Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense) (37 page)

“I’m not hungry,” he said, and brushed past my father to walk to the house.

Mrs. Amsel let out a long breath.

“He didn’t mean any harm. They should get along.”

“That thing,” he looked at the car, “is dangerous. I won’t have your son putting my daughter in danger, Karen.”

“I wanted to go,” I blurted out.

His eyes widened when he looked at me.

Mrs. Amsel sighed.

“Victor went to a private driving school, Martin. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Yes,” Father said, his voice acid. “I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Martin,” Mrs. Amsel said, in a warning tone. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sure he just wanted to meet her. They’re going to be brother and sister, after all.”

“
What?”

She looked at me, blinking. “Hasn’t your father told you, dear? We’re getting married.”

I swayed on my feet. I thought I might pass out. It was like all the blood just drained out of my head, like someone pulled the plug from a bathtub. The fury slid out of his face and he smiled warmly at me. I looked at his wife-to-be and my head started pounding.

“I’d like an aspirin, please,” I said.

“Of course, sweetie. Come on, let’s head inside.”

“I think we should be going,” Father said.

Karen gave him a curious look. “I thought you had a clear schedule.”

“I’d rather give Victor some time to cool down. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Man to man.”

She sighed. “Alright, if you insist. I’ll call you tonight.”

The way she smiled at him made her look very young.

For some reason, I felt a stab of fear for her.

Father took my hand and walked me to our car. With every step his grip got tighter, until my hand began to throb. I tugged at his grip a little, and he squeezed harder. I choked down a cry, knowing it would be worse if I made a scene.

“Get in the car, you little slut.”

He let go. I rushed around and curled up in the front seat. He hadn’t used that tone with me in years. I was good. I was
good
.

Father did not drive like Victor, at all. It was a long, slow drive back to the city, in total silence. Neither of us spoke until we arrived at home.

The first thing Father said was to Imelda.

“Get out,” he snapped.

She gathered her things and was out of the house, dismissed for the day in five minutes.

“Wait for me upstairs,” he said to me coldly, before walking into his office.

Every step was slow, like I was wearing shoes made of lead and walking in water. I closed the door but did not dare lock it, and sat on my bed, hands folded on my lap. I waited.

I waited.

Waited more.

Waited for an hour, without moving.

Finally the door swung open.

“You defied me,” he said.

His words chilled me but it was the belt that caught my eyes. He had one in in his hands, in addition to the one looped through his trousers. I knew that belt. It was old and creaked when he folded it in half. A work
 
belt, too wide for dress pant loops, made of old, careworn leather that was strange soft even if it was rigid and tough to bend.

“Stand up.”

I stood up.

“Take off your dress.”

It was like an icy fist punched me in the stomach, but I did it. I pulled it over my head, turned around and neatly folded it, laid the folded square of powder blue cloth at the foot of the bed and shivered, standing there in my underwear and bra.
 

“Lie down on the bed. Crossways.”

I
 
laid face down on the bed.

“You understand, I’m doing this for your own good.”

The words struck me just before the belt did, on the backs of my thighs.

I didn’t scream. I choked it down, but tears burned in my closed eyes, forced their way out and I sucked in a sobbing breath just in time for the second blow, and almost screamed. It came out as a gurgling cry. It
hurt
. Nothing hurt that much, not even when I was smaller and he would burn my arms with the old curling iron. I couldn’t scream so I began sobbing and pleading instead, stop it please stop please stop, but the more I begged for mercy the faster the blows rained on my legs and then on my back, until I was curled up in a flinching ball, red lines of agony burning into my legs and back, and I thought I would die it hurt so much. I lost my voice pleading, lost to a rasping whisper. Only then did he finally stop.

“You will
not
speak to that boy ever again. If he touches you or speaks to you, you will come to me immediately. If I find out you have defied me in this, I will make you wish you’d never been
born
, do you understand?”

I swallowed, and choked out a yes.

“Clean yourself up, get dressed, and choose a take out menu for dinner. You will eat in here. I don’t wish to suffer the sight of a defiant little cunt at dinner tonight.”

I ended up doing the first two, but I never came to him to order food and he never sought me out. I knew better than to risk some petty slight angering him. He only called me
that
when he was truly enraged.

It was my fault. I brought it on myself. I should have known better. Boys were all bad, they were all poison. He told me over and over to stay away from them, or I’d end up like my mother. I should have known, but…

I liked him. He was nice. He wanted to show me his car. I liked it, too.

I sat at my vanity and scrubbed my face with a warm cloth. Showering after a whipping would be agony. I turned on the padded stool and looked at my back. I had to sit on the very edge; at least he didn’t hit my backside with belt. My back was a network of angry red welts, some already turning black. I limped back to the bed and put on long cotton shirt, and laid face down on the bed. I pressed my face into the pillow and wept softly, wondering if I could hold my breath until I passed out and smother myself, just disappear. I needed a diversion but I didn’t dare risk exposing the box of books under the back. If Father came back for whatever reason and caught me reading
Ravished by the Outlaw Duke
, I might be in for a second whipping.

It could be worse. At least I wasn’t bleeding.

Somehow I managed to curl up in a ball and sleep. The next day I forced myself not to limp, not to scream in agony when he kissed my cheek and touched my back.

He was only looking out for me.

Six weeks later, the wedding was announced. We moved in to the Amsel estate beforehand.

I resolved never to be alone with Victor. I would peek outside my room and make sure he wasn’t waiting before I emerged, I spent all my free time either locked behind my new door or with Father or his mother or with
someone
, even a member of the staff. I walked in fear, and the expansive halls of the house felt like a prison.

All except the library. There was a library and no one cared to stop me from exploring it. The room alone was as big as our house in the city, and full of more books than I’d ever seen in my life. They were organized by subject in shelves so tall I had to climb a ladder to reach the top shelves. Left to my own devices, I spent half of June exploring, learning where the books were. There was a whole section of paperback romance novels- they belonged to Victor’s mother, and one at a time I snuck them out of the library and back to my room to read, stuck between stacks of books related to my business studies. There was an expansive library of business and financial texts in the library.

I found it all about as interesting as the paint on the walls, but things were expected of me. I would major in business and I would go to a top tier master’s program. I would, end of story.

My bruises had faded into yellow marks the day I walked into the library and headed for the romances to slip back the book I’d borrowed.

“Oh my God, you read those?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The room was all dark colors, earth tones, antique furniture and Persian carpets. Victor looked totally out of place on a padded leather chaise, a book propped on his lap. He sat so the light streamed through the windows behind him, motes of dust dancing in the rays. It made his hair glow, somehow.

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

I hurriedly grabbed another book without looking and rushed for the door.

“Don’t tell my father. Please.”

“Tell him what?”

“Anything.”

I pushed through the doors and scurried back to my room, praying. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me. Only when I was back inside and the door locked did my heart stop pounding.

I was curled up in a side chair reading when a piece of lined notebook paper, folded in half, slipped up under my door.

Widow’s Walk. Two AM,
it read.

I opened the door and looked both ways, but there was no one there. I locked it again, looked at the clock.

Time for dinner.

Chapter Nine

Evelyn

I thought I was going to throw up.

The staircase to the widow’s walk was in a closet. I’m sure it was just a door at some point, but it was converted to a closet, with the winding spiral staircase itself behind a false wall the swung open with a touch. It was dark inside, but clean. I was surprised. I expected a mouldering secret passage filled with cobwebs and critters. Three turns up, and there was another door that led out onto a long path that crossed the entire roof of the main house, lined with a tall wrought-iron railing tipped with wicked looking spikes. I touched one, and felt the sharpness of the edge, like a spear point. To my left was the big round cupola over the office, a room belonging to Victor’s father that I never entered, having only seen it once when his mother gave me a tour. To the right, the woods and the road, further off.

Cicadas buzzed in the night. It was dark up here, but the moon and stars were out. More stars than I’d ever seen, so far away from the city.

Then, there was Victor. He leaned against the railing, arms folded over his chest.
 

I walked over, glancing either side, terrified someone would spot me. Victor was all in black. I wore a long, demure nightgown of heavy cotton. Would someone looking up think I was a ghost with bright blue eyes?

He looked over at me and stood up, towering over me.

“What’s with you?”

I swallowed. “Nothing. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”

As I turned to leave, he grabbed my wrist.

Shock melted on his face when I looked back at him, trembling with fear. He let go immediately.

“I didn’t mean to… wait!”

I stopped, gripped the horizontal part of the railing, and looked down. I could pitch myself off the roof. Maybe then I would be a ghost.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know why you’re acting like this. You jump at shadows, you hide in your room all the time or follow my mom around. Something’s not right.”

“Everything is fine.”

He studied me.

“You’re lying,” he said. “You lie a lot.”

My lip trembled and I tucked it under my front teeth to stop it, and hugged myself. It was hot and muggy outside, but I was shivering.

“I have to go back to bed. I can’t be seen…”

“Seen by who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re a big girl. My mother doesn’t care what you do. So that leaves your father.”

I didn’t say anything, but he went on.

“He put his hands on me that day I took you for a ride. Does he ever put his hands on you?”

I tried not to, but I flinched with a shocked expression.

“I see,” he said.

“No, he doesn’t, he never. He’s just protective of me, that’s all.”

“Mom said you were homeschooled.”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I… I couldn’t go to regular school. I wouldn’t fit in there.”

“Why?”

“Because he said so.”

Victor folded his big arms. The flexing of muscles stretched and distorted the feathers incised on his arms

“I like your tattoos,” I blurted out.

“Thanks,” he said, sounding slightly confused. “Does your father ever hit you?”

I tried to say
no, of course he doesn’t
, but nothing would come out. My throat just went dry.

“I need to go. Please.”

“There’s nothing between you and the door.”

I turned and rushed back, down the steps, and into the hallway without looking. Thankfully, I was alone. I almost went to my room, but headed for the kitchen instead. It was dark, but oddly well lit from the gleam on all the stainless steel. I poured myself a glass of water, choked it down in quick gulps, and went back to bed.

The wedding was scheduled for that Saturday. The next three days were the most tense of my life. I would be in the wedding party. Victor was giving his mother away, standing in for the father of the bride. A huge, far-flung extended family would be there. My mother’s family would be there, people I hadn’t seen in years.

Father came to me the day before. He sat beside me on my bed.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “I expect you to socialize with the guests. Keep it to a minimum. You will also be expected to dance with Victor.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “You understand why I am telling you this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s promiscuous. You matter too much to be a notch on his bedpost.”

“Good. Get some sleep.”

I woke the next day at five in the morning, and spent an hour pacing my bedroom. The wedding was at ten, not in the city but a little town nearby. The house was full of guests, mostly Victor’s extended family. By the time I bathed and dressed and put my hair in a simple braid, Karen was already gone to get ready away from the house. Victor went with her. Father’s best man was a friend from the firm. My dress was demure and not particularly flattering but he kept eyeing me, as did another of Father’s guests, a Russian man that introduced himself as Vitali and held my gloved hand too long. I rode in another car, with one of Mrs. Amsel’s relatives.

The church was old, and packed, every seat taken. I sat up front near the altar. Victor walked his mother down the aisle, a forced smile on his face, heat in his eyes when he looked at my father, waiting in a morning coat with swallow tails. He hated this, I realized. He didn’t want my father marrying his mother. He didn’t want any of this. He glanced at me as he stepped away from my mother. The priest talked, but it was all buzzing to me. I rose when everyone else did, sat when they did, watched my father slip a ring on his mother’s finger and watched him kiss her, passionately. I clapped when the others clapped, but my hands when still when I saw Victor standing stock still during the applause. A little girl I didn’t know carried his mother’s train and another sprinkled flowers. Rice was thrown, and Victor stiffly took my arm and led me to the limousine for the wedding party.