Page 47 of His to Keep

My bottom lip wobbles, and tears pool behind my eyelids. “Then we have to convince him there isn’t anything going on.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” he asks, an edge to his tone. “When you can’t stop.”

This time, I turn in his direction, horrified by the words that have just come from his mouth. I try and sit up, but my back screams in agony, and I whimper. Arching his head, he stares down at me with a mixture of remorse and more anger.

“I’ll…I’ll stop if that’s what you want. I won’t talk to you again, just like how it was meant to be in the first place. I won’t be another Orla.”

“Good,” he replies coldly, between his eyebrows wrinkled. “You might actually live.”

With that, he gets up and leaves. He doesn’t go into the bathroom this time. Instead, he leaves the bedroom altogether, slamming the door behind him.

I lie there listening to his footsteps until they’re nothing more than faded thuds. A tear drips from my eye and falls onto the pillow, his words like daggers through my chest, the meaning stabbing me deeply.

Maybe this should be the end of him and me. To be alone just how it was always meant to be.

* * *

My back heals slowly,and it’s hell. The first week, any slight movement makes the drying wounds split and bleed all over again. Even though Callum and I aren’t speaking and haven’t since he whipped me, he tenses up whenever I cry out from any awkward movement. As if the memory of what he did comes back, and he relives it all over again. I know I do—every time. Even the second week is torture, and I think back to when he was whipped on his birthday. How did he deal with so many at one time? How he was able to move around the room without screaming in agony because that’s exactly what I feel like doing.

By the end of the week, I’m able to eat downstairs in the dining room, even though I can’t lean back and have to hunch over my meal. I’m not hungry and don’t want to eat. The atmosphere’s strained and silent. When dinner ends, Father Aaron straightens his back.

“I have something to announce,” he says as I roll a pea around my plate. “Tonight, we’re having a party. In which I expect you all to dress for the occasion. I’ve left something special for tonight on your bed, Ava.”

I swallow hard. It’s the first time he’s said anything to me since I was whipped. Would he get a dress for someone he intends to kill? Does it mean Callum convinced him? The relief is instantaneous. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Callum sags beside me, and I wonder if it’s relief also or something else. Does he know what this party will entail?

“We will talk alone,” Father Aaron adds. Unlike any other time that he’s requested my presence, all I feel is hollow inside.

After dinner finishes, John and Callum leave the table, Callum walking out without even a backward glance. While Penny clears away the dishes, I sit with my head bowed, knowing whatever Father Aaron says next will be a warning or a threat of some sort.

“I was meant to discuss the nature of your relationship with my son.” This is it. This is my chance to put any suspicion to rest—an opportunity to save myself.

“You’re right about me being wicked, my Lord.” I’m surprised by how convincing I sound. “I don’t mean to be. I don’t know that I’m doing anything wrong. Gran always said I’m like my mother. Corruption runs through my veins.”

“Hmm.” He stares at me for a while, drumming his fingers against the table. “This is why you’ve been put in my path. To save you from yourself. My son is weak. He has always been. Though I cannot blame him for being privy to your beauty, as I too have struggled to contain my desire for you. Brother Joseph was right about women like you and your devil ways. But I know you do not mean for it to be that way. You are still deserving. I hope your punishment has taught you to be less provocative.” I bite my tongue so hard, the metallic taste of blood pools in my mouth. I force myself to smile timidly through all the insanity. That is until he grabs my hand, and my smile instantly drops. “Besides, you’re soon to be mine. Once you are, you willneverbe anyone else’s.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” I say robotically, feeling nothing but everything. The emotions inside tearing me apart. “It means so much to me.”

I swallow vomit.

“Very well. You may leave to get ready for the party. But Ava, make sure you remember what I said. For if I ever find you with my son again, I will kill you.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Black. The dress Father Aaron chose for me to wear to the party is black. A halter with a white rounded collar bound at the waist and a pretty pair of black heels to match. I’ve never worn shoes like these before, and I nibble on my bottom lip as I take in the length and pointiness of them. Momma swore by heels.The higher, the better, she claimed. But I never understood how she was able to, well,walk.

Next to my new things, laid out just as neatly, is a white shirt and pants for Callum. When I returned to the bedroom, he was staring at them with his teeth clenched behind his mouth. He didn’t acknowledge that I’d come back, and I tried to smother my pain with anger.

I’m soangrythat he’s kept so much from me. His relationship with Orla, who was also taken by Father Aaron, was like a slap to my face. But then, I should be angry with myself for being stupid, thinking I mean something to him. How can I if he can’t be honest with me? Not only that, but I’m also not convinced this is the last of the secrets. Like why we’re having a party. What are we celebrating?

It’s eight-thirty when I grab the dress and shoes and get dressed in the bathroom, wincing when the clothing rubs on my scars. Running a brush through my hair and adding the headband, the heels feel strange as I slip them on my feet. Like when I first wore roller skates as a child. The same uncertainty if I’m going to fall is there, and I grab onto anything I can as I learn how to walk in them.

When I stumble back into the bedroom, Callum’s dressed too. As he fixes the cuff on his sleeve, I feel myself instantly blushing. He looks so handsome that I’m at a loss for words. Obviously still agitated, he glances my way, doing a once over of me. Despite his moodiness, his eyes widen a little, and he clears his throat before diverting his gaze away.

My chest flutters.No.We’re not speaking. I’m meant to hate him. The butterflies in my stomach must die.Now.

“Let’s go.” Abruptly turning, he leaves the room. Letting out a deep breath, I follow him as best I can, knowing I’d die of embarrassment if I tripped and fell into the back of him.

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