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“Oh my god.” She laughs like she can barely believe this. “Holy wow. You sold yourself to Ford Arc? What does that make you? Are you whoring yourself to the Arc family? Kit-Kat, this is horrible, are you on drugs like your mother? No, please, don’t tell me, I really don’t want to know. You’re blowing up your life, you’re blowing up the entire family. What are you thinking! Grandfather’s going to kill you, Kit-Kat. He’s going to murder you right in the middle of the house and I’m going to have to watch the maids scrub your blood from the carpet for a whole week, it’s going to be ghastly. What were youthinking,you stupid girl? God, you must be—”
I hang up.
My head’s pounding. I know cutting her off like that will only make her even angrier, and now she’s probably going to tell everyone and make my life hell, but I couldn’t listen to her go on and on like that anymore. Besides, I already know I’m in deep crap with Grandfather. That’s the whole point of this. He’s going to kick me out of the family and stop paying for my mother’s treatment, and he might even use his connections to get Mom thrown into prison after all.
My only hope is that Ford can protect her.
That’s the whole deal. Instead of selling myself to my grandfather and the Stockton family, I’m selling myself to Ford.
This ismychoice. It’s not ideal, but at least it’s the path I’m choosing instead of doing whatever my grandfather tells me to do. I can’t pretend like Ford’s a great guy and I’m madly in love with him—even if there is an incredible spark between us, that’s more like lust than anything else—but he can’t be any worse than what I’ve put up with already.
I wish I could be like Mom. Minus the drugs. I wish I could do whatever I wanted without caring about anyone else in the world. Unfortunately, my mother is an addict, and if I’m not able to take care of her then I have to find someone else who will.
I refuse to let my mother spiral deeper into her addiction and I refuse to give up on her.
But as I get into the car, I’m intensely aware that something very, very bad is waiting for me back home.
Chapter 11
Kat
Isit on a chair in front of the fire in Grandfather’s office, and he stands with his back to me staring into the flames.
It’s very dramatic. Grandfather always was into showmanship.
Sweat trickles down my back. It’s hot in here and smells like ash, cigar smoke, and whiskey. I glance at the books on the shelves and imagine pulling them down, one by one, and throwing them into the fire just to watch Grandfather squirm. Some sick part of me would love to do it—they’re expensive books, old books, the sort of books my family is extremely into, but they’re basically decoration. Except I couldn’t live with myself if I did something so heinous.
I just want to hurt Grandfather. I want to hurt all of them.
“Is it true, Katherine?” Grandfather doesn’t turn to look at me. He’s been standing there for nearly five minutes and I’ve been sitting here in silence the whole time. Nobody would look at me when I got back to the house after visiting with my mom, and I guess Sara Lynn ran around spreading the good news the firstchance she got. I hate her, and I’m not surprised, and I’m happy she’s not around to rub this in my face herself.
“Yes,” I say simply.
Grandfather’s head droops. I shuffle myself on the seat and sit up straighter. I try to stop myself from shaking but I can’t quite do it. My whole life I’ve done everything my grandfather has asked of me even when I didn’t want to. I’ve followed the rules, kept myself out of the limelight, and sucked it up when things didn’t go my way. He’s given me small privileges in return: money, clothes, the job at the farm. But mostly I’m expected to keep quiet, stay meek, and obey.
Which is what I’ve always done and maybe could’ve kept on doing my whole life if it weren’t for Ford Arc.
He showed me another way and now all of the resentment I’ve been cultivating deep inside for so long is beginning to seep out.
“Why?” he turns to face me. His expression is curiously blank like he’s not quite sure how he feels. I take the ring Ford gave me from my pocket and slip it onto my finger. Grandfather watches the gesture, and he grimaces like I kicked him right in the stomach. His right hand presses against his chest, and I worry I’m giving him a heart attack, but Grandfather remains standing and glaring at me, and I have to remind myself that this is all a performance.
“You told me that I needed a husband. Well, I found one.”
“This isnotwhat I meant,” he says sharply. “I wanted you to marry a man of my choosing. A suitable man from a good family. Not some upstart pseudo-gangster piece of garbage like that Ford Arc. Do you know the sort of men he associates with? His whole family is trash and you know it, and now you’re goingto wave him in my face? Why are you doing this, Katherine? Haven’t I been good to you and your mother?”
I clamp down on a thousand answers. I want to tell him exactly what he’s been like—controlling, demeaning, aggressive, horrible—but that won’t fix anything here. And if I’m honest with myself, I feel my resolve beginning to waver. This isGrandfather, the head of my family, the man I’ve always listened to and looked up to and wanted to impress since I was a little girl, and now I’m going against him. I’m hurting him. What is wrong with me?
My only goal right now is to get through this conversation in one piece and accept whatever happens from here on out. I’ve chosen my path and now I’m going to walk it, even if it hurts.
I say, “Ford is from a good family, and we have an understanding.”
“An understanding. Which means you’re fine withwhoringyourself to an Arc.”
“Grandfather,” I say and my own impatience shows through. “If this is whoring then that’s what you were trying to do to me before I made this decision.”
His eyes widen, and we’re plunged into silence again. He grunts, turns away, and walks to a nearby shelf where he has a built-in humidor. The tobacco stench triples when he opens it, chooses a cigar, cuts it, and lights it. The smoke curls up toward the ceiling. He’s not supposed to smoke anymore, the doctors told him it was bad for his heart, but apparently, he doesn’t care right now.
“You will give up on this rebellious fantasy.” He gestures at me with the glowing cigar like he wants to put it out on my skin. I bethe would, too. Some part of me trembles at the thought. “I don’t know who put you up to it, your mother perhaps, but—”
