I stared hard at him. “Thomas. You’re giving most of it to Thomas, aren’t you? You’re just giving me a little…dowry, or whatever you want to call it.”
“You’re hardly being reasonable, Evangeline,” he simpered. “You’ll be living in the greatest of luxury. Thomas is wealthy in his own right, as well as being heir to a rather large fortune from Richard. And with some of the deals I have in process, Thomas is poised to become even more wealthy and even more influential. You’ll want for nothing; you’veneverwanted for anything.” He waved a hand in gesticulation. “Think of Thomas, of his looks, his charisma, and his current political influence, and he’s only thirty! He could very well be president in a few years. Think of it! He could, feasibly, become the youngest president in history. Folks on the Hill are already talking about him for the next ticket. And you…youwould be his wife. First Lady Evangeline Haverton. How does that sound?”
I sat back, never having realized the scope of Father’s ambition. He wouldn’t be president himself, but…that was never Father’s way—he preferred to machinate in the background. Apply pressure subtly, wielding power from the shadows. He makes Thomas president, and then he’s the puppet-master, with the power of the entire country at his fingertips.
But they needed me, for appearances. If I refused, they’d find someone else suitable, but still…they wanted me as their first and primary choice.
I was their pawn, a puppet. A tool.
I heard a certain gravelly, caustic voice in my head, then.Nothin’ but a tool, princess—that’s all you ever will be to those fuckers.He’d never actually said that, but it’s what he would say, if given the chance.
Father chose a third printout from the folder, spun it around to face me, and tapped it with a fingertip. “In case you still have a little rebelliousness left in you, I think that may provide additional…impetus, shall we say, to concede. He seems to be the only thing you’ve ever shown any real interest in, besides your art.”
It was part of a dossier on Baxter. Basically, it was a threat. Father could make one call, an email, even, if he was feeling lazy, and Baxter would be detained. Indefinitely. The underground fighting would be the way they picked him up, but then he would essentially just disappear into the system. At the very least, he would be arrested, and left with a permanent record.
I had nothing, no leverage, no choices. I could walk away from everything, but where would I go? What would I do? Go to Alaska?Hi everyone. So um, I’m homeless and penniless—can I live with you guys, even though I only met you all once?Right. They’d agree because that’s the kind of people they were, but it would be charity. And what, I’d live with Baxter? A man I’d known for a matter of not even forty-eight hours, had sex with a handful of times, and then had walked away from? Idiocy to even consider it.
I felt tears pricking at my eyes, hot and stinging. “Fuck you. I hate you.”
“It’s for the best, Evangeline. And you’ll thank me, eventually.”
“No, I won’t. Neither will I ever forgive you. Or even speak to you.” I steeled myself. “Fine. I agree to your terms. But know this,Dad: Iwillescape. I will find a way to get out from under your control, away from Thomas, and I will live my life my way. I don’t have any other options right now, but…someday? Someday I will.”
“You sayescapeas if I’m taking you prisoner, Evangeline.”
“That’s because you are.”
He snorted. “Don’t be dramatic, child,” he said. “Besides, youcanwalk away, if you really feel that way. I’ve given you a little money. Enough to last you a while, if you’re careful.”
He was right. But…five thousand dollars? Would that even rent me an apartment? What would I do after that was gone? I had no work experience whatsoever, and currently didn’t even have a degree. Without Father’s money to finish the degree and his connections, I’d be utterly lost. I knew I was spoiled; I didn’t know how to even go about getting a job, not really, and I knew if I tried to strike out on my own, I would…well, I would fail.
Better to plot long term. Get the degree. Cultivate my own connections. Plan. And then, someday, walk away from it all.
“You agree, then?” Father asked. “No more petulance or rebelliousness?”
I sighed, holding back tears. “You know I have no real options.”
Father had the audacity to actually clap, laughing. “Very good, very good. I’ll inform Thomas. The wedding should take place…let’s see…” he consulted the calendar on his desk blotter, “in two weeks. That should give you plenty of time to trim down your figure a touch, which, let’s be honest, has suffered some, as of late.” He said this with unthinking ease, as if he hadn’t just twisted the knife in my back, but added another and poured acid on the wounds.
I managed to hold back the tears until I was back at my dorm.
11
Baxter
Iwasat the boxing gym I trained at, hammering my frustrations out on the heavy bag, when Corin walked in, his undercut ponytail tied up in a man-bun. He slouched against the wall near the heavy bag, tugging his earbuds out of his ear.
“Hey, tool, nice man-bun.” I shot a grin at him as I grabbed the bag to stop its wobbling spin.
“Nice face, fucker,” Corin threw back, stuffing his phone and earbuds in his pocket.
“Don’t see you around here much,” I said. “What’s up?”
He shrugged. “Cane is busy, Xavier is building robots and reading quantum physics, Brock and Bast are both doing shit with their women, Zane is with his new kid, and Luce is tending the bar, which is deader than a graveyard. Leaves me with dick to do, so I figured I’d come see you.”
I laughed. “Nice. I’m your last choice for something to do, huh? That’s cool.” I eyed him. “Canaan is busy, but you’re not? That’s new.”
Corin followed me across the gym to the speed bag. “The Kingsley girls are in town. He’s out with Tate.”
