Angel (29 page)
Dad built it for her and everywhere we look, we are reminded of the love they’d had for each other. “I just want Simon to see we can do things on our own. That he can’t control us forever. I mean, we don’t even have any friends. We have never been to a nightclub. We haven’t even been to the stupid mall. I want to go to school and be a real chef but they won’t listen to me; they’ve got all the power right now and I want to shake things up. We need money of our own. We’re like two princesses shut up in the tower. I want to live a little before I’m Mrs. Victor Galetti.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She lets out a long breath. “You’ve always had the craziest ideas. Lord knows I’ve doubted you before and you’ve made me eat crow. But I don’t see how this is going to get you anything but in deep trouble.” Leah pulls at her hands in her lap. The shimmer in her eyes reminds me just how lost we would be without each other.
“I’m nineteen years old, how much trouble can I get into? I’m an adult.” I hold my head high in preposterous bravado.
She snorts out a laugh with a shake of her head. I push off the dresser and close the space between us, skipping as I go.
I crouch down in front of her, the hem of my pleated, navy-blue uniform skirt riding high enough to show the tops of the thigh high socks.
“I’m going to get us out of here.” My voice is steady and sure. “I’m going to get into that culinary school and become the most famous pastry chef and baker
evah
.” I toss my head back then settle my eyes back on her with raised eyebrows. “Did you like that raspberry napoleon I made tonight?” I bob my eyebrows and nod at her.
“Yes. It was amazing. As usual. How do you just know how to make stuff like that? You never even follow a recipe.”
“Magic.” I grin and wrinkle my nose at her. It’s true though. When I’m baking I’m as happy as I ever can be. I feel peaceful, and forget that I’m engaged to a man I barely know – and what I do know I don’t like.
I forget the charmed, blessed life we’d had until a drunk driver exploded our world. I don’t dream of much, but I want that peace, that sense of being alive I get when I bake. It’s stupid, I know, but it does it for me. Takes me away from this suffocating, isolated world.
I rise to my feet, wondering if I should lather on some make-up. I don’t have much, but I decide I can toss it in my bag and apply a coat of paint on the bus.
The reality of what I’m about to do hits me and I feel my stomach clench. I suddenly feel so stupid. What makes me think I can make money dancing?
Because you can’t think of any other option that will actually bring home money and let you work during the hours when no one will notice you’re gone. And, you’ve got moves.
Leah would have been the stripper. Legs that end at her neck, cheekbones set in a way that would make any Vogue model jelly, and the way she carries –
carried
– herself, was like royalty. She would have had every chin drop to the floor when she took the stage.
I, on the other hand, am none of those things. But my legs still work, and that means I need to do this. My stomach tightens, knowing eventually I will have to take off my top and they will see the imprint the accident left on me as well as my six-pack abs covered in a couple layers of cupcake calories, but I shake it off. My plan is to amaze them with my novelty, or at least feel so sorry for me that they will give me a shot.
I know I just need a chance. I will do whatever it takes to teach myself to dance. Or anything else. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get us out of here. We may both carry the memories of that horrible day on our bodies and in our hearts, but we still have each other and that will never, ever change.
Simon, our legal guardian, has practically kept us prisoners here since the accident. He still insisted we wear school uniforms Monday through Friday when the tutors came. He said it provided order and structure. Just what two young girls who lost their parents needed, uniforms and structure. Never mind hugs, kindness and understanding.
We are both over the age of legally needing a guardian now. I turned nineteen a couple months ago and Leah is fifteen months older than me. But somehow we are still under a conservatorship, which Simon is of course in charge of. The only way out of it is to go to court and have it removed. But that requires money and freedom, two things the poorest rich girls I know don’t have.
“So.” I stand taller, throwing my chest out and grinning from ear to ear. “You want to see my moves before I go?” I spin around and hit the play button on the CD player sitting on the desk next to the window.
“
Noooo
,” Leah exaggerates, rolling her eyes as she turns her chair away from me.
Her glossy, sable hair falls to the middle of her back, so shiny I practically see the outline of myself looking into it. It’s not the only contrast between us – she’s a head taller than me; my face is more cherub than Kate Moss, and I fill out every possible available inch of my clothes.
Mind you, that doesn’t stop me from sampling all the yummy goodness of the things I bake. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever going to actually date. My future has been decided and Victor shows about as much interest in me as a chunk of broken concrete.
OK, that’s not entirely true. He tried to kiss me once. The day we got engaged. He slipped the ring on my finger after Simon explained to me that I was getting married and to whom – and why I would do it without question.
Well, that’s not fair, he gave me a choice. There’s always a choice. He made it very clear that if I didn’t marry his son, that was fine. I would be granted my freedom.
But I would also never see my sister again. Or this house.
Leah doesn’t know that part, and I will never tell her because she would tell me not to marry him. Not only would I lose her, we would lose this place and I couldn’t bear that.
“Well, I’m going to show you anyway.” I spin the volume knob up and the funky 1970s Rick James jam fills the twelve foot ceilings of my bedroom.
I strut away from her at first practicing my most provocative walk, but then trip over some invisible obstacle, and quickly recover to spin on my heel and head toward her.
She’s still facing away from me and I grab the handles on the back of her chair, spinning her around to view my onslaught of awesome. I know strippers wear high heels, but I don’t have any and I will have to figure that out as I go. My plan has some holes as big as the Grand Canyon, but I shall overcome.
I barely hit the five-foot mark and have more fluff than any self-respecting stripper would strut, but I’ve got determination for days. Leah may have hit the genetic jackpot as far as looks, but I’ve got tenacity, and hopefully that will be enough.
“Oh my gawd.” Leah shakes her head as I step back, twist around and give her my best come-hither look over my shoulder as I gyrate my hips. “Stoooooopppppp.
It
.”
“I just can’t stop. I got the music in me.” I sing-song and shimmy as Rick starts extolling the wonders of a very kinky girl.
Standalone
The Forever Collection
Promise Series
Southside Brotherhood MMA Series
I love a dirty-talking, head over heels
possessive alpha who will
stop at nothing for a happily ever after.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dani Wyatt used to feel bad about having such dirty thoughts. Luckily, one day she decided to starting writing them down. Her uber alpha heros have a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Her heroines are intelligent, quirky and worry about having too much muffin top. With her books, you can count on a heaping helping of HOT, a dash of rough and always a happily ever after.
When she's not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can't have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.