Page 23 of Beautiful Forever
Nina was a good, kind woman trapped in a cruel nightmare. I love my parents, but I also hate them for not doing more to help her. Papa helped Keith get out from the Society’s crushing grip and live a normal life. He and Mama helped Alana escape from being forced to marry Gabriel. So why couldn’t they do the same for Nina?
“I’m so sorry.”
Aleksander sets the knife down from slicing the red onion, lifts me off my feet, and deposits me on the opposite countertop next to the refrigerator. Bracing his hands on either side of my hips, he fits himself between my legs and drops his forehead to my sternum. My hands grasp the back of his head, my fingers diving into the soft strands of his hair, and I hold him to mybreast, wanting him to feel my love and let it heal his broken heart.
“Tell me a memory about Nina.”
His shoulders rise and fall with a deep inhalation. “Her laugh. It was rare to hear because there was little joy in our house for her to laugh about, but when she did, it was beautiful. Like a song you hear one time but can’t ever forget. She loved to wear this yellow sundress in the summer because she said the color reminded her of the climbing honeysuckle that clung stubbornly to the weathered stone wall at the edge of the rose garden.”
I begin to picture the scene he’s creating of a little boy walking alongside his mother, his small hands brushing against velvet petals as he explores the garden.
“There was this one day. The sky was a cloudless canvas of endless, impossible blue that stretched overhead. The sun was so bright and warm and blinding, it hurt my eyes but also made everything around me more vivid—as if I didn’t realize the world had been blurry until it suddenly came into sharp focus for the first time.”
“I like that analogy,” I softly tell him, not wanting to break his recollection of the memory.
“Something landed on my arm. A butterfly. Its wings were a prism of orange outlined in black with tiny white dots that looked like stars scattered along the edges.”
“A monarch.”
He cups my cheek. “I caught it between my hands, and its wings beat against my palms, frantic and desperate as it tried to escape. Mama kneeled beside me and said, ‘You must let it go, Aleksander.’ ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘I want to keep it.’ I remember her sad, solemn smile when she clasped her hands over mine, gently urging me to release it. ‘Because a butterfly’s soul needs to fly. Wild things yearn to be free, and if you keep it, it will die.’”
His fingers slip from my face, as if I’m the wild thing he was forced to release so it could live.
Taking his hand, my lips trace over the small, cursive AOIFE tattooed under the ANGEL inked above each knuckle. “Sometimes the wild thing comes back because you are its home.”
Twelve
Journal Entry
Twenty-two years old
Leaving the bell tower,I cut across campus to Main Street, then decide to take a winding route to the Bierkeller. Walking down the sidewalk, I breathe in the evening, enjoying one of the few times a day I can just let my mind go blank and enjoy something as simple as a leisurely stroll along the picturesque streets of Darlington. With students arriving for the start of the academic year, the quaint college town is buzzing with renewed activity, even at this time of night.
On the outside, Darlington Founders appears to be your typical ivy-pedigreed university, where “shaping leaders and defining legacies” is its motto. However, the only legacy it’s concerned with is the Society’s. Most of the students who attend DF are the children of Society members, the rest are just pretty window dressing. A false face to mask the rampant nepotism and what really goes on behind closed doors.
Aleksei and I came back yesterday after spending the summer with Pyotr in Russia. It wasn’t a vacation. Our summers rarely are. I wish I could say I was looking forward to another year of pretentious education, but graduating and getting a degree was never my end goal.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. Thinking it’s Aleksei, I step out of the way of a group of guys not paying attention to where they’re going and stop under one of the Boulevard streetlamps that line the sidewalk—and release a harangued sigh when I see Patrick Knight’s name flash on my screen.
He must have heard through the grapevine that I was back stateside. I left before giving him an answer. The only joy I can take out of it is knowing that he’s been waiting for three months to find out. The man is the highest grade of asshole. He wants me to kill his wife. If I do, his quid pro quo will bring me closer to whatIwant. It was an easy decision. I just like making the jackass sweat.
Not one to mince words, I swipe to answer. “I’ll do it.”
I hang up on him before he can reply. Of course, my phone starts ringing again, so I shut it off and keep walking. I can already see Aleksei up ahead, waiting for me outside the Bierkeller.
“Took you long enough,” he says when I finally get to him.
“Somebody’s hangry.”
He scowls at my attempt at humor. “Tristan and his fuckboys arrived five minutes ago.”
Fucktwins. Fuckboys. The nicknames he and Hendrix love to call each other are beyond juvenile.
“Did they see you?”
“Please, fucker,” Aleksei replies, acting almost insulted that I would think otherwise.
Pulling the long handle, I open the heavy wood door and step inside. Three things immediately hit me. It’s crowded, it’s noisy,and I really want a cheeseburger. With bacon and fried onions smothered in barbecue sauce. I’ve missed Keith’s burgers.
