Cinderella Is Dead(12)

“All right. What is it?”

He doesn’t speak right away. He gazes off, biting his bottom lip.

“I’ve been mentally calculating how I’m going to get away from you if you try anything,” I say. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to hurt me, so I want to hear what you have to say.”

“Hurt you?” He looks puzzled. “Why would I want to do that?”

I give an exaggerated look around. “Because this is Lille. That’s what happens here.”

“I can’t blame you for feeling that way, but not everyone is like that.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes for a second. I know that. My father is a good man, Liv’s father is a good man, and even Luke’s father seems like a good man. But these good men aren’t making the rules. These decent men are turning a blind eye to indecent acts. “If you’re not one of the men who would jump at the first chance to put a woman in her place, then I’m not talking about you.”

He hesitates for a moment before sighing. “That’s fair.”

A high-pitched whistle sounds from behind me, and I turn to see two young men strutting up to us, their chests pushed out, smirking.

“Shit,” Luke says under his breath. He moves closer to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just some people from school.”

“Luke!” one of the young men shouts. He is smiling wide, but Luke isn’t. “What are you up to on this beautiful fall morning?”

“Just out for a ride.” Luke’s tone is biting, angry.

“Out for a ride? With a girl?” the taller man asks. The ring in his voice makes me pause, and he looks me over. His beady brown eyes remind me of the glass marbles the children on my street play with.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

The man’s head snaps up. “Not yet, but maybe we can do something about that.”

“Shut up, Morris,” says Luke.

“Morris?” I ask, glancing up at Luke. “What a lovely name. Sounds a lot like moron.” This time Luke smiles wide.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Morris says, glaring at me.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Luke inches closer to me. His body has gone rigid, and his fists are clenched.

Morris smiles, but it makes me uncomfortable. There’s nothing kind about it.

“Are you claiming this wretch at the ball?” Morris asks.

Luke bristles. “Why does it matter to you?”

I cross my arms. I hate this kind of talk, especially when I’m sitting right here.

“She doesn’t seem like your type,” Morris says, grinning as if he’s said something hilarious.

I’ve missed something. Fear clouds Luke’s eyes.

Morris looks back and forth between us. “Oh. Oh!” He claps his hand on the other man’s back, and they laugh. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

Luke looks down at the reins gathered in his lap. Morris steps forward and takes my hand. I try to pull away, but he has me by the wrist and holds it tight. “Luke here has all kinds of secrets. You should ask him about them sometime.” He looks at Luke. “What was that young fellow’s name? Was it Lou—”

Before he can finish, Luke’s fist connects with Morris’s right cheek, sending spittle and at least two teeth flying from his mouth. He lets go of me and stumbles back, clutching his jaw. The other man stands still, stunned. Luke hops out of the cart as Morris clutches his face.

“If you ever so much as breathe a syllable of his name in my presence, I will make you regret it,” Luke says. “Consider this your only warning.”

Morris’s face is ruddy, dripping with sweat, his mouth bloody. He tenses, like he’s going to attack Luke again, though I can’t understand how he thinks that will be a good idea.

“Don’t do it,” his friend says to him, reading his expression. “Let’s get out of here.” He takes Morris by the arm and pulls him away until they disappear down the road. Luke hops back into the cart.

Morris’s broken teeth lie like pearls in the cracks of the cobbled street. “Should we pick those up and return them to him?” I ask. “Maybe put them on a string he can wear around his neck?”

Luke chuckles, massaging his hand and straightening out his shirt. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I say. I would pay money to see despicable men get socked in the jaw. “Morris was trying to get under your skin. Why does he dislike you so much?”

Luke looks at me and shakes his head. “It’s … complicated.”

“Morris said I’m not your type. It’s okay. I’m not offended. You’re not my type either.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but Luke frowns.

“Oh, I know.”

My skin pricks up.

Luke sighs and leans back in his seat. He struggles with something, and with each passing moment, I grow more afraid of what it is.

Luke looks thoughtful as he stares off. “Everything we do is measured against Cinderella’s story. But what happens if … well, let’s say—” He shifts around, fumbling with the reins. “Why is that story the only way of doing things?”