Page 5 of Depravity

I run my hand through my hair, hoping the movement might catch her eye, but it does nothing. She can’t see me. She hasn’t noticed me standing here practically gawping, but I always notice her. I have every single time she’s scuttered by, every time she’s crept from room to offensive room. She’s like a mouse, creeping about, hoping to go unnoticed. And that’s how they alltreat her too; an unwanted pest they’d clearly like to rid their home of.

If I had my way, she’d be the one I’d be hauling up the aisle. She’d be the one tethered to me. She’s far more to my tastes, far more - malleable. Unlike her aunt she knows not to play games, she’s too innocent for that - and she’s also clearly learned to keep her mouth shut, which is another attribute I admire.

“Conrad.”

My teeth clench, and my jaw tightens, as that screechy-welcome rings out across the drive.

She’s there, standing in a tight dress she no doubt thinks is alluring, and she’s got her arms spread wide, as wide as the stupid welcoming grin on her heavily dolled up face.

“Giselle.” I say tightly. There’s no use in pretence. I’m not going to fawn all over her, I’m not going to make a show of acting like I want this woman. No, she can do all the leg work because as far as I’m concerned, this entire marriage is an affront to everything I am.

Behind her, her father comes to the door. He tilts his head, giving a gesture that I reciprocate. Him at least I respect on some level. He’s a formidable man. Tall, lithe, and no doubt could gut you as readily as give you a smile. In many ways he reminds me of my own dear brother, Magnus, though I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

The servants come flittering about, grabbing my bags, making a show of this family’s simpering hospitality. I stalk over from the car, glancing one final time up to where my doll was, and a pang almost hits me when I see the space is empty.

Has she seen me, then? Did she slip away while her wretched aunt was screeching like a banshee? Or was it after? Did she sense danger, sense discovery and decide it best to lay low, just like always? I guess I’ll not know that answer, at least not until I can hunt her down.

And that’s exactly what I intend to do. If these seven days give me nothing else, they will give me that, a few moments, a few conversations with Brynn. I will corner her where I must, trap her if she’s unwilling, but this family will give me that one thing.

Dinner is set.A fancy dinner. Fine silverware and the best China they have, all laid out like this is a state banquet.

Quinn sits at the head, his young wife to the left of him. A few of the cousins and lesser relatives fill the dozens of spaces and Giselle is next to me, her leg touching mine just often enough for me to know it’s not by some accident.

I made my excuses after arriving. Made a lie about an urgent business call and I stayed in my suite, laying low, reminding myself of all the reasons why I should be grateful for this match. I could practically hear my brother’s voice echoing in my head about the fact that I’m pushing forty. I’m technically a Reaper, but have no record to show for it beyond my impressive bloodline, I’m a fuckup. A playboy. I know I’ve spent my youth indulging too much, but I also knew what my future would be, and why would anyone not take the good days before the bad ones rolled in?

The servants trail in, all in neat little suits that echo the ones worn by my own family’s help. They keep their eyes down, mouths shut and silently lay out the copious dishes before us.

Quinn makes a nice show of saying grace, of thanking our Senate for their guidance and God for every blessing he has bestowed on his family.

Only, there’s someone missing. One very obvious member who is a no show.

At first, I think it’s because of me that my little doll has played ill and stayed away but as the dishes are served, I realise that there’s more at play here.

“Where is your niece?” I ask Giselle, cutting across whatever bullshit she’s jabbering on about, though I intentionally don’t say Brynn’s name. I don’t want to reveal any more cards than I have to.

She stops abruptly, her cheeks going slightly red with the obvious insult and a micro-expression of a scowl covers her pretty features.

“Why do you ask?” She says, straightening her spine like an insect about the attack.

“Is this not meant to be a family meal?” I reply. “Surely that would meanallfamily are present?”

She lets out a huff, turning her head to glance at all the other faces who are clearly listening into our conversation.

“Brynn was waylaid.” Quinn says, as if that explains it. “She will eat in her room.”

Of course she was. No doubt Giselle is behind that. Jealous, conniving bitch. It’s more than apparent that her absence was intentional because there’s no setting for her, no empty glass and unused cutlery. No, they knew before this dinner was even being prepared that she wouldn’t be attending it.

I pick up my wine, take a sip and then act as nonchalantly as I can about it, but I’m done with this meal. Done with the schmoozing. I was never much of a wine drinker and though this vintage is nice, I’d give anything for a large glass of whiskey to help me through this.

Thankfully the talk resumes. My hateful bride-to-be titters on, and I smile as best I can, pretending to give a shit for more hours than I can possibly count.

My eyes land on Paige, Quinn’s wife. She’s young, barely older than Giselle. She’s wearing a dress that swamps her body and she’s careful to keep her eyes downcast. By all definitions, she’s the perfect Brethren Lady, silent, obedient. But I know she hasn’t given him any children. Not one.

I glance back at her husband and wonder if the fault is with him. Perhaps he’s sterile, but then he had two daughters, didn’t he? Or maybe he doesn’t care for more heirs, maybe he put all his hopes into the one he had left, maybe that’s why he’s so invested in this damned union.

When the meal is done, the ladies retire, and I follow the few men into the drawing room. Cigars are handed out, smoke fills the air and the much sought after scotch is poured out for us.

Without his daughter hanging off his every word, Quinn is far more entertaining, far better of a conversationalist. I’d even go so far as to say I enjoy his company, and I’m surprised to realise my evening isn’t a complete write off.

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