Page 100 of Goldsin

And sometimes I dream of being that little girl. Not the killer they made of me.

“Neither did I,” I joke. Despite everything, I can’t help but let out a little chuckle. I can’t help but feel happy.

A wave of tiredness washes over me, and I involuntarily close my eyes.

I can rest here for a little while, can’t I?

Fingers stroke my hair while words are whispered, but I can’t hear what Julian says.

Then something is being draped around my shoulders and strong arms are lifting me. I snuggle my head in the crook of his neck and inhale his cologne: a mixture of cedarwood and ...home.

Julian carries me away from the dollhouse and back upstairs to the ongoing celebration. Everything around me is hazy, forgettable, as I try to bask in this sensation of vulnerability.

People usually hate feeling like this. They work hard to achieve the opposite; to feel protected. But I don’t need to feel protected. I can take care of myself. I want to feel vulnerable, utterly raw. Because once I do, whoever I’m in the presence of is the only person I can truly be myself with. The only person I can really trust.

And it seems that person is Julian.

But I’m not surprised. He was my best friend for a reason. That connection never disappeared—we just hadto search for it between the mess of years we spent not talking.

“Where are you taking me?” I manage to ask.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Nowhere. I want to stay right here.”

“Then we’ll go nowhere together,” he murmurs.

Nowhere together.I think I like the sound of that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JULIAN

Rain drizzles down the windows and traffic clogs the roads, mimicking the chaos inside our house as the maids scurry around completing their tasks. The clacking of their ballerina shoes against the marble floor and the sound of their hushed words echoes down the corridor to where I’m standing in the kitchen.

Tonight’s party is hours away, but the house looks prepared already. Yet knowing my mother, she’s having everyone triple-check every single detail, leaving no chance for Lucian to complain.

But Lucianwillfind a way to punish her tonight in front of the guests. He always does.

“The vase! Yes, that one.” My mom’s voice carries into the kitchen from where she’s scolding a maid in the corridor. “Can’t you see how it clashes with the tablecloth? Put it next to Pollock’s ‘Number 30’!”

Pouring myself some coffee, I shake my head at her tone. As if the maid would have a clue putting the vase in the wrong position will earn my mother three spanks. Orthat adding more than five ashtrays to each table will result in a day without food and water.

The maid might know—if my mother didn’t hire new staff every week. Coincidentally, always before they start linking her increase in makeup to the constant screaming and crying coming from Lucian’s office.

“Julian?” She waves a hand in front of my face, calling my attention away from my running thoughts. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

I lean against the cabinet taking a sip of the bitter coffee, the taste guiding me back from the hell that is Lucian. “Sorry, Mom. What is it?”

Her brows move slightly, trying to appear like a frown but failing with the amount of work she’s had done. “Is everything ready for tonight?”

The same blue of my eyes scans down my chest, paying particular attention to the fingernails carved into my skin. Aurelia made her mark on me last night when she was screaming my name.

I don’t usually walk around half-naked, but today caffeine is a necessity, right after my morning workout and before heading for a shower.

Mom’s tired gaze connects with mine. “You know how your father gets when things aren’t perfect.” There’s concern laced in her voice.

I hate seeing her like this, slowly fading.

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