The Arrangement Anthology 2(89)

Numbly, I tell him, "Take me to Henry Thomas."

Sean glances over at me like I'm crazy. "No." His voice is firm and sounds more like a scold than a response. There's no way he'll let me near Henry, but he's the only common thread I see.

I explain my thoughts to Sean. "He's the only connection. We have to confront him. We can't wait for him to come for me. Go there, now."

Sean shakes his head. "Avery, you're not thinking."

"Sean, I can't take this anymore!" My hands are balled and slam into my lap. They're clenched so tightly that my nails bite into the soft flesh of my palms.

Suddenly, Sean slams down the accelerator pedal and I'm thrown back into my seat. He cuts across traffic like a race car driver, and gets off the parkway before turning around. We were headed toward the strip club, but now we aren't. I glance over at him. "Where are we going?"

His features are stoic and the mask is in place, the one that I tried so hard to shatter so the real Sean would shine through. He grips the wheel tightly, making his knuckles pale. "I need to speak with someone."

"Who? Everyone is at the club."

"No, not everyone." He works his jaw and takes a moment to reveal the rest of his thoughts to me. He darts through traffic, cutting in and out with ease. He knows this car and how to handle her as well as he knows every inch of my body. When he glances over at me, he adds, "The most sly, cunning person is at the mansion. I need to speak with my mother."





CHAPTER 2

When we walk inside the Ferro residence, it's quiet. Sean paces the grand foyer like a school boy with a bad grade. He taps his fingers to his palms over and over again, while he waits for his mother to accept his arrival. I can't imagine it. How is this a home? How is Constance a mother if she makes her son wait at the door—but those were the directions. No one is to be admitted into the residence this afternoon without her permission.

A butler returns with a grave expression on his face, and bows to Sean. "Mrs. Ferro states that you may wait for her in her favorite room." The man turns and starts to walk away. We follow him down opulent hallways and past shiny marble statues. Priceless paintings line the walls from various artists that haven't walked the earth for ages.

I point at one, gaping, "Is that real?" I recognize it from a textbook. The colors are a medley of blues and a man stands with his back to us, staring out at the sea that crashes around him. I remember the piece because I liked the way it made me feel when I looked at it. I didn't know if the man was happy, sad, or waiting for someone to return. The way he stares at the sea is the way I stare at the stars, wondering and waiting for something to save me from this hellish life I've fallen into. At the same time, his posture, the squareness of his shoulders, and the way he clasps his hands behind his back state that he is not a victim in the least. His confidence, despite the sea spray and the rocks that symbolize peril, is inspiring. I stop in front of it unable to look away.

Sean gives me a small smile and takes my pointing finger in his hand to turn me toward him before he nods. "It is. But, you must never discuss money with my mother. Ever. That includes her treasures, as she calls them." He tips his head toward the painting.

"Why did we come here?" I ask, just as we round the corner to a glass room filled with flowers and plants. In the center of the room is a clearing with a beautiful antique white table with two chairs. A bottle of wine sits on top, opened. Constance Ferro is standing in the center, wearing a silk robe and a pair of matching slippers with a glass of wine in her hand. She swirls the contents carefully, examining it as if it might be poisoned.

"Yes, my thoughts exactly." Constance is wearing a blood-colored duster with a floral pattern burnt into the silk. It makes her hair look like spun gold. After placing the wine glass down, she clasps her hands together and then parts them as she tips her head to the side with a viper-like smile on her aged lips. "What on earth would make my most resentful offspring dare to show his face unannounced?"

Sean's gaze flicks over his mother's outfit without concealing his disdain. "Another consort?"

"No, a lover. Consort is such a cold word, Sean. Really. I don't know where you get it from. Either way, you're wasting my time and I'm needed elsewhere. You mustn't spoil other people's delights." She smiles so falsely that I think her porcelain face might crack. "So tell me the reason for your joyous visit, or keep your silent thoughts to yourself, turn, and walk away." Constance continues her serene pose the entire time she speaks, like her words aren't barbed and filled with venom.

Sean stiffens. I can't imagine what's going through his mind. I glance over at her and then back at him. If I didn't know better, I'd think Sean is afraid of her. That makes two things that scares the bejesus out of him—love and his mother. No wonder he's so messed up.