“What trick?”
“But he doesn’t know about us. He couldn’t understand. You’ll sign the papers. Tomorrow. After we’re married. And you’ll have your brother back.”
“And we’ll both be at your mercy.”
“Am I so terrible?” I step backward, away from her. “Have I mistreated you, Gabriela? What have I done but try to make you happy?”
“Happy? So this is you trying to make me happy? You’re deluded.”
My jaw tightens. “You want your brother. I’m getting him for you.”
“By taking guardianship of him yourself!”
“It’s the only way.”
“Liar!” she screams, slapping both hands against my chest and trying to shove me away.
“Gabriela.” I catch her wrists, pull them off me and the moment I do, she spits at me.
I turn my face away in time and from the look in hers, I get the feeling she’s more surprised than I am by the act.
For a long moment, we stand like that, staring at one another, tension so thick between us that it’s hard to breathe.
“You learn nothing.” Rage burns me from the inside, coming to a boil. “Go to your room,” I order through gritted teeth.
“I won’t sign.”
“You will. Now go.”
“I hate you. I will always hate you.”
I swallow, squeeze her wrists, fury churning inside my gut. “I’m warning you to go. Now. Before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late.”
“You know what?” I exhaled, shake my head. “You’re right.”
14
Gabriela
I see the switch flip inside him. It’s the strangest thing. The scariest thing.
Because just like that, he’s the man from that first night again. The crazed one.
There’s a single moment where time feels like it’s suspended over us. Where it’s like we’re both locked in place, and the instant I gain control of my legs, the instant I tell them to move, to run, to carry me away from this monster, he tugs me so hard, I bounce off his chest and I’d fall if he didn’t have me.
He walks me backward to the wall, pushes me roughly against it. Holds me there.
Music swells, opera, a soprano. Marguerite, I think. It’s Faust and Marguerite.
They’re doomed. They were from the start.
I watch Stefan unbuckle his belt as he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fierce, dark, and hard and burning.
With a swoosh, he tugs the belt free and the sound, it fills me with fear.
“Tomorrow,” he says, doubling the belt in his hand, taking the buckle in his palm. He takes both of my wrists into one of his hands and stretches my arms over my head. My dress rises, exposing my thighs.
He raises the belt.
“Stefan don’t!”
He brings it down across the fronts of my legs and I’m shocked by the sudden, searing pain. Silenced by it.
“Tomorrow, you’ll marry me.” He brings it down again and this time, I do scream, and I realize how dark it is in here. How loud the music is. Was it this loud when we were screaming at each other?
The scene reaches its crescendo.
The execution is coming. Marguerite will be beheaded soon.
“You’ll wear what I tell you to wear and you’ll smile and look pretty, and you’ll do exactly as you’re told. And if you don’t, I will strip you naked and lash you from the tops of your shoulders down to your ankles.”
Another lash and another and another. My thighs are on fire.
“Please! God. Please stop. It hurts!”
“And once we’re man and wife, you’ll sign the petition for guardianship. Am I clear?” he asks, punctuating with another stroke.
“It hurts!” I’m crying. Sobbing. Fuck.
He lashes me again, three more strokes before gripping my jaw in his belt hand, fingers digging into me. “Those won’t scar,” he says, his face so close to mine our noses are touching. “I’m sure your father would do much worse. Now do you understand, or do you need me to whip you properly?”
“I hate you,” I manage.
“I don’t care.”
“I will always hate you.” My throat closes up as hot tears streak my cheeks.
He forces me to my knees, keeps me down there. I guess he’s making good on his threat of earlier.
“You sound like a broken record. This is bigger than your hate. Now answer my question. More strokes or do you understand?”
He watches me and I see the blur of him through my tear-filled eyes. “I understand,” I spit. Because what choice do I have?
He nods and the belt clangs to the floor beside me. When he releases me, I sag backward. I guess it’s good I’m already on the floor. My legs wouldn’t hold me upright. I look down at the exposed part of my thighs. See the thick, angry red welts on them.
Stefan looks at me for a moment longer, but I can’t read his eyes and my brain, my stupid brain, goes to the other night. To how he was on Skull Rock. How he talked to me. How he held me. How he kissed me.