I wasn't late for dinner. Delayed and a little unpinned and less braided than I had been, but I'd repaired the damage long enough to survive a couple hours having cocktails and a sit-down meal. I stopped at Dad's room on the way to use him as my escort. The more I looked at him, even in a nice suit and recently cleaned glasses, the older he looked. He seemed worn and exhausted, and his shirt fit looser than it should.
"It's not right," he said, taking my arm as we walked down a navy carpeted corridor to one of the more visitor-friendly studies. "We're here, and she's..."
"She's healing," I insisted, though I felt no optimism. "We'll tell her about it one day."
Dad saw through my idyllic smile. "You punched something, didn't you?"
"It felt so good," I said, collapsing my shoulders with a relieved sigh. "I didn't have to pretend, or put on a face, or look composed for the sake of anyone else. I'll take you with me tomorrow."
"Word along the grapevine is that tomorrow your police chief is letting you speak to the bastard who did this." As we approached two gilded study doors, he patted my arm gently. "I hope you saved some fire and brimstone for him."
"More than enough," I assured him, pulling on one ornate handle. Queen Joronn always had staff on hand to announce her presence into a room, but I preferred a quieter arrival. The study was dimly lit and filled with largely recognizable faces- a smaller, more intimate gathering that the cozy lamps and luxe furniture seemed too elegant for. Not that I minded; with neutral classical music in the background, it gave me a chance to switch my mind from a flaring temper to something mild enough to greet guests.
Nik stood chatting with a small group as I walked in. He looked good in a suit, but he was always at his most handsome surrounded by friends; there was something electric about his presence, something warm and powerful that drew you into his circle and let you relax. I wasn't immune to those charms, never had been, and couldn't run from him now as he glanced towards the open door. Recognition brightened his blue eyes.
"That's a lovely choice for tonight," he said, drawing me off my father's arm and onto his own so we could make the rounds.
"These people have all been vetted, haven't they?" I asked him while his ear was close enough to whisper in. "I'm not letting anyone hurt you." Except maybe me. My eyes I kept downcast; I could feel Marc in the room the way a cat sensed a dog or mouse, and I wasn't exactly sure if that made me nervous or guilty or something else.
"To the best of my knowledge." Nik waved over a stout young woman and her leaner, far older companion. "These are some of the experts who worked on the Storm's restorations."
"Honored. Honored," the woman replied, passing me a thin-fingered hand that I suspected was responsible for some of the fine detail work.
"Trust me, the honor is all mine. I'd cry if I had to fix the mess I made."
And so I greeted her and him, apologized several hundred times for handling the painting in such a rough way; like I'd told Joronn all those months ago, I wasn't the best person to retrieve it. The progress was good, however. It'd be ready for its unveiling and would require some additional work beyond that date, but they reassured me that having most of the original painting was better than nothing.
I did my best to focus on the positives. If I was lucky, there was a small chance the Rembrandt might make the journey back to Boston with me, and I could be there for its return home to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
Dinner went as all dinners did, with eating and chitchat and the recounting of various tales, old and new. Nik must've warned everyone not to talk about Mom, because Dad and I were braced for questions that never advanced further than "how are you doing?" I loved dinners, loved talking to new people and hearing their stories, but I'd spent the entire time between Nik and my Dad, avoiding Marc like it was my job. Thankfully he was a few chairs down from mine, and our eyes only met a couple times over the turkey.
But then the silverware was put down and another round of drinks were passed and then my guests departed and I was back in the intimate study, stretched across an ivory lounger with my heels abandoned on the floor. The music had long-since ended and the only sound was jovial conversation.
And it was just me, Dad, Nik, and Marc, as I'd known it'd always dwindle to.
The younger men of my night poured whiskey and talked in even-tones as if they didn't know my heart was torn between them, while Dad gave the obligatory yawn and stretch to signal his bedtime. That would leave me alone with the pair of them, and the further away I got from that misadventure with Marc, the more I knew I was just going to come right out and say something inappropriate to the situation.
"I'll walk you back, Dad," I decided when he'd reached the door, easing back into my heels.
"I'll manage." Dad hugged my shoulders. "I'm just grabbing a change of clothes and heading down to the hospital. Besides, I think those men have been waiting to have you alone all night."
Dad left, and I clasped my hands in the silence between the three of us. "So," I began, not sure what to do with myself. I settled on making an exit, since I was confident that I wanted to leave this dark room. "It's been a long week. I'd like to see Gull. You guys are welcome to come."
Nik lifted one hand off his glass to point at my dress. "In those clothes?"
"I'm just seeing her."
He and Marc exchanged doubtful looks.
I plucked at the grey fabric. "I'm sure as hell not gonna go riding in this."
Marc set his drink on a small table. "I will say hello to one of my best mares." With a purposeful glance to me, he added, "I am sleeping in a room near there."
If Nik read anything into that, his expression never wavered from pleasant. "You coming?" I asked him, cracking the door. Yellow hall light seeped across the hardwood floor.
He shook his head. "Can't. I went to the doctor the other day. Got some results to look over."
The doctor? I frowned. "Everything okay?"
"Completely. I'll see you in the morning." He walked to the door so fast I impulsively grabbed his arm to stop him. At that he turned, a half-smile drawing out one dimple. "Really, I'm fine, Al. I trust Marc will keep you safe."
We walked with him down the hall, until our paths split and we descended towards the stables. I toyed with my braid, more worried now than I ever had been. "Last time he lied to me like that, I found out he was a runaway prince."
"He will tell you when he can," Marc suggested.
I looked up at him. "Do you know what's wrong?"
"It would not be my place to say anything, but I do not."
That at least, was the truth.
*
"So much for a visit," Marcus drawled half an hour later as my gloves lay draped along the stall door and my shoes beside it. With his suit jacket folded over his arms, he'd leaned against the closed door to take in the sight.
Suds dripped down my arm and dappled my grey dress as I wrung a sponge. Against my drab colors Gull shone with the brilliance of spring sunlight, golden in fur and spirit as she stretched out her neck and snorted at her former owner. "Help me hose her down and I'll leave you to it." I winked. "I know you've got a hot date waiting."
"Always room for one more if you don't mind sharing," he said. He tossed the jacket up beside my gloves and bent to gather the hose.
While he was occupied, I took the opportunity to toss the sponge at him. It smacked against his arm. He looked at the damp spot, then at my fat grin, and let the hose uncoil. Before he could turn the water on I ducked behind Gull. She was the best shield money couldn't buy- he'd never horse around with his horses like that. He loved them too much.
"That is cheating," he announced. A shot of water buzzed beneath Gull's belly and nailed my feet. I skipped back from my horse, and in the ensuing minutes she got thoroughly cleaned and my dressed looked like I'd fallen from a storm cloud.
"You've got me plenty!" was my surrender, though I was proud I'd gotten him some (well, twice after the inciting incident; for such a big target he was really good at dodging sponges). After we led Gull back to a dry stall to sleep, I turned and admired the glistening trail in my wake. The dress clung to my legs, making for a tight, ungainly walk.
Marc caught me lifting up the hem to free up my mobility and pointed upstairs. "Towel?" he asked.
I fluffed the top so it wasn't glued to my curves. "Do you have a spare shirt I could borrow, or are they in the other room with Mrs. Somethingorother?"
"She took my last one."
I looked to the suit jacket he carried with a thoughtful shrug. "I'll settle for the one off your back."
His fingers moved to the buttons on his vest. "As the lady wishes."
I put a hand over his, nodding towards the rooms upstairs; at this point in the season we had only a few horses in the palace, but they had their caretakers lurking around. I wasn't aiming for discreet, but I didn't want to be overt, either. "That'll really get them talking, don't you think?"
"I think they already have," he reminded me, gesturing at my soaked attire. "I brought you here myself last year."
The walk to his room was quietly uneventful, the same as it always was at this hour. My mind paced through the past, however, and I paused at the numbered door before his, the place where I'd hidden out as a stablehand while waiting to meet Niklas. I remembered sleeping against the wall, crying, the note Nik'd left for me, how I wished I could let everything go...
"Hey," I began aloud, surprising even myself. Marc held his door open for me, confused when I didn't step through. "You remember when you told me about your necklace and I promised to tell you the story behind my knee injury?"
"That is in the past." He dismissed me with a curt wave. "I do not mind."
"It's stupid. I know. When I think about how far I've come and everything." My heart skipped a beat and wedged itself in my throat. I had to swallow twice before continuing. "But I want you to know. You should know the story. Before I met you, before I loved Nik."
Marc got a shirt for me and the blanket off his bed and we retreated to a corner of Gull's stall. He'd dismissed the worker on the floor for the next hour, which was long enough for me to sink onto a hay bale and recount my tale. Gull folded her legs and laid beside us, her quiet breath a calming presence as I began.
*
"In high school Josh was the sort of guy who looked like one of those models in college flyers, the ones who could go to a bar and buy drinks without being asked for an ID- too old for his age. Pretty eyes, pretty hair, flashy smile. Rode a motorcycle. Had a cool serpent tattoo that started at his ear and disappeared into his v-neck. Got a dozen scholarships. Scouts at every football game. He was a senior and a quarterback, and I was this bubbly underclassman who went through boyfriends like hair ties. I think the longest I'd dated anyone back then was a couple months? Five weeks? It doesn't matter. Josh was everything Mom said I couldn't have, and that it made it hotter and forbidden and it turned every gesture into something grander than it was. Mom and I-" The straw within my grasp was satisfyingly easy to shred. "I'm sorry we didn't get along better."
"There is still time." Marcus sat next to me but not beneath the blanket. He stared on ahead past Gull, to the door and beyond; inwardly, I was relieved. If he looked at me, I wasn't sure the words would tumble out.
"Anyway, he'd bring me flowers and hop the fence and come to the back door at late night." I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "I used to shut Ellebelle in my parent's room so she couldn't see the backyard and bark. Josh told me he loved me and I'd take his hand and trust him. I shouldn't have. But that's what you do when you're young, isn't it? You believe someone when they say they love you.
So I was a virgin and I knew he wasn't, but he told me those rumors weren't true and he was just too embarrassed to deny them. A high school senior, our star quarterback, a virgin. He didn't want to be teased. I bought that spiel hook, line, and sinker. I was tired of my little white dress and innocence, and it's so easy when you're young and in love and he's got dreamy eyes and-" I stopped myself, not wanting to heap praise upon the man who turned my dreams into nightmares. "And he tells you he wants you like he's never wanted anyone else.
Valentine's day fell on a Wednesday or Thursday that year I think, a school night, so we planned for something on the weekend. His cousin had his parents' empty house for the weekend while they were in the time share, but he'd kept the basement 'reserved' for us. The room was finished, cheap tile flooring with a sleeper sofa and tv, a small bar and home gym equipment. Josh had light dozens of candles. I was impressed."
Marc's hand on my cheek made me jump. I blinked at him, saw moisture glistening on his hand, and realized I was crying. "You do not have to say more," he said softly. "I understand."
Mascara stained his blanket as I ducked my head against my shoulder and heaved another breath. "We slipped downstairs. I was buzzed, he was drunk. Not that it mattered. We were all over each other. Right on this stupid lifting bench. I straddled his lap. He pulled off my shirt; I tugged off his. I could feel his, youknow, pressing against me as he unhooked my bra and slid his hands underneath. He was whispering in my ear, encouraging me, telling me we want to do this right. And I thought to myself- this is it. You love him and this is it. This is how you show him. This is good."
My fingers unwove my frizzy braid, too nervous to stay still in my lap. "My hair was long back then, too, and it got hooked accidentally in the bra clasp when he pulled it off. So I glanced back to see what needed to be detangled and saw the camcorder, wedged between glasses on the bar. He told me to forget it, it was nothing, but before he knew what was going on I'd hopped off his lap, holding his shirt against my naked chest, and took it.
It was recording. He claimed it was a joke, a prank, but I knew it wasn't. He tried to take it from me, but I wouldn't let him. I ran to the far side of the bar counter. I didn't know what to do. I didn't think. I just opened up a bottle of vodka and poured it on the camera. He lunged across the bartop. Dozens of bottles shattered across the floor. Shards cut straight through my socks as I slipped around the corner, but I swear I didn't know how bad I'd torn my feet up until hours later.
Josh caught me by my hair and jerked me onto the floor in the spreading pool of liquor. He held me down with his forearm on my throat so hard I couldn't- couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All I could do was look into his eyes and feel ...The glass crunched beneath my shoulders, the alcohol in my hair. His hands, sticky and wet, grabbing, bruising- everywhere, everything. Whatever he wanted from me, he took. It was the longest, worst moment of my life. At one point I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and his rough hand over it, and I was just frozen, unable to stop him or save myself.
He told me what else he was going to do and not to breathe a word. He pressed his mouth on mine and bit my lip and I tasted cheap beer and blood. I never felt so exposed, so scared, so weak.
His cousin, also my friend, Sam, heard me scream and came downstairs. I don't remember screaming. Soon as Josh looked at him I got a leg free and got him in the stomach. Kneed him so hard he threw up.
With Sam's help I dragged myself away, but Josh was right behind. Near the top of the stairs he grabbed my arm. Sam punched him. Josh fell like a puppet whose strings were cut. Over and over until his head smacked the tile and he stopped moving.
And I ran, half naked, covered in blood and tears and vomit out into the street- there were police officers nearby, I knew, because on the way over we'd seen them trying to wrangle an escaped peacock on the cathedral. There were lots of blind corners on that street and the driver never saw me coming around one. Thank God he wasn't speeding. I flipped over the windshield and the next thing I saw was the tranquilized bird and then the back of an ambulance. After, I told police I was the one who punched Josh. In the chaos at the scene Sam smuggled the tape out before anyone could see and destroyed it. Without that, the kids at school believed Josh's bullshit excuses. I was just a liar to them, and his parents had the money to keep it that way."
Marcus opened his mouth and closed it again. He just turned and looked at me, and his eyes said he was sorry more than words could have.
"So anyway," I mumbled, reaching for Gull's silky mane. "I went to therapists and did community service and PT and everything and Nik'll tell you, I've gotten a lot better, but it's ...I'm not where I want to be. I know what I'm doing. Well, I know what I've done, and I want so much from you. You're, um, you're-" His lips brushed my forehead. He didn't touch me anywhere, but I lifted my hand to his cheek, holding him in place on our hay bale for a few quiet seconds. "-comfortable," I finished.
His forehead pressed against mine as he spoke. "You should stay."
I moved away from him, down onto the hay beside Gull's warm body. "When this mess is over I'm gone. I won't put Nik or my parents or you in danger again. Now, it's getting late. I'm gonna sleep here with her, if that's alright."
He looked at the mare and the way I'd curled myself beside her, and nodded. "I will bring you a pillow."
"Thanks. Also, since I'm spilling my guts tonight, I want to say I'm sorry we suck at being friends. I don't want to be, but that's the way life goes."
He shrugged, and as he unlatched the stall I had the feeling that I wasn't the only one who'd have trouble sleeping.
*
In the two hours since Marc had brought me a pillow, I'd stroked Gull's snout and whispered to her and remembered that I was safe now and the past was the past and it couldn't haunt me now. New scars had replaced the old, and I was a better person.
I could sleep on that note.
But then footsteps stormed the stables and Nik's voice was yelling my name. Gull shot up, joining the other horses at their stall doors in startled surprise, and I popped my head alongside hers. "Here," I called, as several police officers headed towards our stall.
"Thank God," Nik exclaimed as I slipped outside to confront him with the blanket tight around my shoulders. "Al, they recovered a burner Trish used."
"What was on it?"
He looked past me, at Gull and the empty stall. "Where's Marcus?"
"Asleep? Right up there, probably." I pointed him towards the staircase. With a nod and a hand gesture, the officers stormed up. "What's going on, Nik?" I asked, concern raising my voice. "Are my parents alright?"
"He isn't here, sir," an officer called from above.
Nik's eyes were dark as he turned toward me. "Where is he, Allie?"
"I don't know." My hands gripped the blanket tighter. "Tell me what's happening."
"Marc's number called her cell phone a day before the kidnapping."