Page 14 of Beautiful Forever
With heavy disappointment, I sullenly take in the view that on any other night would be a majestic sight. Bracing the railing, I look down. Parts of the property glow under the landscaping lights strategically placed around the mansion, demarcating the silhouettes of the various guards patrolling the perimeter.
It’s just another reminder that I’m trapped in a gilded cage. To an outsider, I live in a big house, come from a wealthy family, and want for nothing. I get to enjoy the luxuries most people could only dream about. But that’s the illusion of a gilded cage. In reality, I’m a prisoner, stripped of my freedoms and my right to choose.
I look forward to the day when I break free.
Tipping my face to the wind, I glance up. The stars scattered across the inky black sky overhead appear so much closer from up here, as if I could reach out and touch them. One of Mama’s favorite movies isIt’s a Wonderful Life. I watch it with her every Christmas Eve. She knows the dialogue by heart and recites the lines as the movie plays. I find that I enjoy listening to her more than I like watching the movie.
There’s this scene in the beginning where George tells Mary, his wife, that he would lasso the moon for her. Mama says it’s very romantic. Maybe I can do something like that for Aoife. Not lasso the moon but pluck the stars out of the sky. People always say wish upon a star. I could scoop up the stars and give Aoife a jar filled with wishes.
The access door slams shut, and I turn around. Tristan and I lock eyes, but I can’t maintain the connection for long and focus on his chin, another trick Mama taught me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hendrix says in that snotty, highbrow British accent that makes me want to roll my damn eyes. He wasn’t even born in the UK He’s from New York.
Constantine watches me warily from the door, his dark gaze like twin blackholes that blot out any light. Out of the three of them, he’s the more dangerous one. Death, the Society now calls him. When I look at him, I see a reflection of the darkness that now resides within my brother—Aleksei, not Tristan.
“Where’s Aoife?” I ask, growing concerned when she doesn’t appear with them.
“None of your fucking business,” Hendrix is quick to reply.
Constantine doesn’t say anything. He can’t anymore. There were whispers at his initiation several months ago about what happened to him. What his father, Gabriel, did.
Not intimidated, even though it’s three against one, I ask again, “Where is she? Why isn’t she here?”
It’s required of all Society members to attend the annual gala. James Fitzpatrick is the head of the Council, so he would definitely be here tonight, but I didn’t see him or Caroline in the ballroom either. Suddenly, that weird energy I had been feeling starts to make sense.
The tension grows as wide as the silence between us until Tristan slices through it with two words that rip my heart open.
“She’s gone.”
Hendrix shoves him. “T, shut up!”
Gone? His answer holds too many connotations, and I try not to jump to conclusions. He could mean she left the gala early.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
Tristan’s mouth thins, and a flicker of sadness passes over his expression. Seeing it, my mind jumps to the only conclusion it can. The reason why Caroline visited my father. His warning to her.
“She can’t be promised to Tristan if she’s already promised to someone else.”
“James could have you killed for this.”
“James would never hurt me.”
“Can you say the same about Francesco?”
“What did you do?” I don’t wait for clarification. My hands clench into tight fists, my intention clear.
“I didn’t do anything! Her parents took her away. We don’t know where she is.”
Rage scalds my insides, burning me with its venom. “You’re lying!”
Constantine inches forward, always Tristan’s protector, but Hendrix has a hair trigger and makes the first move.
“Fuck this.” He slams into me, shoulder first, tackling me to the ground.
The air occupying my lungs shoots out in awhooshas we hit the rough surface of the graveled bitumen, the tiny, jagged-edged rocks stabbing through the fabric of my trousers and tuxedo jacket. Hendrix is already swinging, and my arm snaps up, blocking his punch from reaching my face. Using the bulk of my body as leverage, I’m able to roll us and spring to my feet?—
—only to stumble back when Constantine rushes forward. I twist to the left just as his knuckles graze my cheek, then duck under his arm and grab the back of his shirt, flipping him over and slamming him to the ground. I glance to my left when I catch movement in my peripheral vision, the glint of moonlight on metal drawing my attention to the switchblade in Hendrix’s hand. Well, shit.
