Page 34 of Cruelest Contract
It’s Sunday morning. Alice is most likely at home.
She picks up instantly. “It’s about time. I’ve been frantic, worrying about you. What’s with all the mystery? Who the hell are these people you’re visiting? When will you be back?”
“Alice.” I take a deep breath, in and out. My voice cracks anyway. “I swear I’ll explain everything to you. But right now I need you to tell me that I can do this.”
There’s plenty to love about Alice but what I love the most about my best friend is how she intuitively understands when it’s not the time to argue.
“You can do this, Cecilia,” she says. “Whatever it is, you’ve got it. You’re the strongest person I know. Repeat after me. I CAN DO THIS.”
“I can do this,” I whisper.
“Again,” she says.
I stand up and imagine that my bones are iron. Liquid steel flows in my blood. I’m invincible. “I can do this.”
“Good,” she says. “Don’t you dare forget that it’s true.”
I CAN DO THIS.
The words penetrate deeply. My pulse gradually slows to a normal pace and I glance at the clock.
I now have twelve minutes to get ready and appear before Cassio Tempesta and his sons.
7
CECILIA
Irefuse to wear Tye’s hat. It gets left in an empty wall niche across the hall. He can come find it himself.
There’s not much time to deliberate on a wardrobe choice. With no clue how long I’ll be here(A week? A month? FOREVER??)I didn’t pack lightly.
I feel like it would be rude not to wear the boots I was given and I’m about to slide on a pair of jeans but then I spot the tiered skirt I once wore to visit a Renaissance fair with Alice. The skirt is a muted rose color and reaches mid-calf. When paired with the boots, it looks appropriately country. A vintage white top with a square neck and puff sleeves completes the look.
My hair is hopeless after being left to air dry and the best I can do is pull it into a loose ponytail. Too much makeup bothers my skin so I always apply it lightly. Today the natural flush in my cheeks is deeper than usual. My glasses are exchanged for contacts and the lone piece of jewelry I’m wearing is a sentimental charm on a gold chain.
Pleased with my reflection but increasingly nervous about what awaits downstairs, I grab a cardigan sweater on my wayout. Remembering Tye’s advice, I reluctantly leave my phone behind.
I’ve lived alone for the past two years, ever since Alice moved to the west valley, and I’m used to having my privacy. I’d lock the door if I had a key. Maybe Mel will be willing to give me one.
Now’s not the time to find out. I have two minutes to get downstairs and find Cass Tempesta’s study. While I’m not exactly frightened of Tye, I’m also not excited to be introduced to his ‘bad mood’.
Fort hasn’t returned so I’m guessing he hasn’t yet found Louisa. I need to get this meeting or whatever it is over with so I can go look for her myself.
If I had to name the theme of this house, I’d call it Cowboy Noir. Everything is dark. Dark paint on the walls. Dark hardwood flooring that creaks under my feet. Dark, sturdy furniture. Dark wood accents everywhere from the window frames to the doors. Corridors leading to unknown places beckon from every direction. An imposing three stories high with peaks and cupolas and even a Victorian turret, the undefined architecture style is somewhere between a Vanderbilt mansion and Wuthering Heights.
There are some pops of color here and there. The floor runner extending the length of the hallway is a rich wine hue and embellished with gold scrollwork. The velvet cushions atop a low bench are a deep hunter green. Beside the bench is a round accent table with a framed photo of four little boys wearing cowboy hats and silhouetted in the twilight. Their faces are obscured but I’m sure that the tallest boy, the one second from the left, is Julian.
Any of these rooms might belong to him. I was not given a tour of the house so I have no clue where anyone else sleeps. Last night I was allowed to retreat to my guest suite after dinner and I stayed there.
Right now there’s enough natural daylight filtering in to erase any shadowy mysteries but I wouldn’t be eager to wander around after dark. The lighting is inadequate. The glass wall sconces contain bulbs that offer only a dim glow, no more substantial than candlelight.
Big houses are nothing new to me. I grew up in one. And after my parents were killed, I was relocated to another one until my grandfather decided boarding school was a better plan.
This house is larger than either of those. I’m not bothered by its size but the heavy quality that hangs in the air is more difficult to describe.
The top of the staircase is now in sight. One of the wall lights on my left flickers. Without thinking, I take a closer look and see there’s a small black object attached to the wrought iron base of the sconce. A circle of glass in the center leaves no doubt that I’m looking into the lens of a camera.
My grandfather became exceedingly unreasonable after the wedding massacre. He installed dozens of cameras like this throughout his home at the vineyard. I shouldn’t be surprised at all. The reason why walking through this house gives me the creeps is because I feel like I’m being watched.
