Page 41 of Red Masquerade

His disdain for me, so strong, even after months apart, was so unlike his fondness for me in childhood. A few years my senior, when we were children, I looked up to him, following him around like a puppy. We had played togetherall day; we were tutored separately, but in the same room, so he was always making me laugh with the funny faces he would throw at me.

Yet, as soon as his duty as the heir to the family name began to grow clearer to him, to become more tangible and real, he grew distant, until I felt I did not know him at all. It was solidified with Father’s death, and further when he found out about Adam and me.

What would Mother think, huh? Father? He must be rolling in his grave.

Every day was an effort to block out replaying that night in my mind, over and over again, like a skipping phonograph. The fear, the hurt, would come back so viscerally, I couldn’t breathe.

Our butler grabbed Lucas’ suitcase and hastily brought it out of the room, and it was as if Lucas had been here all along. The perfect boy at home with his doting mother, ditzy sister.

“We will be late if we do not leave now.” Mother sniffled, opening the front door. Our driver waited outside, the car idling against the curb.

The cloud inside my chest was circling, thunderous, seeping through my ribs, squeezing my muscles.

“I can just stay here,” I said, instinct pulling at me to turn and go back up the stairs. The little girl inside me insisting my room was safer. Dark, comfortable,lockable.

Mother turned to me with a sharp reply ready, but I interrupted her. “The reservation was only for two people.”

“Nonsense.” Lucas’ voice was icy low. “I’m sure we can convince the club to accommodate one more.”

Shards in his eyes, daring me to refuse.

Howdareyou, he had said that night. I slammed my eyes shut.

He didn’t want me there, for any other reason than perhaps to inspect me, to glare down his nose at me and figure out what I’ve been doing in his absence.Whoring around.

Did he think I was the same little girl? That I hadn’t changed?HadI changed?

“You will not stay home when your brother has just returned.” My mother glared at me. “If I leave you here, then God knows where you’ll run off to.” Never mind that I hadn’t left the sanctuary of the house in seven days. “No, you will dine with us and catch up with your brother.”

She grabbed my hand, and thus, against my will, I was forced into a family luncheon that felt more like making appearances in public, a happy family, an heir with a grandchild to come, a daughter soon to be engaged with a bachelor of high standing. A bachelor of said heir’s choosing.

The club we arrived at was busy at the lunch hour; themaitre d’was kind enough to add another chair to our reserved table, though upon our arrival, his face turned a flushed red at three people, not two. But it was Lucas, head of the Quintrell Company, and he could not refuse.

I found myself sitting across from Lucas, my mother to my left.

The food was untouchable. Though it looked delicious, my stomach rolled. Ignoring the salads, biscuits, and roasted beef brought out to us, I could hardly even sip on the chilled water served to me.

How I wanted a drink. Arealdrink.

The wealth in the room was immense, gold detailing all along the lights, gold-plated china, the clearest crystal glassware. The servers were all well-dressed and kept, even the buttons on theirvests polished to shine, not a hair out of place. Gelled, made up. They never looked at us directly, averting their eyes downward, toward the floor, or at the dish in their hands.

Yet they didn’t whirl like those at the church-turned-mansion on Long Island. Didn’t appear out of nowhere with ambrosial gin.Didn’t work in a house where blood was being drained and served on ice.

“How are business ventures?” my mother asked Lucas.

He gave some reply that his investments were paying off, likely a story to make her feel confident in his station. And Mother wouldn’t really know otherwise. She felt business was a man’s responsibility, and as the woman of the family, it was none of her concern. A sentiment he mirrored.

“I daresay that child of yours will be lucky to take over,” she laughed to herself. “One day.”

To her, it was just revenue. The means of buying herself new dresses, of paying the cook, of equipping the house with electricity. She likely didn’t even know what the companyreallydid.

Lucas nodded once. “Yes. Sure. Absolutely.” Like he was convincing himself of this, that the financial security was all for his children, and nothing more. A pause. “Unless, of course, Lucy bears a girl.”

I abandoned my water glass, looking at him through my lashes. I had held my lips all day. The words came forth, quiet, “Can not a woman manage an estate?”

Lucas scoffed. My mother shot me a look.

I shouldn’t have said it. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Is that not part of what I’ll be doing when I marry? Helpingmanage whatever estate of my husband?” The thought of marriage—ofme, married—was unfathomable. The finality of it still hadn’t sunken in, but I knew, deep within myself, I would not be marrying—Icouldn’t—because whoever Lucas chose would be just as insufferable.