Page 75 of Gilt

“She didn’t tell you?”

“She knew?” If Becca had known that we had different fathers, she took that secret to the grave. If so, I hadn’t known her at all. My sister. My best friend. The stranger I’d grown up with.

“You gathered the truth from that stack of papers. You’re very intuitive.” His fingers slide up my bare arm. It takes a second to process the meaning behind his touch but my body backs away before my mind catches up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I miss your sister,” he says. “You look like her, you know?”

My mouth goes dry. “That makes sense. We were sisters.”

“You remind me of your sister. You’re as beautiful as she was, maybe even prettier.” He moves toward me and I scramble to think of a way out. “I used to screw her on that desk.”

Screw her? I freeze as this processes. Sex. Becca had sex with Hans, but…

“You’re her father.” The accusation spills out of me and stops him in his tracks.

“What?”

“That’s the secret. The one that you were hiding.” Even as I say it, the truth forms with startling clarity, but now I want it to be something that’s as benign as my mother lying about an old fling and then marrying him later. Because the new picture in my head can’t be erased.

“I’m afraid only your mother knows who her father is. Although I suspect your dad knows as well. Your sister was ambitious,” he continues, and I want to scream at him to stop talking about her because I don’t want his memories of her. I want mine. I want to believe I was her best friend. I want to believe that the furthest she ever got was with a Topher Drake at his Halloween party her junior year. “I loved your sister.”

“No, you didn’t. This was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. I can’t stop looking at the desk–can’t stop picturing what he’s saying.

“That’s not fair. I love you both.”

“I didn’t ask for your love.” I rush toward the other end of the desk but my foot catches on the rug and I tumble down into the chair.

“Becca had dreams,” Hans tells me, “and dreams take money.”

“Do you even know the difference between the truth and lies anymore?” I start to push myself up but he leans over me.

“That pretty little mouth of yours will get you into trouble.” His hot breath, still stinking of tonight’s shrimp entree, makes me gag. “I’m a reasonable man. For instance, take this sex scene that’s bothering you. Maybe you didn’t sleep with him.” He stands up and his fingers find his belt buckle.

NO. NO. NO.

It’s the only word I can process but I can’t get it out of my mouth. My heart pounds against my rib cage like a trapped animal trying to break free. I want to run, but I’m frozen in place, afraid that the slightest movement will encourage my predator to lunge.

“Maybe you gave him head,” he suggests. “I can see you doing that.”

I struggle to find my voice and when I do questions flood from me.“Is this how it was with you two? You forced her into doing what you wanted?”

“Becca liked to please me. She wanted to keep me all to herself. She told me to stay away from you, but now she’s gone. Maybe you should be a little more like your sister.” He unbuttons his trousers. “Why don’t you show me what happened that night? Show me how I need to rewrite the scene.”

Sensing my opportunity, I find the courage to stand up. I’m careful to push the chair back to give myself more room. Hans mistakes that for acquiescence.

“That’s good,” he coaxes. His hands reach to rest on my shoulders so that he can gently urge me to my knees.

“I think the whole scene needs a rewrite,” I tell him before I swiftly introduce his groin to my kneecap. He’s down long enough for me to get out of the room and into the hall. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial 911. When he stumbles to the doorway and starts to lunge, I hold up the screen. “One more step and all they hear is me yelling for help.”

“I was wrong. You’re nothing like your sister. He spits at my feet.

“No, I guess I’m not.” I don’t wait for him to spew more filth. I run for it.

In my room, I lock the door and shove a few things in a bag, makeup, a couple T-shirts, my swimsuit, and grab my laptop. There’s a 10% chance I can convince my mom to mail me the rest, but I can’t tell her what happened, so she’ll probably hold it hostage until I’m brave enough to show up at her door again.

You remind me of your sister. My stepfather’s words swim in my head until I’m dizzy trying to forget them. It’s not like the first time I’ve been compared to Becca, but this was different. I resist the urge to walk into the shower, fully clothed, and turn the water to the melt-your-skin-off setting. Nothing can wash this away.