Did they really have a fight? On Thanksgiving day? A day that is supposed to be full of peace, forgiveness, gratitude, and family? I shake my head and suck in a breath until my lungs can’t take anymore and prepare to walk into mayhem.
Sure enough, when I step in, my mother is a sobbing mess. On the floor, with red cheeks and swollen eyes. “Mom?” I ask with clammy hands. She doesn’t greet me with a glance or respond.
I place the food on the kitchen counter, far from the edge, before I jog toward her again. I stand behind her and listen to her soft sobs while she wears her dark, auburn kitchen apron. Her brown hair is tucked behind her ears, and I watch tear after tear fall off her nose.
I hate seeing my mom cry.
“Mom, what happened?” But it’s like she doesn’t hear me. She’s so utterly broken that it makes me wonder, where is shementally? Where is her mind when I’m right in front of her, begging her to look at me? I start to circle her back with my palm as she continues to cry, and an intricate lump forms in my throat. I hate seeing my mother cry. The unconditional love I hold for her does that to me.
“Mom?” I ask again, but I’m returned with silence. She continues to weep on her knees. I act. I throw my arms around her and hug her, hoping it will wake her. I wrap my arms around her side gently. I haven’t held her in what seems like a very long time. I hold her like that for a second, and she stiffens. She doesn’t push me away, though. She lets me hug her while I place my cheek on her shoulder. She smells like flowers. She always smells like flowers.
I want her to hug me back, but it never comes.
