Page 44 of Where We Began

“You look stressed,” a familiarly unpleasant voice says behind me. Turning, I jump off the wicker couch at the sight of Annie in the sunroom. It's the quietest place I know of, perfect for getting work done. But now that she's here I feel like I'm in a barred prison cell. The sunlight warming my face through the giant windows doesn't help at all.

Annie's been avoiding me the way Dominic used to. I hadn't seen her at any meals. I'd started wondering if she wasn't in the house at all. Her eyes slip from me, to the pile of papers on the table. “What are you working on?”

“Just ideas for the party,” I say. I don't stop to think she might not know about it. Dominic said he got approval for us to go forward, there's no way Annie's in the dark.

She steps closer, resting her fingers on a slip of white silk—fabric for the seat cushions. “You're really putting thought into this, hmm?”

“Of course.”

Her dark eyes stab at me. “Of course,”she mocks. Straightening up, she folds her hands behind her back. Though we're the same height now, I always remember how she looked standing over me on the day she stole me away. The way she stared as I said farewell to the people I loved. “You're on your best behavior these days. Ready to do anything, so long as you get what you need out of it.”

I keep my expression neutral. “Wouldn't you?”

Annie's painted lips crinkle in the corners. Her frown shifts to something like self-doubt, but I've never known her to question herself—not ever. She looks me over with her head cocked to the left. The peek at her inner thoughts is gone. “You'll need something to wear.”

“Yes,” I reply, my voice rising from confusion. “I have dresses in my closet.”

“You don't own anything nice enough for this event.”

I fight down a snort.Everything I own is stuff you gave me,I think to myself. If it isn't nice enough, that's not on me. But I also have trouble imagining anythingnicerthan the long dresses hanging in my closet. They're all beautiful, most never worn once. I always resisted unless forced.

“I'll have some options sent to you,” she says, pulling out her phone, typing.

“Why do you want to help me?” I ask, thrown off by her actions. I thought she was going to strike me down in this room when she appeared. Now she's making sure I have something nice to wear?

Annie stops typing. She doesn't look at me, though—her attention is on the phone's screen. “I'm not doing this to help you. I'm doing it to help me.” Lifting her chin, she squints at me, and I feel like a cockroach she's debating crushing under her pointed heel. “This party idea is archaic. However, itispossible for it to work. If we can bring in enough powerful people, woo them with our generosity, getting them on board with our banks, then I want to do everything possible to make that happen.” She shoves her phone into the pocket of her purple, flared jacket. “Men love power. They also love sex.”

I flush at her statement. “What does that have to do with giving me a dress?”

Her hips swing as she comes towards me. She's moving with exaggerated motions, driving home a point that climbs its way up to my brain just as she speaks it out loud. “You're very attractive, Laiken. I'm sure you know this.” Her fingers lift, stroking my cheek, making me tremble. Her voice is an odd whisper. “I thought you looked like your dad. As you grow, you're becoming more like her.”

I can't move. I'm stuck there, frozen by whatever is possessing Annie to behave in a way she never has in my presence. The backs of her polished nails are smooth on my skin, like stones along a riverbed. Her eyes focus on mine; clarity returns, she rips her hand away and backs up. Her shock shifts into fury, like she's humiliated herself, done something stupid, and it's my fault.

Spinning, she heads for the door at record speed. “The men we want to impress like to see pretty woman in prettier things. I won't have you looking like roadside trash. You'll pick one of the gowns I send to you, that's final.”

Unable to respond, I watch her leave the room. The sun heats up my shoulders through the window glass. I don't feel it. Not even a single degree.

I'm too busy remembering how terrifying her nails felt on my cheek.

****

AFTER MY LITTLE MEETINGwith Annie, I struggle to focus on my work. It's impossible, though. The sensation of her touch keeps wriggling into my mind. I can't concentrate; all I want to do is get out of the house. Fresh air and a nice run will shake off my uneasy mood. It always has before.

I stop at my room to change into some workout clothes. Most of what I wear normally could be called athletic wear, but because I plan to run—and run hard—I slip on a sports bra under the new outfit.

Bouncing down the hallway to warm-up, I make a beeline for the front door. Before I reach it, I spot movement through the giant windows. I pull up short, my sneakers squeaking.

Dominic is doing push-ups on the flat cement driveway.

I'm fascinated by the view. He's wearing a sleeveless tank, the scoop neck displaying the top of his pecs. It stretches over his broad back, his lateral muscles bulging through the wide arm openings.

Sweat makes his tattoos glisten. It reminds me of an oil painting that's just been created.I wonder how hot his skin is right now.My fingers move to the windowpane; I glance at them, then scold myself and yank my hand down to my side.

I'm pathetic.

How can I long for him so badly after Wyatt warned me to stay away?

At least he can't see me gawking at him. It's especially good he can't hear me, because when he stands up, drinking from a water bottle, spilling it down his shirt so the material clings to him, I groan.

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