Page 183 of Heartless Beloved

I’m trembling under the black, knee-length lace dress I’m wearing. I grab the black faux fur coat on my bed, my hand itching to wear the fuchsia leather jacket I have next to it.

Vincent must notice because he says, “One last time, Miss Delacroix.” When I turn to him confused, he adds, “Just pretend one last time. Then you can be yourself forever.”

I understand he knows everything, and I’m surprised my mom told him, wondering what their relationship truly is. How close are they?

His words stick with me as I button my coat.

Then you can be yourself forever.

And isn’t that the problem when you don’t know who you truly are?

My father has dictated me my entire life. I only know a couple of things about my taste and personality. I love fuchsia and Taylor Swift. But I don’t know who I am as a person. I relied on my dad for that. I had no choice but to.

The press follows our car closely as we make our way to Stoneview Cemetery. They’re forbidden to follow us past the gates, but it doesn’t stop them from hurling questions at us as we walk the few yards from where our chauffeur is dropping us off and to the entrance.

“Miss Delacroix, is it true you took drugs in college?”

My mom holds me closer, slipping anignore themin my ear.

“Mrs. Delacroix, you seem awfully close to your bodyguard…did your husband confront you about it?”

I take her hand in mine and give her a small smile. “I hope that’s true,” I whisper before eyeing Vincent.

She blushes and shakes her head. “Don’t be silly.”

“Miss Delacroix! Miss Delacroix!” When I don’t respond, the man insists, “Elisabeth!” I freeze at that name. He jumps on that. “Is it true you’re dating a gang member from the North Shore of Silver Falls?”

I don’t know. Is it? I haven’t heard from Xi in the two weeks following my dad’s death. I didn’t message him since he changes numbers so often. I knew he wouldn’t receive it after such a huge event.

Vincent nudges me, silently telling me to keep going until we’re safe behind the gates. I nod at Ella and Peach as we walk past the rows and rows of seats. They’re sitting in the middle with their parents. Her brother Luke is here too. So are Christopher Murray and his parents. It’s a small town, and most of us know each other. Camila is sitting near the front with the Diaz family. Her mother was one of my father’s many attorneys.

His funeral lasts forever. Speeches after speeches about how much of a good man and fair politician he was. The national anthem, a flag folded on his casket, and finally, after forever standing, sitting, and standing again in the snow under the umbrella Vincent is holding above my mother and me, he is put to rest.

I have never felt so relieved in my life. Because nothing would have stopped him but death. If for a bullet in his chest, he would have tormented me forever. I would have never lived. I would have only been an extension of him.

Everything comes to me at once. The fact that I hate knee and ankle-length dresses. That tulle is a horrible material, itchy and too innocent looking. That I love short skirts and dancing. Finally, It hits me in the chest that I hate politics and all the classes that come with it. That I love using the wordthingwhen I can’t describe something.

Lightning strikes me when I understand how much I want to be closer to my mom, even though we barely have anything in common. I want to hear about her love for art and stick my fingers in the gooey paint. I want to jump in a puddle and soil my dress. I want to scream at the top of my lungs that sometimes I’m a lady, and often I’m a whore for the man I love.

I want to find Xi and tell him how much I love him.

That when I’m ready again, when I’ve found the woman I truly am, I will be ready to love him fully.

Tears fall down my cheeks, and I hope everyone thinks it’s for my dad. Because no one gets to understand how free I suddenly feel. This is for me only.

We go through rounds and rounds of condolences, hugs, and formal handshakes. It’s never-ending, and I’ve never been a good actress. I hope everyone takes my silence and indifference as shock and grief. It’s only when a man in an all-black suit comes to shake my mother’s hand that my attention comes back to the present.

“Fleur,” he says low. Everything about him screams criminal in the most elegant way possible. His hard face doesn’t have an ounce of empathy, and his black eyes dart to mine before returning to my mother.

He’s with a tall woman in a midnight-blue suit. Her hands are crossed behind her back and her green eyes dart everywhere, so aware of everything around us she must be dizzy. She has long red hair, like Peach, but unlike my best friend, there’s nothing friendly about her.

“I apologize,” he says to my mom. “That it ended this way.” No condolences. Only an apology heavy with meaning.

My mother shakes her head, the shadow of a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. “The result is more or less the same.”

He eyes me again. “Minus innocence,” he adds in a murmur, his eyes stuck on me.

“Thank you for coming,” she cuts the conversation short. “I’ll be in touch.”

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