Blackwater (10 page)

Instead of acting like a little girl, I lean into her and narrow my eyes, "Do I have to tell Daddy about a certain little girl who sold white perch from Black Water Bayou?"

I expect a reaction, but she has been playing this game longer than I have and she has mastered her reactions.

She smiles sweetly, "You don’t want to play this game with me, little girl. I will sell your virginity to the highest bidder in the French Quarter, before I let you ruin what I have spent a lifetime creating. Then I'll sell your sister's."

I gasp. Her cruelty knows no bounds.

She stands and wipes her hands on her skirt and smiles a perfectly peaceful look, "As I suspected. Now get dressed, we are going to his uncle's house."

Her accent thickens and that is the only way I know I have gotten to her at all.

I'm terrified of her. She is a monster.

I feel like I'm paying double admission for my seat at the freak show. I have to pay my way, plus hers. All her baggage is mine now too. I will pay for her pain. I will pay every night as I go to bed and lie with a man I don’t love or even like.

I never realized how horrid the idea of it all was. I always thought it was expected of me; it was my duty. If I wanted to remain rich and be happy, I had to marry a man who was right for me. I see the humor and folly in it all. Right for me actually meant right for my momma.

When I think about Mr. Whitlock, I can't bear the idea we will be separated by my marriage to the man who tried to hurt me. Who will no doubt hurt me again, and again.

I climb from the bed and wince when I pull on the too-tight blouse and the pencil skirt. I feel uncomfortable and tight in my clothing. I think she is buying all my clothes too small. I twist and look at the tag - a four. She has me squeezing my hips into a four. No wonder I can't breath and my breasts are bulging out the top. She has me looking like a whore.

I slip on some sandals that don’t match the outfit, but my feet will be in agony eventually from running in the hay field barefoot. I'm amazed they aren’t killing me now.

When I leave my room I hear them all arguing.

"She will marry him. She will. You can't go back on your word."

Emily is fighting them for me. "Daddy, he assaulted her in the backyard. Everyone was talking about the girl he was making out with in the back yard. It was Lorelei. He attacked her and forced himself on her. Mr. Whitlock rescued her. If you make her do this she will be the laughing stock of the South. Mr. Whitlock has saved her twice."

"Emily, you go to your room and stop bothering your father. We don’t even know that Mr. Whitlock. This is none of your concern. You need to worry about your own engagement and to who it will be."

I bite my lip, frozen on the huge sweeping stairs.

"Momma, you may be comfortable with Lorelei being married to a cruel man and having everyone laughing at her, but I know Daddy's not. Oh, and don’t you dare threaten me with my engagement, just because I'm speaking against you and defending her. I am not Lorelei. I will marry who I want. You don't scare me old woman."

I hear a slapping sound bounce off the walls.

"You will not speak to me like that. Go to your room." Momma shouts.

"I'LL SPEAK TO YOU HOW I WANT! YOU DON’T OWN ME, YOU OLD HAG!" Em screams at her.

"Monique! You will not strike her that way." Daddy's voice booms throughout the house.

I sit on the stairs and feel like my skirt is gonna burst. Emily runs from the den, but not for the stairs to her room. Instead, she runs out the front door. I watch her run past me holding her face. I feel sick.

My breath is short and panicked.

Momma's voice becomes soft and sweet again, "You saw how she spoke to me. How she treated me. I only want them to be the best daughters, for you, darling. To make the right connections for you."

"Monique, not right now. We need to discuss the matter at hand. She can't marry a man who has already made an attempt at making a fool of her."

"Shhhh my love. Let's not think on it now. We can decide tomorrow. Right now let me show you how much I love you. Mon Cher amour."

I roll my eyes. It's the only sentence of French she knows. Her voice gets throaty and low. I feel worse than I ever have in my life. She is a whore, who is using her body to trick him into forcing me to marry.

I get up and creep down the stairs. I too slip out the front door. I'm met with the warmth of the night air.

"Em." I whisper into the night. "Em, you there?"

She doesn’t answer. I walk out into the garden in the front of the house. I look at the field and wonder if she has gone to the hiding house.

I walk to the hay field, entering it quietly. I don’t hear her anywhere.

"Lorelei."

I turn to see Mr. Whitlock standing in my driveway. He looks casual in a thin blue V-neck T-shirt and brown cords. I have never seen him look casual before. He is always in a dress shirt or a suit or a tux.

His shirt stretches across his chest and I'm lost for a moment. His handsome face and rugged good looks compliment the style of dress. His short hair is messy, unkempt. I like the look. He takes a step toward me but stops himself. I feel the rejection from my daddy lingering in the air between us.

"He said no." my voice breaks.

He nods, "Yes. Yes, he did. I don’t care though. I've come to ask you to leave with me. We can live anywhere you want or go back to Scotland. I have several houses there. We can live happily. I just want you. I don’t care where." His eyes are burning.

My face is crumpling under the strain of my broken heart. "I can't leave my sister. She will suffer the same fate if I run away. My momma threatened to sell my, uhm well, virtue to the highest bidder."

"You must be joking? No mother would do…"

"My momma would." I cut him off. "She'll do the same to my sister."

His look hardens, "She is not my concern. You are."

I shake my head, "If you want me then you have to care about her wellbeing. We are alone in this world, her and I. If she leaves she'll be brought back or we will be charged with kidnapping. She's young still."

He closes the gap between us with one of his huge strides. His legs are long enough to make three of my steps in one of his. He takes my hands and kisses them. I can feel the heat of the evening making me glow.

"I can save you. I want you. I love you. Let me take you away from all this."

A tear drips from my eye and trickles down my cheek. "We need a real plan, not running away."

He nods, "I will go speak to your father now. Myself."

I shake my head and smile. "My momma is working her magic on him now and he'll kill you if he even thinks anything is going on."

He leans in and kisses me, "I will make this work."

I don’t believe him. I can't. I have to be realistic in my expectations. Just in case.

He doesn’t make it work. He doesn’t get a chance. The Ryans visit my house every other day or we are at theirs. Momma has acted like a completely crazed woman with the mission to marry me off before I get to see Whit again. She has run me ragged with schedules and fittings and appointments. Everyday she gets more panicky and pushes up the date for the wedding. Somehow everyone goes along with it. Her ways of making people see things her way are getting out of hand. She looks more tired than ever too, like she's running on empty.

I haven’t spent the weeks the way she wants me to. She gets frustrated when I don’t see things her way; she tries to force her ways on me, but I ignore her. Instead, I sneak out to see Whit when I'm not being watched and he sleeps in my bed every night. I wait on the balcony every night for him to arrive. We kiss and touch but he is always a gentleman. I'm always testing his resolve to be one. He growls and tells me to behave, that he can't control himself. He seems like he does though. It seems like I'm the one not in control.

I smile thinking about him, as I look around the room at the Governor's mansion for a clock. I need to leave at a respectable hour to still have some time with Whit. But there is no clock in the room. It's filled with fine things and false people who speak of false things to each other in an effort to be on top of their false world. My momma is the queen of this world. The false queen of the false people. Everyone eats up all her words. Everyone but Em and me. We see her for the lying bitch she is.

We have learned however, that the Ryans are in the South to help the governor make the transition into running for president in a year. He is their family. Martin has assured me several times he will work for the president and we will live in Washington. I desire neither thing. Every time he speaks I get an even larger burning desire to abduct my sister and run for it.

Martin holds my hand tightly but speaks softly, "Your mother assured my mother you will love DC."

I smile sweetly, "Did she? My momma has never been to DC." I have been letting my accent get thick as bog mud around him. I want him to back out. I daydream about it.

He frowns, "Are you still angry with me?"

I bite my lip and frown, "I'm not angry. I'm disgusted. You humiliated me. You're lucky my daddy doesn't know what you did to me in the yard. He would kill you."

He squeezes my hand and stands from the couch. I'm pulled along gently. We walk from the room under the watchful eyes of my daddy and sister.

He walks me out to the porch swing. He sits and pulls me down into his lap. I feel frozen and rigid. I can't meld into him the way I do with Whit.

"I can never apologize enough for that night." He kisses my neck and holds me to him. My butt is in his lap. He holds me tightly and swings us. I try to squirm out of his grip, but he holds me firmly.

"Let me just hold you, Lorelei." I can feel why he is holding me and pressing me down into him. "You just smell so good. All you Southern girls always look so nice and act so sweet and smell damn good. You know your place. I can see why my father wanted me to have a Southern bride."

I sigh and try not to pay much attention to the fact he's been smelling other Southern girls. Bastard. He is humiliating me left, right, and center.

I try to pull away but before I get the chance to get up and leave, he sets me down on the swing beside him. He takes my hand in his and holds it tight. "Look at me."

I'm scared of him. I'm scared of a vision I have every time I look at him. It's our wedding night. It makes me sick.

I look up at him and he leans in. His lips brush mine. I want to pull back but I don’t. I know better. He'll tell my momma and I've worked too damned hard to make her believe I am over Whit.

Instead of slapping him, I let him kiss me. I let him hold my hand. I don’t even squirm when his hand slides across my ribs and his thumb brushes my breast innocently, as if by accident.

He pulls back and looks down on me. His blue eyes are on fire. Desire and passion are pulsating from him. He places my hand on his thigh, too high for my comfort.

"You know I love you right. We are a perfect couple. You're pretty and have good genes and the right connections. Look at your mother, she's stunning. That's what you'll look like in twenty-five years, amazing. And look at me, I'm, well I'm me. We will be such a power couple." I look at him and frown. I can't help it. I nod, but my face won't allow a look beyond absolute horror. Possibly disgust as well.

I can suddenly see the difference in the declaration of love that comes from him and the one that comes from Whit. His is fake and creepy and really just an attempt at getting me to do the things I have no desire to do. With him anyway.

Whit's, however, is sincere and I never knew how sincere until this moment. I'm determined to run away with him. I'll abduct my sister if I have to. I just have to get through the engagement party tomorrow night at my house. I planned it perfectly, just in case I decided to go through with Whit's plan for us to run together.

I convinced my daddy that as it's my final hurrah and I'm marrying Northern Yankee scum, I should be allowed to have a dance on the old outdoor dance floor. It'll be where us young people will have fun after the dinner and drinks with the parents are over. Martin thinks it's a fantastic idea too. He wants to dance with me to smooth jazz and rub himself against me and anyone who'll let him. I cringe at the thought and leave my hand on his leg. I let him hold it there and imagine how it would feel in the place he really wants me to touch. The thought makes me sick. I've rubbed Whit, in an attempt to get him to make love to me, but the idea of rubbing Martin makes me gag.

I close my eyes and know the engagement party is going to be the perfect getaway. If I can make it the next twenty-four hours, I will be in the clear with the man I think I love too.

I have made certain the party will be the perfect place to escape. I invited twice as many people as is reasonable. I made sure we hired twice as many staff to serve drinks and I got twice as much liquor for the outdoor party. I have boxes of Cuban cigars that Angie got for me, on the sly. Her daddy is famous for things that fall off a truck.

I did everything in case I changed my mind and decided to run with Whit. My plan was to leave during the chaos. I just have to wait until Martin is drunk and attacking a girl in the woods or a dark corner of the house, which I know will happen. I'll make a run for it with Whit and no one will be the wiser. My parents will be ten sheets to the wind, as will Martin's.