“Cat,” I say gently. “Where would I go? Where would I hide? And with what money? Besides . . . I could never leave you with them.”
By “them” I don’t just mean our father and stepmother. I mean my father’s soldiers, and the Princes and their soldiers, and the professors at school, and the other students, and the whole wide underworld that could be used to hunt me down, or to punish my sister for my escape.
“I could go with you,” Cat says.
I shake my head. I would never risk what might happen to her if we tried to run away.
Cat was not made for a life of fear and uncertainty.
What I hope is that she’ll marry someone reasonable. A strong man who can protect her. Who will appreciate that Cat is beautiful and kind and will be a good wife to him and an excellent mother to his children. Then she’ll be safe.
Not all mafia men are bad. She could end up with a Leo instead of a Rocco. There’s still hope for her.
As for me . . . well, I can’t think about that.
Looking at Cat makes me realize I’m not the only one battered and bruised.
“What happened to your face?” I demand.
“Combat class,” Cat says, shaking her head ruefully. “I’m not getting any better.”
“You will,” I assure her. “I could practice with you in the gym, outside of class hours. I’m not the best at fighting, but I’ve learned a few things. Chay’s better—I bet she’d help.”
“Alright,” Cat says hesitantly, looking more nervous than pleased at this prospect. Then, returning to the subject topmost on her mind she says, “When you tried to jump off the wall . . . Jasper Webb grabbed you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Jasper and Miles Griffin.”
“But Miles wasn’t part of it. He came along in the middle of it?”
“That’s right.” I nod.
“Why do you think Jasper helped you?”
“I don’t know. Out of instinct. Or to keep me from getting away from Rocco. Or because he was worried he might get in trouble himself. It wasn’t out of sympathy for me, I can tell you that. He had no problem holding me down so Rocco could cut my fucking eye out of my head.”
Cat gulps, pale and nauseated, and I regret describing what happened in such graphic detail.
“Never mind,” I tell her. “I was stupid to run up on that wall to avoid him. I’ll be careful not to go to any isolated places.”
Cat bites her lip. We both know that avoiding Rocco on campus is only a temporary fix at best. I won’t be able to avoid him when we live in a house together as husband and wife.
“What was Miles doing up there?” Cat asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say.
I can feel my face coloring. I told Cat everything, except my conversation with Miles in the infirmary. I don’t quite know how to explain it.
I never expected to experience kindness from Miles Griffin. And I definitely never expected to feel understanding. Miles and I could not be more different. And yet . . . for a brief moment as I lay back against the pillow, and he sat right next to me, not touching me, but only a foot or two of space between us . . . I felt that he could see inside me. He knew what I was feeling, and he understood.
Even more surprising, I felt the same way about him. I looked in his face and for once there was no mask of indifference. His features softened. He looked younger. Miles became a real person to me, with a range of emotions much wider than I thought him capable of feeling.
He uses humor as a shield and a weapon. I’ve never seen him show anything but ambition, cunning, and the relentless determination to satisfy his own impulses.
As he sat next to me, the walls came down. The real Miles spoke to me. I heard compassion in his voice. Concern. Even respect.
It was bizarre. Unsettling, even. I expected any second that he’d shake his head, crack some joke, and he’d be back to his usual careless self.
Instead, he wanted me to promise that I wouldn’t try to hurt myself again.
I could tell that it mattered to him. That he cared.
Why he should care, I have no idea.
I don’t think tenderness comes easy to Miles Griffin.
To me either, if I’m being honest. The only person on this planet I truly love is Cat. I never had close friends until I started school at Kingmakers. There’s a coldness in me that doesn’t melt easily. Maybe because I’ve had to be so careful, so rigid, all my life. It’s hard for me to trust. Hard to open up.
“Miles must be decent,” Cat says pensively. “He’s cousins with Leo and Anna.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” I shake my head. “After all, look who we’re related to.”
The following weeks at school are uneventful.
I never told Dr. Cross what actually happened, and he didn’t press me for answers. He’s too used to being lied to by students, and probably doesn’t want to hear it.
I don’t know whether Rocco is right, whether he’s allowed to injure me with impunity. There’s no point in reporting what happened either way. Nobody was injured, other than the cuts on my face and body, and the lump on my head. Only serious damage merits an official response.
One thing I did do: I bought trousers from Matteo Ragusa. He’s a Sophomore Accountant, and we’re about the same size. He was happy to sell me two pairs of pants from his stash of uniforms, though I could tell he was curious.
“What do you want them for?” he said, handing the trousers over freshly laundered and neatly pressed.
“I just . . . don’t want to wear skirts anymore,” I said.
I couldn’t explain to him the shame I feel in my body sometimes. How much I hate the way it draws the eyes of people like Rocco Prince and Wade Dyer. I’m vulnerable in my school uniform. It was too easy for Rocco to slip his hand up my skirt at the breakfast table. I’m lucky all he did was pinch my thigh.
“You don’t need these?” I said to Matteo, holding up the trousers.
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I’ve got plenty. And my mom can send more in my Christmas box.”
It wiped out all my pocket money, but it hardly matters. There’s nothing to buy at Kingmakers unless I want something illegal from Miles Griffin.
I’ve been wearing the trousers since. They give me a strange sense of confidence. I feel like Katherine Hepburn or Ingrid Bergman, two women I’ve always admired. In an environment of skirts, pants are an expression of power.
Nobody has commented on it, other than Professor Graves raising one silver eyebrow the first time I walked into class flouting the usual uniform.
Maybe the pants are working, because Rocco has mostly been leaving me alone. More likely he sensed that he pushed me too far.
I’m not stupid enough to relax. I know he’s only regrouping, planning his next attack.
He wasn’t pleased with our last skirmish. He doesn’t like when things don’t go according to plan. Every interaction between him and me is supposed to satisfy some dark impulse. If I don’t feed him what he wants, he only gets hungrier.
Rocco isn’t the only one watching me. I catch Miles Griffin looking at me more than he used to. We were barely acquaintances before, both of us floating in the orbit of Leo and Anna, but rarely interacting with each other directly.