The day of my release has finally come, but it’s not the reason I’ve been waiting for so long. Today is the day my boyfriend Charles will finally propose to me. My cellmate Trina hugged me tightly. “We don’t want you to leave. If you go, who will help us with wounds and illnesses? That idiot who only engages in harassment but goes by the name of a doctor?” I don’t want my release day to be so sad. I hugged Trina and said, “Cheer up. You know how long I’ve been counting down to today. Aren’t you happy for me?” Before going to prison, I had a bright future as a surgeon, and Charles was a rising star in politics. We were a perfect match. When a political opponent planted drugs in his home, I stepped forward to take full responsibility for it. Even though I lost my medical license, I ensured my loved one’s future. He promised me that the day I got out of prison would be the day he proposed to me. Trina shakes back her long braids. “I said, do you really think this Charles dude is going to show up for you, after all these years? He’s never once come to visit you.” I bristle at her doubtful tone. While I entrusted my life to Charles, other prisoners had their doubts, and I won’t judge them. After all, many inmates haven’t found their true love yet. They don’t understand the meaning of childhood sweethearts, family, and commitment. “Of course,” I say. “Charles is a great guy. He sends me a letter every week. He hasn’t visited me because his status is sensitive. I went to jail, Trina, and it was not an honorable thing to do. And my dad wouldn’t lie to me, either. I’m finally going to get my life back, Trina.” I’m sure he will. My father has brought so many messages from Charles over the years. His weekly visits remind me that I did the right thing, taking the fall for Charles. Everything is going to work itself out soon; Charles and I will be married, my life will be back on track, and I can finally put the last three years behind me. “Okay, Nicki,” Trina sighs, turning back to her letter. “Honestly, it kind of sounds like you’re perfect for each other.” ** After a final round of hugs and a few promises to write – which I absolutely intend to keep – I’m ready to go. It’s weird, leaving. I clutch my little bag of personal effects, squeezing my engagement ring in my fist like a lifeline. It feels cold against my skin. I look behind me one final time before taking a deep breath and stepping into the lobby, ready to embrace freedom at last. No one is there. I look around again, even going to the door to peer out into the parking lot. It’s empty. The dingy, plastic seats of the lobby are empty. Everything is empty. Uneasy, I ask the guard on duty if they’d informed my family of my release. The guard frowns, checks a computer, and tells me that they contacted my family twice over the past month. My heart sank, but I believe it’s just a misunderstanding. Charles and my family wouldn’t abandon me. They must have simply gotten the timing wrong. A bus journey later, which swallows up the bulk of my money, I’m wandering along Times Square. Everything feels so big, it’s overwhelming. All these people, going wherever they want. So many people, so many crowds, just so much. They don’t know how lucky they have it, is my first thought. My second thought is that I don’t know how I was ever used to this much open space and this many random people pressing in around me. I’m not sure that I like it anymore; it makes me feel like screaming. I pass a bridal shop and pause to look at all of the gorgeous dresses. I never got to the dress-buying stage. I wonder who I can even ask to go with me, now that the wedding will be back on, besides my stepmom and stepsister. I’m not sure I have any friends left. My reflection catches my eye, and I wince. I look rough. My dark hair is dull and lank from years of split ends and cheap soap. My skin is flaky, and my eyebrows have overgrown like a wild thornbush. Honestly, maybe it’s good that nobody came to pick me up. I should probably have a spa weekend before I see Charles again. I want him to be overcome with longing, not grossed out by my unibrow. A flashing screen from the next shop redirects my attention, and I move to take a closer look. Wow, the Alpha’s daughter is getting married! The Alpha is the leader of the werewolf community, and he has a few children jostling for the position of heir. Werewolf culture has always been fascinating to me; in fact, it’s one reason that I specialized in werewolf anatomy in medical school. The camera pans across the Alpha’s family, toasting the new bride. One catches my eye – the Alpha’s son? Marcus. I’ve seen him before. I treated a whole pack of wolf soldiers when they came back from the front, and he was there. Why was the Alpha’s son at a regular hospital, not some private fancy one? But he was there, with his men, comforting them and bolstering their spirits. Insisting that he be seen last, as he was the least injured, kissing my hand when I prioritized his badly-injured soldiers over others waiting. Marcus looks almost as handsome on TV as he did in person. Black hair, eyes the color of a Caribbean sea. Sun-kissed skin, smooth and marless except for the faded scar across his cheek. He’s surprisingly trim for a werewolf; he wears a pearl-gray suit that accentuates his narrow hips, long legs, firm shoulders. I stitched up that scar myself, and he was so patient and kind while I did. He didn’t flinch at my needle, instead chatting with me quietly, asking questions about how I got into studying werewolf anatomy and complimenting my quick work. I wonder if he – All thoughts of Marcus are abruptly blanked out of my mind as the camera moves to the bride’s beaming soon-to-be husband. My legs wobble, my brain spins. I stumble backward, hardly registering the blare of a car horn behind me as I trip over the curb and into the street. Oh, my god. It’s Charles.
The next bus only gets me within three miles of home. I want to get there faster, but my phone is dead after trying to call Charles multiple times. My calls wouldn’t go through, and I have a sick feeling in my gut that my number has been blocked. The air is chilly, and I hug my inadequate coat closer to my body. Frozen slush sticks to my shoes. By the time I turn the corner and see our big, white house sitting squarely in the middle of the block, I’m freezing. I reluctantly go up the front steps, unsure of what I’ll find when I get inside. Should I knock? It feels foolish to knock at my own front door, but I don’t even have a key anymore. Turns out, I don’t have to worry. The door flings open before I can even reach for the doorbell, and my stepbrother Brodie stands in front of me with a smug grin on his face. “Woohoo!” he shouts. “Mom! Paul! The convict returns to darken our doorstep!” Becki’s blonde head pokes out from another doorway behind him. “Oh, my god,” my stepsister says in disgust. “You look like shit, Nicole. Gross. Prison just drips off of you, not that I’m surprised. We’re going to have to wash anything you touch.” I’m stunned. I’ve never been super close to Becki or Brodie, it’s true, but they’ve never been outright cruel like this. “What’s going on?” I ask. “Why didn’t anyone pick me up at the prison?” Becki snorts. “Don’t blame me. I can’t believe you even have the nerve to show your face here again, after what you did. Our family is in disgrace because of you.” I’m baffled. Everyone here knows I didn’t commit any crimes – they are the ones who convinced me to take the fall for Charles in the first place, after all. I open my mouth to remind Becki of this, but my father appears in the hallway before I can get a word out. I look at him hopefully, waiting for a defense, but he just looks grim. He waves me inside before turning around and walking into the dining room. I follow. Darlene is sitting at the elegantly polished table, sipping tea from my mother’s antique china set. I grit my teeth. “Nicole,” she says calmly, glancing at me. She’s head-to-toe in Armani, impeccable and decked out with six pounds of makeup and more jewelry than would be necessary for a dinner at the White House, never mind just sitting around drinking tea in her own home. “Darlene,” I say. “Welcome back, dear.” Darlene reaches for the teapot, refilling her cup with a spindly, manicured claw. She stirs a spoonful of sugar into her tea and lifts it to her mouth, a red gash in her overly-powdered face. “Welcome?” I say. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t anyone come pick me up today?” “Nicole, please,” Darlene says. “I don’t have the time for your hysterics.” Confused, I turn to my father, who is standing in the doorway staring at a spot over my head. “Dad,” I say. “I can’t get a hold of Charles. I called like, thirty times, but I think he’s blocked my number. And I saw on TV that he’s marrying the Alpha’s daughter? What’s going on?” Becki shrieks with laughter somewhere behind me. “Oh, my god, Nicole. You really are even stupider than you look. Did you seriously think you could still marry Charles after your little stint in prison? He’s the financial officer of the Alpha’s pack now; he can’t be seen with a freaking ex-con.” Brodie hoots as well. “You are so gullible, Nicole,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Of course Charles blocked your number, you moron. We’d have blocked your number and changed the locks if we didn’t have to worry about doing damage control to clean up your mess.” “My mess?” I ask, bewildered and hurt. “Dad, you know the real reason I was in prison. Is the Robinson family really going to just dump and forget me like this? Don’t you have anything to say?” Darlene cuts in, her voice glittering and sharp as the edge of a diamond. “Nicole, please, I told you to quit the hysterics. No one asked you to do this; it was entirely your choice. You don’t get to play the victim now that the consequences have come home to roost.” “You’ve embarrassed all of us, Nicole,” Becki chimes in, crossing her arms. “You’ve disgraced this entire family. I don’t know what other reaction you’d expect.” I stare at the four of them in disbelief. I think back to that awful day, the day that Charles’s mom called Dad in a panic, sobbing about the unexpected police warrant and the drugs, the words “enough to make a case for criminal intent to distribute” swirling in the heavy air. I think about Dad and Darlene begging me to take the fall, to not let Charles’s career be ruined. I think about Becki, shouting, “My god, Nicole, he’s going to marry you either way. Who cares if you go to prison? Are you going to support him or not?” “You and Charles grew up together,” Dad had said. “You know he’ll stand by you. Now, are you going to do the right thing or not?” Now, I stand in my dining room, feeling frozen to the core. Dad is still staring at the ceiling, silent. Darlene is prim, with a glittering malice in her eyes. Becki smirks. Brodie grins like a predator. They know; they have to know what they’re doing. I don’t understand any of this. “Will someone at least help me get in contact with Charles, so I can have some closure around all this?” I ask. My voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. “I need to at least hear some of this from him. I should–I need to at least return the ring? Maybe I could go to his wedding, just to–” Dad finally speaks up for the first time. “Nicole, if you truly love Charles, you will leave him alone to get on with his life. He’s doing very well. He doesn’t need your – this – mess coming back to haunt him, much less at his own wedding.” Becki says it more bluntly. “He’s not going to talk to you, Nicole. Forget it.” Darlene finishes her tea, ringing a bell for the maid to come clear the dishes. Her voice is suddenly businesslike. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. Nicole, you are going to find a job, any job, and reintegrate yourself into society to minimize the humiliation you’ve caused this family as much as you can. And I won’t hear any more moaning and mooning about Charles. You’ve made your choices, and now you can live with them.” Numb, I turn and leave the dining room, going down to my little basement room. I shut the door and collapse onto my old bed, the sheets smelling stale and musty, like they haven’t been changed in years. I guess they probably haven’t been. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. That night, watching the news on my phone, I see Marcus again. He talks about charity work and the joy of giving back to one’s community. Heart aching, I shut off my phone. Pretty words, but everybody has pretty words when they’re cheap and easy. How can I ever trust anyone again? I hold the cover letter I wrote and wait for the possible turn of events tomorrow.
“We don’t hire people with a criminal record, miss,” the manager of Graham’s Grocery says coldly, shoving my resume back across his desk as if it’s contaminated. “This is a family business. We hold our employees to a certain standard.” I gather my resume, trying not to cry, but tears overspill and trickle down my cheeks, anyway. The manager looks embarrassed, annoyed at my emotion. He turns his face away and ignores me as I stumble from his office. A nearby security guard clocks my tears as well, and is equally unfeeling about it. He gestures to the fire exit nearby. “This way, please, miss.” I slip out into the alleyway and straight into an ankle-deep puddle, the heavy door slamming behind me with an air of finality. Still no news about or from Charles. No one will tell me anything, and I don’t understand why. What does my family have to gain from lying like this? If they’re so worried about humiliation, why don’t they stand up for me? What are they getting out of still protecting the Robinsons? It doesn’t make any sense. I turn a corner and skid to a halt. Becki is standing in a huddle with a bunch of her friends, smoking cigarettes outside an upscale wine bar. Becki’s always been a loudmouth, and her voice carries over to me. “Yeah, our families have been so close for, like, generations. Like basically back to the Mayflower times. Charles is practically my older brother.” “You really think he’s going to introduce you to Marcus?” one of her friends asks. Muff, I think her name is. Becki’s friends have always had strange names, I remember. “Um, yeah,” Becki blows a stream of smoke over Muff’s head. “He’s already said he would. We’re both going to be at the wedding, after all, and he says Marcus doesn’t even have a date. It’s the perfect opportunity.” I gasp, feeling like someone has punched me in the stomach. Of course – this is why everyone is still protecting Charles. I’ve taken the fall, not just for Charles, but for the whole family. They’re going to throw me under the bus so they can climb up the political ladder on Charles’s coattails. I’ve been such a fool – a naive, trusting fool. I know I should keep my mouth shut and keep moving, that nothing good can come from a confrontation, but I can’t help it. I’m so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the past few days, I can’t seem to stop myself. I approach Becki and her friends, walking quietly and unseen until I’m standing right behind her. “Charles is a complete fraud, Becki,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear me. “And you know that. Was this really your plan – to throw me under the bus and rely on the same man who betrayed me in the first place? What happened about being so embarrassed by what he’s done to our family?” Becki jumps, but she recovers fast. She stubs out her cigarette and reaches for another with a sneer on her face as she turns to me. “Oh, look who it is, the little family convict come to ruin my day,” she says. “You’re just jealous. Marcus is the most eligible bachelor in NYC, and I’m going to be his date at the biggest society wedding of the decade. I’m going to become the new Luna, and who are you going to be? Nobody.” “I’m not jealous, Becki,” I say, crossing my arms. “In fact, I’m starting to think that you’ve always been jealous of me, and now you think you’re going to get one over on me because you and the rest of the family have decided to ruin my life.” “Jealous of you? Just because you got into med school?” Becki’s voice got even more shrill. Her anger meant I’d poked her where it hurt.”We didn’t ruin anything. You ruined your own life. Now I’m going to move up, and you’re going to be left behind.” Muff joins in with Becki’s laughing, and the others soon join in. “You always did think you were better than the rest of us, Nicole,” one of them says. She tosses her glossy red hair back behind her shoulder, shifting in her Jimmy Choos. “How the mighty have fallen.” I shrug. “Remember the fable of the farmer and the snake, Becki? The farmer tries to save the snake from the cold, but he dies of a snakebite anyway. Charles is a snake. He’s always going to bite.” Becki stares at me blankly, her mouth half open like a gaping fish. “I have no idea what you’re rambling about, Nicole, but I do know that I’m going to this wedding and you aren’t. You don’t stand a chance.” “I know where his wedding will be,” I say, gripping the handle of my purse so tightly that my fingers hurt. I feel suddenly reckless, like I’m spiraling out of control. “I can tell everyone the truth, and then whose lives will be blown up?” Becki throws back her head and laughs full in my face, her friends following suit. “Please. Alpha weddings are the most heavily-guarded events in the world,” she gasps. “They have more security than the president. You’re not getting within 50 feet of any of us. Christ, you’re delusional.” I grip my bag tighter, resisting the urge to throw it in Becki’s face. What is happening to me? I never used to be like this, but now I feel so angry that I could snap. “If I just go to the Alpha family and explain,” I insist. “You’ll never get anywhere near them,” Becki finishes her second cigarette, throwing it on the ground to grind beneath her heel. “Only the rich and powerful get an audience with the Alphas, and who are you? A nobody with a criminal record. No one would even believe you.” She turns and walks back into the wine bar, her gaggle of friends hissing and jeering at me as they follow. I’m left alone on the street again. An hour later, I finish packing up in my little basement room. I don’t have much – just a few important documents, clothes, my mom’s jewelry that I was able to hide from Darlene when she seized most of it from the safe in my father’s office. Everything I own fits into one small suitcase, which I drag up the steps to the front door, not even bothering to be quiet about it. “What the hell is all this noise?” Darlene asks, coming into the hallway, my father close behind her. She sighs when she sees me. “Oh, Nicole. Are we going to have yet another one of your little scenes?” “It’s not a scene,” I say. “I’m leaving. Never contact me again, either of you.” Then I kick open the front door and leave, not even bothering to shut the door behind me. Yes, I have to leave the house. I can’t stand to spend even one more second with these hypocrites. I might not be able to find a job for a while, but I still had a fortune – a fortune that I had always treated as a secret. That’s why it hasn’t been taken by Darlene or Becki. Perhaps I could use that money to buy a ticket to Charles’ wedding. But first, I must find an auction house.
After dumping my belongings at the cheapest hotel I could find at the last minute, I head over to an auction house I know, to offload the jewelry and designer bags Charles has given me over the years. I don’t want it anymore, and I could definitely use the cash, even if I only get a fraction of what it’s worth. The appraiser looks up at me after sorting through the pile I’d dumped haphazardly onto her desk. The look of pity in her face betrays her next words. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she says gently. “I know you wouldn’t be here if you knew, which means someone has lied to you terribly. These are all fakes. Good fakes, but fakes.” I feel the blood drain from my face. “What?” I whisper. My head is swirling, pounding. This cannot be happening – haven’t I suffered enough? When will the blows stop coming? “I’m so sorry,” she says again, reaching out to pat my hand. “Whoever he is, he’s given you a pile of junk. It’s worthless, hon. I can’t give you anything for it. I’m so sorry.” Tears stream down my face before she even finishes talking. I flee, ignoring the lady calling after me, asking if I want to take my knock-off crap with me. I don’t. I don’t really have a plan, but I do know that I need to get justice for myself. I have to find a way to talk to the Alpha’s family, to maybe cause a scene at that wedding, but I just don’t know how. Becki is right, much as I hate to admit it: the place will be swarming with security. I sit alone at the scarred, wobbly desk in the hotel room that reeks of stale cigarettes, scanning the papers for sublets while drinking glasses of cheap red wine from a plastic cup. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to volunteer somewhere. At least it’ll give me something to put on my resume, and it’ll get me away from day drinking in a dingy hotel while feeling sorry for myself. I’m going to slip into a worse depression than I’m already in if I don’t do something constructive with my time, and at least this will be helping people in my community, people worse off than I am. Briefly, I think of Marcus on TV, saying much the same thing. I shove the thought of him away and pick up my phone to scan for volunteer opportunities nearby. That’s how I find myself filling out the official volunteer paperwork at St. Mary’s, the soup kitchen downtown. My days fall into a pattern of chopping vegetables, serving food, washing dishes: it’s peaceful. Until one afternoon in March, when the calm is broken by the sound of a kerfuffle outside. There’s a flurry of activity: cameras, journalists swarming around the outside of the building. Whispers run like wildfire through the kitchen. “Can you believe it? The Alpha’s son is volunteering today!” “I thought they always warn us before a celeb comes in?” I peer out the window. Sure enough, there’s Marcus, trailed by flashing cameras. He’s as handsome as ever: black hair combed back, blue eyes sparkling as he shoos away the journalists. “Thanks, but let’s drop it here, folks. Martin, come with me for personal shots, but I need everyone else to clear out, please. This isn’t a zoo; people deserve to eat in peace.” The journalists laugh as they head off into the rain. Marcus turns to flash a smile at us. I find myself examining his teeth – you can hardly tell that his canine teeth are a little longer and sharper than you’d find in a human. “How can I help?” he asks Martha, our manager. “Marcus!” she beams, tossing a dishrag over her shoulder. “You sneaky boy, you didn’t tell me you were coming. You know we ask our celebrity volunteers to call ahead; if you were anyone else, I’d have you out on your ear.” “Sorry, Marty,” he says with an apologetic grin. “Last-minute media stunt. Father is trying to amp them up before the wedding. I tried to fight it but was overruled.” “Well,” Martha snaps her dishrag at him. “I’ll let it slide this once. Get over there and dish out the rest of lunch, and then get your princely ass into the kitchen and scrub dishes.” “Yes, ma’am!” Marcus salutes. He winks at me as he goes to wash his hands. I focus on the stew, portioning it out with more precision than necessary. I don’t want to talk to Marcus – he’s going to be my ex-boyfriend’s brother-in-law, for god’s sake. It’s embarrassing. Marcus slides in next to me behind the counter. “What can I do?” he asks. “Unpack the dinner rolls,” I mumble, keeping my head down. I can feel him next to me, radiating heat. He smells like cedar and smoke, a clean, masculine scent that makes my head spin. Focus, I tell myself. If Marcus finds my behavior strange, he doesn’t show it. He unwraps the rolls and adds them to plates before I pass them across the counter. “Sorry for the interruption,” he says. “I hate this kind of thing, making a big fuss. It feels selfish and disruptive, but my father insists. And–” “And you have to play along,” I say. “I get it.” An awkward silence falls between us. I know I’m being unfriendly, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. He’s royalty, for god’s sake, and I’m – well, I’m nobody. After a few uncomfortable moments, Marcus turns to me and takes a breath. Before he can say anything, there’s a crash at the end of the line. People scatter around a little girl who has passed out on the floor. Her dark hair spills across the tiled floor in stark contrast to her pale and clammy face. Her mother shouts anxiously in Spanish and gently shakes her shoulder. Marcus vaults over the counter and grabs his coat, sliding it under the little girl to protect her from the cold floor. His phone is already in his hand. “Tom? It’s Marcus. Yes, I need you at St. Mary’s soup kitchen immediately. No, I’m fine, it’s a little girl. Hurry. Yes, I’ll call an ambulance next, but I want you to get over here as soon as you can; I want the best, and you’re the best.” I’ve whipped off my gloves and am already kneeling by the girl, checking her pulse and lifting her eyelids to see her pupils. “When’s the last time she ate?” I ask her mother in Spanish. The lady hesitates. “Ma’am, you’re not in trouble,” Marcus says. “We just want to help.” “Yesterday morning,” the lady says, crying. “I’m so sorry.” “Marcus, get the mom some water,” I command. “And call that ambulance.” I look up at Martha, who is hovering nearby. “I need something to elevate her feet. Quickly, please.” Martha nods and grabs a box from behind the counter, tossing it to me. I elevate the little girl’s feet and unbutton the collar of her shirt, to relax the restriction around her throat. I unbutton the front of her jeans for the same reason, and then I pull out my phone and flick on the flashlight setting to check her pupils. I check her pulse. “I think it’s probably just hunger and dehydration, but I’ll be happier if we can get her to the ER,” I finally announce to Marcus. “Her vitals are good and stable, and she’s coming around now.” I place a gentle hand on the little girl’s shoulder, holding her still. “Gentle, niña. You had a bad fall, and you need to take it slow.” The little girl nods in confusion, and I slip an arm around her back to slowly help her sit up, cradling her against me. I glance hesitatingly at her mom, biting my lower lip, and then back at the little girl. I wonder if I can get away with skipping the ambulance, maybe get someone here to drive the pair to the hospital. These people can’t afford an ambulance. “Cost won’t be an issue,” Marcus says, noticing my expression and reading it correctly. “Ma’am, we’re going to get your little girl to a hospital, and I’m going to cover the costs. When your daughter is feeling better, we’re going to get you some support. Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay.” “Professional as ever, Dr. Nicole,” he murmurs to me. I stare at him in disbelief. He gives me a small smile before calling 911. He even remembered my name? A nobody like me?
The ambulance arrives quickly, probably thanks to the fact that it’s the Alpha’s son who calls for one. Elena, the little girl, is carefully lifted onto a stretcher. Her mom flutters anxiously beside her, and they’re both gently led to the waiting ambulance. Marcus catches sight of Martin, his photographer, hovering over his shoulder with the film running. “That’s enough footage,” he says. “We don’t want to overdo it, Marty. We need to strike a good balance between ‘heroic Alpha’s son assists glamorous doctor during medical emergency’ and ‘exploiting an impoverished kid and invading her privacy for political clout.’” Martin nods. “I’ll try to minimize how much of her face gets shown, too,” he says. “You’re right – this is a great opportunity to show people how involved you are in your community, but we don’t want to overdo it and piss people off. We can settle it in tomorrow’s meeting.” Marcus agrees. “Take off for the rest of the afternoon, put something together for me to review, and we’ll talk at the meeting tomorrow.” He waves a hand as Martin leaves. “Thanks, Marty.” Then, Marcus turns to smile at me and give me another wink, before extending his hand to help me off the floor. After the ambulance leaves and things calm down, Marcus and I find ourselves in the kitchen, washing dishes. The awkwardness between us has vanished in the crisis, and we pass the plates back and forth companionably. We work well together, I catch myself thinking. “How are you recovering from that war injury?” I ask. He gives me a sidelong glance, and I smile. “Don’t pretend to be surprised. I know you recognized me.” “I did,” he smiles back. “The fighting on the border has subsided, I’m proud to say. I haven’t been back since you patched me up so admirably.” He bows, and I laugh. But I can see from the way he’s washing the dishes that his shoulder must be bothering him, and I say so. “There are some stretches I can recommend that will help with the stiffness,” I offer. Then I flush, realizing how suggestive that sounded. Pull it together, Nicole, I tell myself. He is not going to be interested in someone like you. “It’s fine, really,” he says, but his expression turns mischievous. “Of course, if you wanted to give your professional opinion, I wouldn’t mind. Here, feel my arm as I wash the dishes.” I take a deep breath, trying to ignore how hard my heart is thudding in my chest. I hope my face isn’t as red as it feels. He’s wearing a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, gleaming against his dark skin. I definitely want to get my hands on him. It’s hard to remember to keep it professional. Drying my hands, I step behind him, reaching up to squeeze and test his range of movement as he scrubs. My god, this man is ripped. His biceps feel like liquid steel under my probing fingers. His shoulders are broad and smooth, coiling and flexing beneath the silk of his shirt. I shake my head silently and try to pay attention to what I’m supposed to be doing. Focus, Nicole! He’s your patient. Well, sort of. “Your left shoulder is stiff,” I say. “I can feel the limitations in how you move. I can’t believe your fancy Dr. Tom hasn’t caught this; you should’ve been doing physio this entire time, and something tells me you haven’t.” I move around him to give him a stern glare, using my best disappointed doctor voice. Marcus ducks his head sheepishly. “You caught me, Dr. Nicole,” he says. He puts down the dish he’s washing and wipes his hands. “But don’t blame ‘Fancy Dr. Tom,’ because I haven’t told anyone about the shoulder pain. There’s just been too much else going on.” I shake my head and reach for his arm again, gently moving it through a few simple motions. I’m standing so close to him that his scent is almost overwhelming, the heat of his body soaking into my hands and warming me to my core. Marcus groans in relief. “My god, Dr. Nicole, that feels amazing. Can you come to my apartment and do this every day?” I blush and bite my lower lip. “I’d love to, but it’s not really necessary. I can easily teach you how to–” my words fade as Marcus leans a little closer to me, slipping a hand over mine on his shoulder. I freeze. As if sensing he’s maybe taken a step too far, Marcus drops his hand and goes back to the dishes. “How’s work at the hospital these days?” he asks. “I’ve been lucky enough not to have to go back, so I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you before now.” I hesitate, fumbling over my words. “Oh, I’m not at the hospital anymore. I’m, um, working independently now.” “Oh?” Marcus sounds surprised. “Well, in that case, I know that Tom has far more patients than he can realistically keep up with. I could introduce you to several potential clients, if you’d like?” Oh god, I wish the floor could just open up and swallow me whole. My face feels like it’s on fire as I focus too hard on drying the next dish Marcus hands me. “Actually, I–I don’t practice medicine anymore,” I say. “I–it’s a long story, and I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s okay.” Marcus pauses, turns to peer into my face. “Of course it’s okay, Nicole. Is there anything I can do to help you? I mean that very sincerely, I’ll add. You’re a fantastic doctor; I’d really like to help you if I can.” He looks so earnest, so kind, that I feel my throat closing up. All I want right now is to get Charles to pay for what he’s done to me. Charles, Darlene, my father, Becki, the Robinsons – all of them. I want them to pay. I want them to go to hell. “I–” This is going to sound insane, but it’s probably my best shot. “Could I get an invitation to your sister’s wedding?” Now Marcus looks really surprised. I hasten to add an explanation that won’t sound unhinged. “It’s just–I’ve always wanted to see a fairytale wedding,” I explain. “I used to be engaged to my ex-boyfriend, you see, and it didn’t, um, work out. I thought mine would be the fairytale wedding, but since it won’t be, I’d love to see someone else’s. Probably my best chance, a real Alpha family wedding and all.” Marcus hands me another plate, his hand brushing against mine. I jump – his touch against my bare skin feels like an electric shock. In a good way. I try to shake it off – focus, Nicole. When I glance up, Marcus is staring at me intently, like he’s puzzled by something that he just can’t quite put his finger on. I blush and start to retract my request; it’s too crazy, he’s going to guess why I want to go, this will never work– “Of course you can come to the wedding,” Marcus says casually, turning back to the soapy water in front of him. “But on one condition: you have to be my date.”
“Be your date?” I’m so shocked that I nearly drop the bowl in my hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me – the wedding is this weekend. How does the Alpha’s son not have a date for his sister’s wedding by now?” Marcus laughs aloud. It’s a gorgeous sound, thick and syrupy, like rich honey. I could drink that laugh; I could pour it into my bedtime tea and let it warm me from the inside out. His laugh is as comforting as his smile, and I wish I could catch it in my hands and keep it. He shakes his head as he dries his hands on a dish towel, the dishes finally done. “My standards are far too high,” he jokes, winking at me yet again. My god, I never thought that a man’s wink could leave my knees feeling like jelly. In fact, if you’d asked me yesterday, I’d say that winking was cheesy as hell. From Marcus, though, it comes across as the sexiest form of subtle flirting. Still, I don’t answer right away. Marcus has money and status, and that’s enough to drive any woman crazy. However, I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is revenge – I think. Something in Marcus’s smile makes me briefly reconsider what it is that I actually want. Maybe I could seduce him? That would be the best revenge, perhaps. Becki would be furious, if nothing else. But no. The old Nicole would’ve done that, used some guy for his status and hidden behind him, letting his mere presence in her life be the revenge that got under everyone else’s skin. Not anymore. The new Nicole wants to stand on her own two feet, for one thing. For another, I don’t want to hurt anybody. Certainly not somebody as kind, as funny and warm, as Marcus. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be your date for the wedding.” Marcus’s grin could light up the whole room. “It’s a deal,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. Marcus picks me up in a limo on the day of the wedding. He’s dressed in a cream white suit that sets off his dark skin to perfection, with a waistcoat and pocket square that match the blue of his eyes. He looks good enough to eat. I’m wearing the one nice dress I’ve ever owned, a Prada evening gown that Darlene was forced to buy for me several years ago for an event that she couldn’t get out of leaving me at home for. I’m lucky that it still fits, and that Darlene had apparently forgotten that it exists, because it had still been in the back of my closet when I got out of prison. If Darlene remembered it was down there, it would’ve been long gone, probably the day after the prison bars slammed behind me for good. It’s a truly gorgeous gown, though: deep, velvety green that offsets my pale skin and dark hair. It’s off the shoulder, with a full waist that drapes elegantly to the floor. I paired it with my mother’s pearls, a short strand of silky gems around my throat and dangling from my ears. I feel like a princess. Marcus seems to like my outfit, too, because his smile widens as I’m helped into the car. “You look divine,” he murmurs into my ear. I blush, and he hands me a glass of champagne. “To fairytales,” he says. I clink my glass against his. “To fairytales.” When we arrive at The Plaza, the most exclusive and expensive wedding venue in New York City, Marcus escorts me inside and finds me another glass of champagne before whispering an apology and loping off to greet a bunch of businessmen in suits. Well, that’s to be expected, I reason. This isn’t just a wedding; it’s a networking affair. I sip my champagne and gaze at the setting around me, completely in awe. Everything is draped in gold, pearl, and lace. It’s like being inside Cinderella’s palace. It’s the wedding of my dreams, but I’m no longer the bride. No, this isn’t a dream, not for me. It’s a graveyard, the death of all my hopes and ambitions. Feeling a bit queasy, I sip on my champagne to try to settle my stomach. “What. The. Fuck are you doing here?” a voice hisses behind me in fury. I whirl around to find Darlene glaring at me, her hand clenching my upper arm hard enough to hurt. “How the hell did you get in here?” Becki walks up behind her mother, looking equally enraged. Shit. I should have remembered that my family was going to be here. At first, I’m scared. Darlene never swears, not like this, and certainly not in public. She always prides herself on being the gracious lady of society, not a feather out of place. To have her claws digging red gouges in my arm, dragging me close enough that I can smell the sour reek of her breath, is terrifying. I feel like I’m eight years old again, small and powerless. Wait, no. Darlene and Becki aren’t my family, not anymore. I have just as much right to be here as they do. More, in fact. And I’m not a little girl anymore – they can’t hurt me. I stand up straighter, but before I can respond, Becki is screaming for security. I can see the panic in her eyes – she’s worried I’m going to ruin everything for her. Well, she’s right. And she deserves it. A security officer approaches us, looking annoyed. “Miss, can you please lower your voice? People are staring. What on earth is the problem?” “This woman has sneaked in,” Becki declares dramatically, jabbing a pointy fingernail into my chest. “She’s not on the invitation list. She’s an ex-girlfriend of the groom; she’s here to ruin the wedding.” “That’s impossible, miss,” the security guard says, shooting me an apologetic look. “We have incredibly strict protocols; everyone is vetted at the door. I’m going to need to ask you to calm down; you’re causing a scene.” Marcus suddenly appears next to me, looking irritated. Darlene abruptly lets go of my arm, and I rub the spot she was holding, coaxing feeling back into it. “What’s going on here?” he asks, glancing between us all. “Is there a problem?” Becki immediately turns coy and sweet, actually twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “Oh, Marcus,” she simpers. “We haven’t been introduced yet, but I’m Charles’s sister. This is his ex-girlfriend; she’s sneaked in here to try to ruin the wedding.” Marcus looks incredulous. “I’ve met Charles several times,” he says. “He’s never mentioned a sister. I’m sorry, who are you? Jim–” he turns to the security officer “Do we know who these people are, or why they’re throwing a very loud fit in this very expensive lobby?” Rage flashes across Becki’s face, but she quickly gets her expression back under control. “I’m sorry, Marcus,” she says. “I’m not trying to attract attention. I’m just so concerned about this gate-crasher, you see. This idiot–” she waves at Jim–”didn’t do his job properly and let her in. He should be fired.” Marcus looks angry and starts to speak, but Becki barrels on. “God knows what she said to him. She’s completely unstable. We’ve had to talk about getting a restraining order. But I’m sure you’ll protect me, now that you’re here and I’ve helped you divert national embarrassment.” She smiles sweetly at Marcus, batting her eyes. Darlene pats her arm, lifting her head proudly as she shoots me a triumphant little sneer. My stomach twists in anxiety – what if Marcus buys their story? But Marcus shakes his head in disbelief, then moves to put a warm, strong arm around my waist. He tucks me protectively into his side and stares frostily at Becki and Darlene. “I’m sorry, but are you talking about my date?”
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