Page 7 of Cruel Heir

“Miss.” There’s a warm, gentle hand on my shoulder, and I spin around to see a dark-haired woman in a maid’s uniform standing there, her hazel eyes wide. She’s wearing a fitted, knee-length black dress, her hair carefully pinned back, her bearing tense as she looks at me. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Please, just come with me.”

My hand already aches where I’d pounded it against the door. I blink at her, trying to think past what feels like an almost animal fear. I need to be calm, rational, if I’m going to find some way out of this—but it feels as if thereisno way out. I’m not even entirely sure whatitis, except that the gown on the bed is undoubtedly a wedding dress, and what’s waiting for me downstairs is undoubtedly a forced marriage.

Someone has decided to usurp my father’s choice and make it for him. Someone has decided totakeme as his bride, instead of making an offer. And that person has left no room for error, no room for questions, no room for me to find a way out.

“What am I supposed to do?” It comes out as a whisper, as I stare, terrified, at the maid.

She takes a step back, her hands folded in front of her. “I’m Celeste,” she offers, her face and voice both very soft and calm. “I’ve been told I’m the one meant to tend to you, here in this house. Your personal maid.”

Something about that calms me a little, oddly enough—it’s something I understand, at least. I’ve always had a maid assigned to me at home, sometimes more than one, along with all of the tutors and teachers who have wound their way through my life.

“Do you know what’s going to happen to me?” I whisper, wishing the words didn’t sound as choked as they do. I can’t hide that I’m on the verge of tears. “Who—”

“I’m not allowed to say, miss,” Celeste says softly. “You’ll find out most of the answers when you go downstairs, I expect. But I was told as soon as you were brought up here to draw you a bath. Which, if you promise you won’t hurt yourself banging on that door, I’ll goahead and do it now.” She hesitates for a moment, as if she’s not sure she should continue. “It won’t help,” she says finally, her mouth turning downwards a little at the corners. “It’ll only cause problems. It would be better if you—”

“If I what?” Anger rises up in me, a sharp counterpoint to the fear. “Stopped fighting? Areyoureally going to tell me that, too?”

Celeste doesn’t flinch back.She must be used to being snapped at,I think, and instantly feel regret. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, and she nods.

“No, I’m not going to tell you that,” she says quietly. “But itwillmake things worse. It’s just best that you know that, I think.”

We both look at each other for a long moment, and then Celeste turns away. “I’m going to draw your bath. I’ll help you out of the dress while the tub fills. Just sit there.” She motions to the vanity, her voice kind. She undoubtedly knows that she shouldn’t be telling me what to do, but I think, from the way she says it, that she also knows I need someone to help me put one foot in front of the other right now.

I do as she suggests, sinking down onto the velvet tufted chair in front of the vanity. The face that stares back at me in the mirror is a shock—I look pale, my makeup smudged, my once carefully styled hair a mess. The curls are tangled, the jeweled pins that didn’t fall out askew. My eyes are red-rimmed, and I reach up, touching one dangling earring. They belonged to my mother, long ago, a string of round diamonds and teardrop sapphires on a delicate gold chain dangling from either ear. My father requested that I wear only minimal jewelry tonight, to let my beauty and the exquisitely crafted dress speak for themselves. The only other jewelry I’m wearing is a bracelet that matches the earrings, and a band of marquise-cut sapphires on my right hand. All of it belonged to my mother, a woman I barely remember.

I have no idea what her marriage to my father was like. I don’t know if she was willing or not, if he cared for her or not—but I can imagine that it wasn’t likethis. I know she wasn’t kidnapped and carted away to some other strange estate, and then prepared in the dead of night for a wedding to a man she didn’t know.

“Miss.” Celeste is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, herexpression still calm and placid. It calms me somewhat, although it doesn’t take away the icy fear in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll help you out of your dress, if that’s alright.”

Nothing is alright,I want to scream. But I just nod, plucking the pins out of my hair and laying them in a careful line on the dresser. My fingers shake as I undo the clasps of my jewelry, laying the earrings, bracelet, and ring next to the pins, the methodical nature of it giving me something to focus on. I wonder if they’ll still be here when I come out, or if someone will take them away. If, for some reason, I’m going to be allowed no reminders of my life before tonight.

I can see the steam starting to wreathe out of the bathroom door, the promise of a hot bath on the other side. I stand up, crossing the room to where Celeste is waiting, drawing in a long breath.

By the end of the night, I suspect, I will be married.

And after that, I have no idea what comes next.

4

LUCIA

Celeste quickly helps me out of my dress, draping it over a nearby chair. I don’t ask her what will be done with it—I don’t think I want to know the answer. It was meant for the best night of my life, and it’s turned out to be the worst.

The worst so far,I think grimly. I wrap one arm over my breasts as Celeste backs out of the room, letting me slip out of my underwear and into the steaming tub in private. “Everything you need is on the shelf next to the tub,” she says as she ducks out. “I’ll be waiting for you when you’re finished.”

She doesn’t tell me if there’s a time limit on how long I’m allowed to stay in the bath. I sink into the hot water, realizing as I do that Celeste added an almond-scented bath oil, and I let out a gasp of pleasure as the water closes over me. The heat is just this side of bearable, almosttoohot, but after the evening I’ve had, it feels good. I was already beginning to be sore from so much dancing before the awful events of the garden, and I hiss as the hot water touches the small blisters on my feet. Even so, it feels blissful on my arches and toes after having them crammed into high heels for so long, and then walking barefoot across the courtyard.

I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the water. I try to imagine thatif I pretend this is all a nightmare, if I just lie there in silence long enough, it will all go away. But it doesn’t help. I’ve never learned to lose myself in fantasies; I never needed to. My life has always been rarefied enough as it was. It’s only now that I have to face a brutal reality for the first time, and I don’t know how to escape, even for a moment into my mind.

Despite everything, I start to feel more relaxed as I lie there in the hot water. After several minutes tick by, I reach for one of the soft washcloths stacked by the tub, lathering it with the honey-scented gel in a small crystal container on the shelf. I scrub away at my skin, washing away the feeling of being trapped in that car as best as I can, the feeling of that man’s hands on me.

His hands are going to be on me again before the end of the night.

Tears well abruptly in my eyes, faster than I can stop them. I drag my knees up to my chest, pressing my forehead against them, feeling the hot tears drip down onto my skin. Once I start to let myself cry, I can’t stop, my entire body shuddering with wracking sobs. I’m crying so hard that I don’t hear the door open, or Celeste’s soft footsteps until she’s standing almost next to me when she speaks.

“You can’t cry, miss,” she murmurs. “He’ll be upset if you look like you’ve been crying. He wants you to look perfect for your—” She stops with a small gasp, her hand covering her mouth. “Oh no, miss. Your hair—”

“What about my hair?” I touch it, realizing too late that it’s soaked through, and any of the styling that was done for my party is entirely gone. “Oh—”

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