Page 88 of Wicked Salvation
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For every time I stood beside Evelyn and let you think you had to be perfect. For letting all of this happen to you. For raising you to believe you had to endure something like this to get my approval.” And then he whispers into my hair. “I didn’t want to send you away, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”
I don’t understand most of what he’s said, but the hug and his tone of voice is so soothing that I cry into his shoulder. An ugly cry. The kind my mother hates. The kind that wrecks your face, your lungs and your dignity.
My father lets me cry.
He doesn’t scold me or reprimand me.
He doesn’t tell me I’m ruining the family name by having emotions.
“That weak fool will never touch you again,” he says fiercely. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I nod into his shoulder, breath catching.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For finding me tonight.”
He pulls back, brushing my hair from my face. “You were never lost, sweetheart,” he says. “You were just buried. But you dug yourself out.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can trust myself.
Hours have passedand I’m still standing in the same place.
The bathroom is still, so quiet that I can hear my own heart.
I’m back at the Lockhart Estate, sequestered in the Lavender Room, for now. Who knows if my mother will have me ousted and relegated to one of the helpers’ quarters after tonight.
The gilded mirror doesn’t soften me—it shows every flaw in brutal clarity. My mascara is smeared, my mouth trembling and bruised. I’ve sweat through some of the makeup they used to cover my bruises. I’m gaunt, shaking and bruised down to the soles of my feet. To add insult to injury, there’s a tear in my gown, the very one my mother said made me look like a Duchess in bloom during the party.
Now, I’m a Duchess in ruin.
I brace my hands on the marble sink, trying to breathe.
In.
Out.
But the chaos from the party is still roaring inside. Lucian’s words echo like church bells in a haunted chapel. He turned my entire world upside down in the most humiliating way possible. Did he know all along? If he knew I was marrying Silas for money, why didn’t he tell me that he was fucking broke, even after all the conversations we had about him?
My head starts spinning so fast that I retch into the bathroom sink.
And Silas.
FuckingSilas.
The bruises I’ve hidden.
The lies I’ve told.
The promises I whispered to myself at night, hoping if I said them softly enough they’d become true. I placed all my faith in the possibility of our future, even though the reality of our relationship was far from it. He lied to me. Though we both had our own ulterior motives for getting married, I feel especially betrayed by him because he hurt me in every imaginable way.
Mentally.
Physically.
Emotionally.
I was a fool and I?—
The doorknob rattles. I jump.
