Shock races down my spine. I can’t make myself move. I know exactly whose voice that is. Not my father’s.
The door opens in front of me. It’s not sweet, like when Giovanni does it. Not chivalrous. Byron looks impatient. “I said come in,” he snaps.
I jump, imagining that voice snapping at Honor, those hands hurting her. He doesn’t wait to see if I follow him—he already knows that I will. And I do, shutting the door behind me, a hollow feeling in my stomach. I regret not going to see my sister now, even though it wouldn’t have helped. In fact she might have insisted on coming with me as a show of support, and that would just get her hurt even more.
If anyone’s getting hurt now, it will be me.
“Sit down,” Byron says more calmly, perching on the edge of the desk.
My father sits in his chair, watching me with a blank expression. Why didn’t he tell me to come in? Because he’s just a figurehead now. He knows it. I know it.
And Byron sure as heck knows it.
My father leans forward. “I’ve been talking to Byron about your work. I showed him some of your paintings.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I thought he barely knew about my painting. And to think he showed them to someone else, like a proud father? My throat gets tight.
“It’s important for young girls to have hobbies,” Byron says. “I’ve been trying to get Honor to pick up riding, but she claims she’s afraid of horses.”
My eyes narrow, but I force them to look normal. Honor doesn’t claim she’s afraid of horses—she is afraid of them. And maybe if she wasn’t busy dodging his fists and doctoring herself, she’d have more time for hobbies.
As if Byron senses my anger, he smiles. “But you are different from her, aren’t you?”
Is that a jab at my parentage? I snap my gaze to my father. Something dark flickers in his eyes. And that’s it. There was a time a man could be beaten for even implying dishonor. And here was this man, with his shiny shoes and his slick hair and his butt on my father’s desk, getting away with everything.
It makes me angry. “Is there a reason you called me, Papa?”
“Byron and I would like you to attend the party.”
Sweet. Finally I get to be part of something. And hey, it’s my sister’s engagement party. Even if she is getting engaged to a monster, I should be there.
Just as quickly, suspicion rolls through me. “Just last week you were saying I’m too young. Why did you change your mind?”
My father’s hard expression slips, and just for a moment I see the desperation underneath. He’s a man holding on to the ledge. And one of these days, he’s going to get a push—from the man sitting on his desk.
Byron’s genial expression doesn’t fool me for a second. “I convinced him you were a big girl,” he says with a wink. “You are, aren’t you?”
What a creep. “Of course I am.”
The look he gives my body then is bold and disgusting. His gaze settles on my breasts, and big girl takes on a totally different meaning. The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight sneer. I feel like I could shower for days and never get clean.
“Can I go now?” I ask, keeping my voice as even as possible. “I have to figure out a dress if I’m going to the party tomorrow night.”
“Of course,” my father says, waving me off.
“Oh, and Clara.” Byron fingers a pen in a way that somehow looks menacing. “Be sure to look your best. There are some friends of mine I’m having you meet.”
*
I wasn’t exaggerating about the dress. Having spent most of my life cooped up in my bedroom or the library, I don’t have the kind of fancy dresses everyone will be wearing tonight.
“You can wear one of mine,” Honor says when I tell her the good news. Well, somewhat good news. The prospect of going to the party seemed less exciting after that creepy look from Byron. And his mention of friends. I have no desire to meet anyone he’d call a friend.
Still, I can’t deny that I’m excited. My first party.
“There’s no way that’s going to work,” I tell her honestly.
Honor is slender. And I’m…not. I’m five years younger than Honor, but somehow my bust is actually bigger. So are my hips.
She rolls her eyes and still manages to look classy and mature while she does it. “We’ll make a few alterations if we have to.”
“If we have to? Oh, we’ll have to. And by alterations, I’m guessing you mean adding an entire extra dress. Like if we tie two together, there might be enough fabric.”
Her lips twist disapprovingly. “We aren’t that different, Clara.”
Yeah, right. We’re different in every way. Her black hair to my pale. Her smooth olive skin to my pink freckled skin. Her slim body to my full one. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re beautiful.”
“What are you talking about? Clara, you’re gorgeous. There are women who’d love to have your curves. And your pretty hair.”
I just stare at her. I don’t believe her at all.