Bound South

03 • Masks

"Camilla? What do you need?" came another.

I ignored them.

My fingers traced the outline of the picture frame I must have clutched to my chest a thousand times. The photo of Lydie I kept on my bedside table.

I pulled it from my bag, sitting back on my heels.

My heart might have skipped a beat as I stared into my sister's bright eyes, and all of a sudden, I realized I couldn't call her.

I'd never done that before—forgotten that she was dead.

My sister was smiling back at me from behind the dusty glass, her memory forever frozen in time. Tears splattered the glass.

"Oh, Lydie," I choked out. My vision blurring with tears and a million emotions I didn't have names for.

I'd jumped out of a plane and climbed a mountain, but somehow having my agency ripped away by this family was scarier. I had to be strong, but what did being strong look like?

Agatha's cool hand landed on my shoulder. "We must finish the fitting, Miss Isley."

I shook my head, and two more fat tears rolled down my cheeks.

Behind me, I heard shuffling before the door open once again. Besides agency, it would seem privacy had been taken away from me, too. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer to my sister that no one else was coming in to deliver any more news.

But, it wasn't Mr. or Mrs. Tenney. South's deep voice cut through the room, barking out an order like a man taking control of the situation. "Everyone, get out. Right now."

I turned to find him holding the door open and pointing a finger into the hallway. The way his dark brows were smashed together coupled with the look of fury on his face brokered no argument from the staff. I watched black and white uniformed staff members tiptoe past South with a feeling of hopelessness.

"I'll be right outside if you need me, miss," Agatha said quietly before she too left the room.

Then the room was empty, save for the man who attended South last night.

"Sir," the tall, well-groomed attendant began. Looking almost bored with this situation. "Just so you're aware, I've hung your uniform in the bathroom. The family schedule notes that you and your father will depart the naval base at ten forty-five to accompany your mother and Miss Isley to Sunday mass. Should I add a suit to your bag? Or would you prefer to go in uniform as your father does?"

Of course, the family schedule. Each minute of my life was going to be budgeted on some calendar. I wondered if Connor was the one typing it up under Les' instruction.

How stupid had I been to trust him? How naive had I been to believe Connor was actually a good guy?

I watched South fix a hard look on the man standing in front of him. As upset as I was, South looked downright murderous. "Kim, excuse my language, but you need to get the fuck out."

"Of course, sir."

"And do not let anyone in."

Then the door was closed, and South and I were alone once again.

South ran his hands through his tousled hair, worry creasing the lines of his forehead, before he slowly made his way over to me.

My attention drifted back to the picture frame, embarrassed for crying and not sure why.

"Look at me, Camilla."

His voice came soft and gentle. It wasn't a demand, but I could hear the urgency in his tone. I couldn't lift my eyes. How could I look at him and tell him I didn't want to be his wife, at least, not like this.