2: 2
2.
"Mabel, what are you doing?"
Conrad's voice turned cold and hard in an instant.
He crossed the room in a few strides and caught Mabel around the waist, checking her over with the care he'd give something fragile and precious.
Years ago, when I was mocked and bullied, when they chased after me shouting "illegitimate daughter," he was the one who stepped in front of me and shielded me.
Exactly the same.
My fingers trembled beyond my control, and I heard myself defending, "It was her—"
"Enough. Don't say anything," Conrad cut in, his brow furrowed.
I bit down hard on the soft flesh inside my lip, and a sweet, metallic sting spread through my mouth at once.
He hadn't asked a single question, and he'd already found me guilty.
Mabel took the chance to shrink deeper into his arms, a flicker of triumph darting across her eyes.
But out loud she said, on purpose,
"All right, all right, it's nothing, why make such a fuss. My heels are just too high and I lost my balance, that's all."
Conrad's gaze swept over me, more displeased than before.
"If you've got a grievance, take it out on me. Mabel does everything with you in mind, and you still turn on her."
With me in mind.
Letting Mabel finalize my invitations.
Swapping out my gown and my venue for her.
Making me toast her in front of everyone.
In Conrad's eyes, all of it was done with me in mind.
I forced the surge of wetness back down behind my eyes.
Mabel noticed the flat wedding shoes scattered on the floor and frowned slightly.
She bent, picked one up between her fingers, contempt flashing in her eyes. "Why are they all flats? Not fit to be seen."
For once, Conrad offered a word for me. "Beulah has an old ankle injury. It can't take weight, so she can't wear heels."
Warmth flooded my chest.
Years ago, when he cut ties with his family and went out on his own to open a teahouse, I stood beside him and poured the tea to draw a crowd.
The long hours on my feet in heels triggered cauda equina syndrome, and I nearly lost the use of my legs.
Conrad had wept himself hoarse outside the operating room, and sworn he would never let me wear heels again as long as I lived.
A dull thud pulled me back.
Mabel tossed the shoe aside and brushed at nonexistent dust on her hands.
"Everyone here today is society and old money. They're all in heels. The bride in flats?"
I froze, and the familiar bone-deep phantom pain flared up my back.
Conrad's gaze settled heavily on me, without the slightest hesitation.
"She's right. This isn't really appropriate."
He looked at me. "Beulah, change into heels."
Of course.
He only listened to her.
My fingertips dug hard into the vanity, the bitterness climbing straight to my throat, my voice shaking. "Conrad, I can't stand in heels that long. Do you really want me to?"
My fresh manicure was nearly gouging through the vanity, the huge pressure making the back edges ache.
This was the last chance I was giving him.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Conrad's eyes.
Just then Mabel leaned close to my ear, the corner of her mouth curling, and taunted in a low voice, "Can't stand it? You and that dying mother of yours—she spent her whole life as somebody's mistress, and she won't even earn the right to die at her own husband's side—"
I was shaking all over and couldn't stop it.
Everything I'd held back for so long broke loose, and my hand flew up before I could control it.
But my fingers hadn't touched a hair of her before she flung herself backward, clapping a hand to her cheek and screaming.
"What are you putting on an act for! I didn't even touch you!"
My voice came out hoarse and rushed.
But when I looked up, I met Conrad's eyes, brimming with fury.
"Beulah! It seems I've indulged you far too much!"
He didn't believe Mabel was the type to be petty or jealous.
Right there in front of me, without a moment's hesitation, he called his assistant, his voice without a trace of warmth. "Mrs. Henson's medical bills are covered only through tomorrow. Without my order, not another cent is to be paid."
A roar went off in my head.
Enormous panic and despair crashed down all at once.
I stumbled over and gripped Conrad's wrist with everything I had, my body going so weak I nearly dropped to my knees. "Conrad! You can't do this! My mother is still in the ICU, she's not out of danger, she can't gamble on this!"
There was nothing left in Conrad's eyes now, not the smallest stir. "Behave. Get through today quietly. One day of obedience buys your mother one more day of medicine."
I stared blankly at this face, so familiar and so strange.
The last thread inside me snapped.
He had cut it himself.
Trailing behind Conrad, Mabel glanced back at me.
Her eyes were full of smug delight.
She hadn't had to lift a finger, and she'd won.
Twenty-one hours to go.
