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Alicia propped her thin hands on her soft waist. She had on a pressed, black pencil skirt, and it gave her an unforgiving appearance. “You said you would help.”
“I’m helping,” Mattie protested. “What’s next?”
“The shape,” Alicia said with narrowed eyes.
Oh fuck. I tried to catch Mattie’s gaze, but she was lost in her rage. I didn’t know how many years she had done this with her mother. I didn’t know how long she had endured lectures and impossible standards, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would go with… too long.
Mattie gestured to the gold pumpkin. "As I already pointed out, this one. It's gold. It's a fucking pumpkin, and it matches your stupid theme."
“How dare you,” Alicia seethed. “You know, the guards told me you tried to escape.” She swung an accusatory glare my way. “And do you know what I think?”
Mattie winced, probably finally realizing she’d fucked it up. Was that a new record? I wasn’t sure. Mattie had a way of fucking up plans so fast, she beat her own records. She smoothed out her features. “I’m sorry. I’m just… nervous. About the party.”
Alicia didn’t buy it. “I think you’re lying, you little brat. I think you’re trying to con your way out of being a decent daughter and a helpful member of this family.”
Mattie’s features fell into dull acceptance. “Is that what you think?” She flicked a glance to me. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded once.
Fuck no. Mattie could screw this up for all I cared. I’d have the perfect excuse to cart her away from these psychopaths, anyway. I wasn’t going to make a demonstration of her, no matter what I had promised.
“Tell me you didn’t try to escape,” Alicia demanded. She took Mattie’s face between her bony fingers, her long nails digging into her soft cheeks. “Say it straight to my face.” Fury washed over me, painting the world red and causing me to take a half-step forward. Alicia noticed. She rotated an incredulous glare my way.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you kidding me right now, Kael? Stop blaming Mattie for messing up your plans. She lights the match, you pour the gas. Idiot.
Mattie closed her eyes in resignation. I clenched my teeth together so hard, I thought I heard a crack. Alicia glared at me, widening her eyes in a clear invitation to take control of the situation. “Outbursts, you said?”
I can’t keep running.
I released a silent, slow breath. Mattie was right, in a way. She needed to extricate herself from Alicia and Augustus in a permanent way. Which meant I needed to play my part. Siberia was looking really good right now. Come to think of it, I’d take Mattie with me, too. After I was done traumatizing her.
I’d thought about this a lot in the last twenty-four hours. After we’d been caught at the bottom of the stairs, I knew there would be a measure of distrust created, and it would be up to me to fix it. I had tossed around idea after idea. In the end, the only thing I could land on that wouldn’t truly cause her any harm was something I’d noticed only briefly. A flash of fear I couldn’t unsee.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the butterfly knife I’d kept put away since that first morning Mattie had been in my safe house because I’d seen the haunted fear in her eyes when I’d played with it. If I could pull a genuine reaction of fear from her, then it might be enough to propel her through the rest of this stupid plan she insisted on carrying out.
Mattie’s eyes fastened on the knife the second I pulled it out. I flicked it open, playing with it casually like I hadn’t even noticed Alicia’s silent demand for action. Tink, tink, click. I flashed the blade open, spun it around my fingers in a way that put my digits in direct danger, and then flipped it back around to close it again. I cut a stray thread off one of the napkins, like the entire purpose of pulling out my knife had been to trim the sewing. “Mattie.” Her name rang through the open room like a warning.
Mattie went so stiff, her collarbone stood out. Alicia surveyed her daughter’s reaction, and slowly, she released her face. “Matilda. I’m asking for your cooperation. Are you, or are you not, willing to help?”
I flicked the blade again, opening it, letting the blade flash wickedly through the air, and then closing it. “Mattie?” I prompted.
Mattie’s bottom lip quivered, and my composure almost broke. “I am,” she breathed out.
“Good.” Alicia smiled with smug appreciation. “Now, I was thinking damask burgundy. Over here. What do you think?”
Mattie followed her mother, her movements wooden. Her eyes flashed to me several times, and I closed the knife in my fist. Such a simple thing, and she cinched up tighter than a bowline knot. I hadn’t hurt her. I hadn’t even directly threatened her. But I hated myself for doing it anyway. My stomach roiled, and only years of training kept me away from her with my arms folded and gaze shielded.
Mattie managed to turn off every switch and dial that made her who she was. I watched her shut down, her mechanical instincts taking over and forcing, “yes,” and “no,” answers from her tight lips. When they had chosen the napkins, and my urge to stab something with the knife had reached a fever pitch, they moved on to tablecloths. Mattie nodded and demurred for two hours until finally, Alicia promised to take her to the decorator’s and have her help with centerpieces.
I frowned. Why did this feel like a wedding?
Finally, Mattie was excused, and I followed her back up the staircase to her apartment in the left wing. When she reached the keypad, she waited for me to put in the code. I opened the door for her, and she went in without glancing at me. I bit the inside of my lip, worry and anger spiraling together in a chaotic vortex that threatened to tear out of me in an unforgivably violent display.
Mattie crossed her arms in front of her, holding her middle tight, and I closed the door firmly. “Mattie—” I started.
She turned on her heel suddenly, and with her usually warm, chocolate eyes flashing cold with anger and hurt, she reached for my hand. Her fingers dug into my palm, excavating the butterfly knife from my grip, and with her lips pressed hard together, she turned and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the TV screen, cracking the display and spiderwebbing cracks along the dead screen.
“Mattie, what the hell?” I asked, just short of shouting.
She shoved me against the door, her small palms barely even noticeable on my chest. But I was so taken aback, I slammed into the closed door and stared at her with raised eyebrows. She took the collar of my shirt in her fists and pulled me down harshly. “Kiss me,” she whispered with a ghost of a breath over my mouth. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and in the set of her face, I read a whole tome of hurt.
