Chapter 20

Celeste

When I arrived at home, Jack was none the wiser. I prepared dinner for us—Jack’s favorite, steak and mashed potatoes. I kept quiet as I cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled, and brought Jack an ice cold glass of beer while he sat in the living room.

“You’re trying to butter me up, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’re not going to that dance, Celeste. It’s for your own good; trust me. Trust your brother.”

“I trust you,” I lied, forcing a fake smile. “And I’m not trying to butter you up. I’m just… Apologizing.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at me, but took the glass of beer nonetheless and muttered some words of thanks. I retreated to my room, pacing back and forth and chewing on my nails as I waited for the perfect chance. I had to wait until he was relaxed and drunk for this to work.

…

A couple of hours later, the house was filled with the deep thrumming of a bass line. The music was Jack’s way of signaling that he was well into his evening festivities. I popped up out of my bed and began my descent down the stairs.

I had been waiting for the right moment, rehearsing the lines in my head, and this was it.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself of the end goal.

“Jack?” I called out, peeking into the dim living room where he lounged on the couch, a bottle of whiskey in hand.

He squinted up at me, the amber glow of the room’s lone lamp painting harsh lines on his face.

“What, Celeste? If you’re here to whine about that awful dress—”

“No, I’m not.” I shook my head and took a step closer, then cleared my throat. “I’m over that. I just wanted to let you know… Fiona and I were planning a sleepover tomorrow night. Just a girl’s night in, you know? Movies, junk food, the works.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, his drunken gaze boring into me. “Tomorrow? Isn’t that the night of the ball?”

“Is it?” I feigned surprise. “I must've forgotten.”

“You'd better not be thinking about sneaking off, Celeste.”

“I swear, Jack. We’re just going to be at her place. We even planned to watch those old rom-coms you hate.”

A long pause settled between us, the room filled only with the drone of the bass guitar on the radio and the occasional clink of Jack's bottle against the glass coffee table. He shook his head, leaning forward to see his bottle down.

“No way, Celeste,” he snarled. “I’m not an idiot. You’re not going to that dance, no matter how hard you try.”

I felt tears threatening to work their way out, but I quickly blinked them away. “I swear I’m not going,” I said, forcing a fake smile. “I don’t want to go. I’ve thought about it, and I agree with you; dances like that aren’t meant for people like me. I… I know I’m fat and ugly. I’d be a laughingstock.”

Jack glared at me for a moment before his eyes softened, and he smirked. “At least you came to that realization, finally,” he murmured, snatching up his bottle to take another swig. “But no. You’re staying here tomorrow night. I don’t want to risk you thinking that you can sneak off to that ball.”

I frowned. “If I was planning on going to the dance, I could very easily just stay here and pretend that I’m staying in,” I said. “But I think it’s only fair that I get to have a little bit of fun tomorrow night, and spend the night with my friend.”

Jack paused, considering this.

“If it’ll ease your mind,” I added hastily, “Fiona can send you photos of us every hour, so you know we’re just at her place.”

Jack swirled the drink in his hand, thinking.

“Photos aren’t enough. I want you to video call me. Every thirty minutes.”

I tried to mask the shock in my voice. “Every thirty minutes?” I asked, although I expected something like this. “That's... a bit much, don't you think? It’ll ruin the entire evening. For you, I mean.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go at all, Celeste.”

Panic bubbled up inside of my chest, but I valiantly fought it down. “How about a compromise? Video calls every hour, just like the photos. It's fair, right?”

Jack stared at me, his eyes bloodshot and weighing. The seconds stretched out, but finally, he gave a slow nod.

“Fine. Every hour. But I want both the photos and the calls, Celeste. And you come straight home in the morning. No detours. If I see you or hear about you at that ball, you’re gonna be in huge trouble.”

I nodded vigorously, relief washing over me. “Of course, Jack. Straight home, I promise. I swear I won’t go to the ball… On mom’s grave.”

At the mention of our mother, Jack’s eyes widened. Neither of us ever spoke about her. In fact, I hardly remembered her. She died from cancer when I had just turned five, and my father did nothing but stare at the bottom of a bottle until I was seven.

Then, one day, my dad just… disappeared. His body was found in the river, or at least, that was what Jack told me. I never saw his body; there was no funeral. Jack just told me that our dad killed himself, and he said that it was good riddance, because he was only making our lives miserable.

That was when Jack took over as my primary caregiver.

By swearing on my mother’s grave, knowing fully well that I was lying, I realized that something awful had just rolled off of my tongue. But at that moment, I felt as though my mother would understand.

I still remembered her smile, the way that she danced to the old songs on the radio, the way that her hands floated up in the air above her head and her skirt swished around her knees. Even when she was sick, and all of her beautiful golden hair had fallen out, she still danced.

She would have wanted me to dance, too.

Jack said nothing. He waved me away, taking another swig from his bottle. “Go. Let me enjoy my evening.”

As I climbed the stairs to my room, my feet felt weightless. The elation of being able to go, even with the stringent conditions, was almost intoxicating. I hadn’t had a night to myself in what felt like forever, and this was my ticket out, even if it was temporary.

I flopped onto my bed, the soft comforter enveloping me. My fingers automatically reached for my phone, thinking of texting Matt. He would be thrilled.

But as I unlocked my screen and hovered over his contact name, doubt crept in.

What if Jack talked to Matt? What if Matt mentioned the ball? It was possible—no, probable—that Matt already knew about my attempt to go.

The risks were too high, and any slight suspicion could ruin everything.

The thought of surprising Matt at the ball appealed to me. The look on his face, the stolen moments... It all seemed more romantic that way, anyway. Like Cinderella and Prince Charming.

With a sigh, I set my phone aside, curling into my bed.

The excitement bubbled within me, tinged with a hint of fear. I was playing a dangerous game, but the hope of seeing Matt, the hope of having just one night to myself, made it all worth it.

Tomorrow would be a long day, but the night, the ball, and the chance of freedom made every risk worth taking.

Even if I lived a life of imprisonment beneath my brother’s thumb for every night after that until the day of my death, I could at least die knowing that I had taken that one risk.

And that was worth everything to me.