Page 1 of Moon Blind Hearts
Prologue
Jules
I know the moment I come downstairs in the black pencil dress that he doesn’t like it. It’s too dark, too form-fitting, too loud in the middle of all their neutral, navy blue and reds. It’s always been like this, always this source of tension that I didn’t ask for. I just want to wear what I damn well want, and this dress is far more conservative than I’d prefer, but that doesn’t matter when your father is a senator. It doesn’t matter when you’re a Ward.
“Stop,” my father says the moment he sees me, his eyes cold and hard. I don’t know if I ever remember a time when they were anything but the chilly blue they are now. “Go back upstairs and wear something proper.”
“This is proper,” I argue despite knowing how things are supposed to go. “The hem is below the knee, this is business formal, and my shoulders aren’t even showing.”
It’s the age-old argument, and it would make sense if I was a teenager. I’m twenty-three this year. I shouldn’t be told what to wear and where I can go, but when you’re born into one of the most influential families since the Rockefellers, you don’t get a say in much, let alone your clothing.
“Don’t argue,” he says, his voice calm even if his eyes look deadly. “You know better. Go put on the navy blue dress your mother laid out for you.”
The mother in question stands prim and proper next to my father. She’s wearing a matronly red dress and an expensive necklace my father made a show of purchasing for her during his last campaign. He wanted to look like a good husband, a loving one. He’d called the cameras there himself, and made sure to talk about his re-election for Senator. My mother hadn’t been allowed to say a single word, nor did she have a hand in picking the jewelry. Which means she now must wear a necklace that’s the complete opposite of her tastes. She’s lived her entire life like that.
The most important trait of my mother isn’t her dress though. It isn’t her sensible heels, or her perfectly bleached blonde hair. It’s her silence. It’s always her silence. A trait she’s tried desperately to pass onto me to keep me safe. Unfortunately for them both, I’m incapable of it. The only thing my mother has ever given me is the memory of the Italian lullabies she sung for us as children, the only detail she’d given us about her heritage. She couldn’t sing them around my father, who ordered her to sing in English, and when we were about five, she stopped singing them at all, but Albie and I continued to sing them to each other. I don’t think those memories will ever disappear, even if she’s done her best to let them.
But refusing to be the silent daughter often makes me the source of the Ward family’s latest scandal. When your dad’s a senator and your family is as rich as they are, you’re under constant scrutiny. One kiss and suddenly you’re plastered across the newspapers. God forbid you have a drink or try a little weed. Growing up in this family is a nightmare I wouldn’t have made it through if not for my twin brother, Albie.
“Albert. Tell your sister the rule,” my father says, as if I need to hear it again.
Albie’s face stays in a perfect mask as he stands just back and behind my father, his required position until he’s old enough to take over the family mantle. Though his face doesn’t move, his eyes crinkle just the barest amount, letting me know he’s going to tease me about this later.
“We look like a family, and families match and look happy,” Albie parrots, his voice lacking the mocking quality he usually sports when Father isn’t around. A muscle at the corner of his mouth ticks, the only sign of his amusement.
“Precisely. Now go change, Juliet. We’re going to be late because of you. As usual.” He looks at my makeup. “And tone down the red lipstick.”
I roll my eyes and turn to go back upstairs to my perfectly curated bedroom. It’s all crystal I’m not allowed to touch and pink florals I would have never picked for myself. I grab the terrible maroon dress laid across my bed and scowl at it. Bland, simple, and capable of making me blend into the background. Just like my father likes it. Just how I hate it.
I touch my hand to my blonde hair that I’d do anything to dye the brightest colors. But Ward’s don’t look like pretty birds. They look rich and ridiculous. They’re blonde and proper. I pull on the dress with a grunt of disgust before going back down.
My frown feels permanently etched on my face as I glide down the stairs.
“Much better,” Father says before turning and leading the way out the doors towards the limo. “But don’t think I don’t notice the lipstick. Lucky for you, it doesn’t look as bad with the maroon.”
“Much better,” I mock under my breath, sneering at his back. The urge to get brighter lipstick fills me, but I don’t have time to run back to my room and swap it out.
Albie bumps his shoulder against mine. “Don’t worry, Sis. You look good in maroon, too.”
“Shut up,” I grumble at him, flicking him on the nose. “You look all proper in your matching suit and tie.”
He shrugs. “We do what we have to.”
It’s suffocating being the black sheep of the family. It’s even worse for Albie, who’s expected to take over the family name and carry on the legacy. Father is hard on him, and where I have had opportunities to hang out with friends, Albie hasn’t. My role? I’m just breeding stock. That’s a daughter’s duty in a rich family. I’m just lucky that hasn’t come up yet. I’m better as a political statement of good fatherhood right now than I am married off.
Once we’re in the car, my father levels me with his signature cold gaze again and I know I’m about to get a lecture. I brace for it as I tilt my chin up.
“You need to behave for the good of the family, Juliet,” he starts, and I swear I’ve heard this exact conversation start this exact way a thousand times. “Your great grandfather wouldn’t want this for you. He was president so that we could live this life. You have to support the family. If I’m going to win the presidency by the time I’m sixty, you’re going to have to be better. Be better. Be a Ward. Act like it.”
Be a Ward. His signature line. I swear he ends every lecture with it. It’s a privilege to be a Ward. You should be grateful. But I’ve never felt like a Ward. Being under the scrutiny of so many people growing up, being sexualized before I was even a teenager, being monitored twenty-four seven, it wears on you. I don’t even have any friends. The security team often with me makes that impossible. So, my only friend continues to be Albie. At least I have him.
The event we’re attending is some political gala. I don’t know what the pretend charity we’re supposed to be supporting is today. It’s never actually for a good cause. The money raised just goes into the charity pot that then gets funneled back into the rich’s pockets. That’s how they stay rich. No one questions it. And when they do—like I’ve done before—there’s an uproar about how insensitive you are.
Dad makes a speech and wanders off to mingle and convince people to support him during the next campaign, leaving me alone for the first time of the night. I sigh, and immediately reach for the food being passed around on silver platters.
“A figure like that requires you to watch what you eat.”
I turn, a shrimp literally sticking out of my mouth and meet the eyes of a man I don’t think I’ve ever seen up close before. That doesn’t mean I don’t know who he is, though. No, everyone knows the Harrington family. Like the Wards, they’re filthy rich, but unlike us, they’re also rumored to be in bed with the 27 Foundation. Ten years ago, if you asked me if the society of powerful people spread out across twenty-seven locations around the world existed, I would have laughed. Now, I’m no fool. I know who they are. I know how dangerous they are.
