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Unable to look at her, I keep my eyes downcast. “He ignored me for the most part, then he called me a whore for sale and asked me to lift up my skirt and expose myself to him so he could see what marrying me would get him,” I confess, my voice barely a whisper.
The air in the car becomes so thick that I struggle to swallow as I keep my gaze fixed firmly on my knees, not wanting to look at either of my parents.
“And did you?” Dad asks.
I snap my eyes upward so fast I jar my neck as my mouth falls open, and I stare at my dad like he’s grown a second head. “Did I what?” I gasp.
He clears his throat. “Did you give him what he wanted?”
“No!” I cry, appalled. “Of course I didn’t. Why would you even ask that?”
Grabbing my chin between her fingers, Mom’s sharp, pointed fingernails dig into my skin. “The Winslows are an old, powerful family, and they’re who we’ve chosen to ally ourselves with.”
“But,” I start to say, then immediately stop as she tightens her hold on me until my face is burning from her nails buried in my chin.
“Gulliver will be marrying your sister, and we all have to do whatever it takes to smooth that path.”
“What?” I gasp, shocked at what she’s implying.
“Don’t act stupid, young lady, you know exactly what I mean. If Gulliver wants to look, then you show him. If he wants to touch, you let him. You do whatever you have to do to keep him happy.”
My mouth falls open as I process what my mother is telling me. She really is prepared to whore out her daughter for this marriage. She’s prepared to whore out both of her daughters.
“Next time, you’ll do whatever the hell he wants you to,” Dad says, his tone bored, like he’s discussing the weather, not suggesting his virgin daughters trade off on performing sexual acts to persuade a guy to marry them.
This is it; this is how far my family is willing to go. I should be shocked. I am shocked. But somehow, I’m not surprised. I think I’ve always known they’d be this depraved because money corrupts, or at least my great-grandfather’s money does.
When the car stops outside our house, I wait impatiently for my parents to climb out before I slide out after them, my heart racing, my brain whirring with horror and disgust. The moment I’m upright, Mark grabs my arm, stopping me. Shame rises inside of me when I realize he just overheard everything my parents just said to me.
Glancing over his shoulder, he watches the front door open and my parents disappear into the house before he turns back to me, his sad, concerned eyes running over me like he’s checking to make sure I’m okay.
I’m not sure how old he is—late forties or early fifties, maybe. His hair is a distinguished salt and pepper, but there are fine lines at the sides of his eyes and mouth that suggest he might be older than I think. “It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night it is; it doesn’t matter where you are, you call me and I will come for you. I’ll get you away from here, away from those people. I’ll take you right now if that’s what you want,” he says, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.
“I can’t,” I say simply, my voice cracking.
“I know I’m supposed to pretend that I don’t hear the conversations that happen while I’m driving. But you shouldn’t be here, not after what they just said. You’re a good girl, Miss Izabella, and your…” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Your parents,” he spits. “You’re not safe here anymore.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, placing my hand on top of his and squeezing gratefully as tears fill my eyes. “I wish I could run. But I can’t, not yet. It’s only a few months until graduation, and then I’ll be gone.” Swallowing, I force a brittle smile to my lips. “And this is the first time I’ve been…her for anything other than school. I won’t do it again,” I tell him, wanting to explain more, but letting the unspoken truths hang in the air and fill in the gaps.
Worry fills his warm, caring eyes. It’s clear he wants to say more, but instead he nods. “The moment anything changes, you call me. I mean it. Any time, any place, no questions asked.”
Emotion thickens my throat. Nodding, I squeeze his hand one last time, then step back.
Releasing me, he watches me move toward the open front door. “I worry about you, kiddo. Be safe.”
A single tear falls from my eyes and rolls down my cheek, but I don’t turn, because if I do, I’ll take him up on his offer and run, and I can’t, not yet. My parents need me to help Penelope graduate. If I run now, they’ll chase. I need to bide my time and keep my head down until graduation, then this will all be over, or at least for me it will be.
When I enter the house, I can hear my parents in the family room, but I head straight upstairs, wanting to be as far away from them as possible. Penelope’s bedroom door is shut, but I still find myself standing in front of it, my fist raised and gently knocking before I can talk myself out of it. When she doesn’t immediately answer, I knock again, then quietly turn the handle and push the door open.
Her room is dark and quiet, but just like earlier, it’s empty, her bed still tightly made. She’s not here. She’s not fucking here. I had to take her place tonight. I had to pretend to be her, deal with Gulliver’s vitriol and disgusting perversion, and our parents’ toxic willingness to do whatever it takes to land a Winslow as a son-in-law, all because she had other plans.
Anger starts to swell inside of me, forcing out all of the hurt and outraged disappointment and replacing it with blind rage that makes me want to take Mark up on his offer and run from this godforsaken house and the evil bastards that live here.
Righteous indignation radiates through my veins, burning me from the inside out until all I want to do is scream and shout and tell them that I won’t play this game anymore, that I refuse to be a pawn. But as fast as my anger rises, it drains from me, because what’s the point? My family doesn’t care about what I think. They don’t care if I’m angry or hurt or sad. All I am is a mannequin, a convenient lookalike. I don’t have any value to them beyond my ability to be a stand-in for my sister. My feelings, my wellbeing, my sanity—it’s all inconsequential to my family, unless it affects my ability to play Penelope 2.0.
Leaving her room, I storm into my own, closing and locking the door behind me. Kicking my ridiculous heels off, I fling them toward the corner of the room, enjoying the sound of the thousand-dollar shoes bouncing off the wall. Reaching behind me, I tear at the zipper of my dress until I hear the sounds of the fabric ripping. The moment it’s loose enough, I wrench myself free of the horrible, constricting thing, shoving it over my hips until it falls like a puddle of lace to the floor at my feet.
The moment I’m standing in nothing but my bra and panties, I exhale a relieved breath, feeling some of the heaviness of the night fall from me with the dress. Striding purposefully into the bathroom, I turn on the shower, leaving it on warm while I strip out of my underwear.
