Joy’s breath hitches again.
“Finances, food, everything—like we discussed before.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” I stick my face in hers and accidentally smell her sweet, strawberry breath.
Fuck. It’s taking everything in me not to kiss her.
“Everyone loses at some point,” she says, bringing the strawberry back to her mouth. She makes a point of sinking her teeth into the flesh, sucking all the juice until the fruit is completely drained. “Sorry, Valerian, I don’t wanna be the one to put a downer on your wedding day. But you just married the wrong girl.”
7
JOY
After tossingand turning all night, I jump out of bed and decide to give myself a tour of Valerian’s house.
The wedding celebrations went on longer than I thought. Multiple champagne flutes were offered to me, but I turned all of them down. I didn’t want to drink. I wanted to leave.
And that’s still the case now.
I walk out of my bedroom suite and down the banister. I have to strike at the right time. I can’t salvage an escape yet. Maybe in a week when things have settled down, I’ll find a way to escape and find help.
For now, I need to work out my exits. Unfortunately, guards are stationed at each one. Even when I slip outside and walk across the stone cloister, I see four Russian men hidden in the shadows staring back at me.
They’re big. Not as much as Valerian and his burned friend. But still big enough for me to not stand a chance.
The silk nightgown I’m wearing scuffs the ground as I walk through the cloister. I don’t have clothes or any of my skincare products. Everything here has been given to me by Valerian.
The silk nightgown is okay. But it could be made more functional for walking.
The wedding dress Valerian picked out for me took me by surprise. It was vintage Vivian Westwood. I always envisioned myself wearing that designer one day.
Which only made my blood boil more as I walked down the aisle, seeing Valerian waiting at the other end.
Fucking bastard. Iwillfind a way to get out of this. Being married to him doesn’t change anything.
I come to a halt, throwing my arms over the edge of the stone wall to breathe in the night air. It doesn’t matter how clean the air is up here at the top of Beverly Hills. I still feel my throat tightening, everything closing in as I sink deeper into reality, and what this sudden turn of events really means.
‘Mom, it’s midday. You need to get out of bed.’
I open the drapes, which only causes her to sink more into the covers.
‘He came back at two a.m. last night smelling of Coco Chanel, baby.’
Finals are only two months away. I need to be studying.
Instead, grief sinks into my chest.
I sit on the edge of Mom’s bed.
‘Once I graduate high school, I’ll find a job. And the money I make will be our own.’
‘Your father will come around, baby. He always does.’
He does. But the cycle always repeats.
And Mom’s trapped in it.