Glass: A why choose Cinderella retelling (Forbidden Fairytales)

I stumble from the room, blindly turning towards my bedroom instead of the kitchen. I close the door and press myself against it, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths.

I need a minute.

More than a minute.

I need to not go back into that fucking room tonight. I don’t want to watch them with her, don’t want to see Rafe’s hand touching her fucking arm.

And the smug look in Ella’s eyes as she looked at me, the knowledge between us, her silent message that she has won and I have lost – is almost too much.

And them. After everything – I thought we had made progress, that they were starting to see – but if tonight has proved anything, it’s that all I am to them is a commodity. Something to pass the time with.

Silas hasn’t even looked at me, when last night he didn’t look away while he was inside me.

“Stupid, Anastasia,” I breathe. My vision blurs, the prickling at the back of my eyes threatening to spill over. “So fucking stupid.”

Everything that I thought we had, that we were staring to find again. It all feels like ashes in my mouth, nothing but a package of pretty lies.

And I have to go and face them again. Another round, another knife in my chest.

But they’ll be leaving soon. Dinner will be over, and Ella will leave.

Another hour, maybe two at a maximum.

I can do that.

Not that I have a choice. But I take another, fortifying breath and spin, pulling the door open.

Pink lips twist up. “There you are.”

Ella shoves me back into the room with a hard push to my shoulder, leaving the door ajar. “I’ve been walking up and down the hall looking for you.”

She sounds irritated. I cross my arms as she looks around my basic room. Her lip curls. “They seem to be taking very good care of you. I’ll confess that I’m a little disappointed. It hardly seems fair, does it?”

I stay still, watching her. “You’re fucking delusional, you know.”

She makes a show of checking her pale pink nails, studying them. Her fingers brush against the ridiculously sized stone on her finger. Her engagement ring. “That’s no way to speak to your future queen, Anastasia.”

And then she straightens. “I don’t think I’m very happy with this arrangement after all. Crispin promised me that you were being punished. You don’t look like you’re being punished.”

My hands tighten into fists. “What more do you possibly want? Twenty years of my life, Ella. Do you truly hate me so much that even that isn’t enough for you?”

“Yes,” she hisses. Her face darkens, mouth twisting as the last bit of the façade she keeps up slides away. “I despise you.”

“I never did anything to you,” I force out through the anger in my chest. It feels like it’s growing, that it’s going to swallow me up if I don’t hold it back. “I never hurt you, Ella. We both know it. And I’m the one with the fucking scars to prove it. Now get out of my way.”

I try to push past her, but her nails bite into my arm as she shoves me back.

I ball up my fists, fully intending on making her move, but she waggles her finger at me. “Touch me, and you’ll be back in the main prison before midnight. Parrish is missing you dreadfully, I hear.”

I stiffen. “What the hell do you want?”

Ella’s laugh is low and vicious. She clicks her tongue. “Since I can’t seem to trust in Crispin to dish out an appropriate punishment, I’ll have to do it myself.”

She twists, opening up my wardrobe as I stare.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She glances at me from over her shoulder. “You don’t seem to have any belts here. Why is that?”

My whole body goes cold. Numb.

“If you think that I’ll stand here and accept that without a fight,” I grit out, “you’re wrong. And I don’t give a damn what happens to me because of it.”

She pushes the door closed with a sigh as I try to move past her again. “Such a pity. You used to be far more agreeable. I suppose I’ll have to make do.”

Her hand whips out, and she backhands me across the face.

My head yanks violently to the side, and I stumble into the wall, smacking my face against it. A small, pained noise rips from my throat as ringing erupts in my ears.

“There,” Ella says primly. I blink through the tears at her. “That’s better. I do hope you haven’t damaged my ring, Anastasia.”

My hand raises to my mouth. The pads of my fingers come away stained with red, the cut in my lip dripping. “You need help,” I breathe. “Truly, Ella.”

She only smiles. “Do I, though? Or are you so desperate to prove yourself that you hit yourself in the face? Such a petty, jealous way to live, Anastasia. Perhaps in another few years, you’ll be more accepting of the consequences of your actions. I’ll have to make visits on a more regular basis.”

She walks past me, pulling the door open. “You really should put some ice on that. Your face is quite vile enough without the swelling.”

Her heels click against the wooden floor as she walks away, and my ass hits the floor with a thump as I lean my head back against the wall.

I must have a fucking punchbag for a face. First Lazarus, now Ella. The slicing, sharp pain fades to a dull ache as I sit there, cautiously prodding at the blood with my tongue until I’m certain the bleeding has stopped.

Slowly, I get to my feet, wondering how I’m going to explain this. Or maybe Ella is already spinning her fantasy tale, eyes wide in false sympathy at my strange behavior. I’ll make a stop at the bathroom, see how bad it looks first.

With a sigh, I glance up to the doorway.

And the two men filling it stare back at me.

Kit takes a slow step forward, his hands raised. His eyes are fixed on my mouth. “Stasi.”

His voice is rough, guttural. His finger brushes against my mouth, just barely.

I swallow. Search for an explanation. “I… I was just…,”

“We heard,” Rafe says behind him. His tone is frigid. “We heard all of it. You don’t need to make up an excuse.”

His tone is ice cold as he steps inside, flanking Kit so they’re both surrounding me.

“All of it?” I ask weakly.

Rafe’s nod is slow. He reaches out and turns my head to the side, examining it. “This wasn’t the first time she’s hurt you.”

There’s no question in his words, and I shrink back, away from the judgment in his tone. “I didn’t do anything, I swear—,”

And I let out a muffled grunt, as Rafe’s arms wrap around me. “Jesus Christ,” he snaps into my hair. “Do you really think we’re blaming you?”

Tension lines every one of my muscles, stopping me from sinking into him, from drawing on the warmth of his body to chase away the ice in my own. “That is normally what happens.”

“Stasi,” Kit breathes. His face is drawn. “I didn’t know she was hurting you.”

I shake my head as best I can, even with Rafe wrapped around me. Slowly, I step away from him. His hands drop to his side, balling into fists. “It’s not… it wasn’t all the time.”

“One fucking time,” Kit snaps. “One time is too damn much.”

“Kit was right.” Rafe’s words make us all fall silent.

And his face… there’s so much pain there. Realization, grief, understanding. “It wasn’t you, was it? It was always her.”

My laugh feels like sandpaper. “And all it took was seeing her slap me across the face to realize it.”

Rafe closes his eyes. “I knew.”

His voice is gravel, low and pained. “I already knew. I just… I just needed to be sure.”

The words send a prickle of foreboding along my spine. “What do you mean? You needed to be sure?”

When he doesn’t answer, the suspicion hardens. Solidifies. “You invited her here. Because you… what? You wanted to prove something?”

His face twists. “No. It wasn’t like that.”

I take a step back from him. I can’t even look at him. “Every time I think you cannot possibly hurt me anymore, you go ahead and prove me wrong, Rafe.”

His head snaps back like he’s the one who’s been hit.

But I’m the one taking all the fucking punches. Over and over again.

“And you.” I turn to Kit. “You… knew about this?”

His violet eyes are dark. Almost black in the low light. “It wasn’t like that. They needed to understand, Stasi. We need to fix this.”

“And now we can,” Rafe adds in a low tone. “She’s not going to get away with this, Stasi.”

He looks so determined. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why let me go through all of that – tonight – and not say anything?”

Rafe’s eyes drop. “Because… I needed to see it. Silas needed to see it.”

“So you arranged it,” I breathe. “And my word wasn’t enough for you, Rafe, was it? Why would you believe me? Why would you trust me?”

He opens his mouth to argue, and I hold up my hand.

“I get it,” I say, my throat tight. “I honestly do. I lied to you once. But don’t try to tell me how sorry you are now, after you put me on display and paraded me in front of her. After you’ve spent the whole night fucking flirting with her. Own your shitty decisions, the way I owned mine.”

“I’m sorry.” And he looks sorry. His face pale with shock, the sorrow and regret fucking radiate from him. “None of it was real. Not a bit of it.”

My laugh is sad. “It felt real enough to me. I’m going to clean up my face now. I’m still expected back there.”

“You’re not going back,” Kit says firmly. “Rafe will make your apologies, and mine. We’re going to clean up your face.”

Rafe hesitates, but then he nods. “This discussion isn’t over.”

“It feels pretty done to me.” I poke at my face. “Unless you have any other surprises you’d like to tell me about?”

“I deserve that,” he says in a low voice. “And more. But I don’t want any more secrets between us, Stasi. I’m done with them.”

He’s gone before I can respond. Kit nudges me towards the door. He’s silent as we head down towards the kitchen, moving straight past the door to the dining room where voices echo out. I glance around for Ellen as we head down the steps, but she must still be upstairs.

“Sit.” Kit settles me onto a stool, coming back with the first aid kit. “I fucking hate how often I’ve had to do this.”

“Well.” I mumble as he presses gauze against my mouth. “People do seem to enjoy hitting me.”

“That’s not funny,” he snaps.

I lift one shoulder. “Wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Silas is going to lose his shit,” he murmurs, pulling the gauze away to look. “You don’t need stitches.”

“Silas can go and fuck himself on a very sharp, very spiky cactus.”

Kit chokes at my snarled words. “He’s going to be furious. But more at himself, I would say.”

“Good.” I hiss as he spreads cool cream across the cut, his thumb smoothing the sting away. “Although he’s not the one who’s been imprisoned for something they didn’t do.”

Kit pauses, his fingers dropping from my face as he stares down at me. “I want to know it all,” he says finally. “Every bit, Stasi. From the beginning to the end.”

I hold his gaze. “I know. But not now.”

“No,” he agrees, “but soon.”

He tosses the used gauze away, washing his hands before he settles next to me. I let out a breath, but it turns into a squeak as Kit slides his hands around my waist, lifting me onto his lap.

“I want to hold you,” he breathes into my neck. “If I’m holding you, then I won’t go up there and throw her out of our house.”

His warm breath tickles my skin. “I wouldn’t be averse to that, you know.”

Kit draws back, his palm cupping my cheek. “I would do that. In a heartbeat. But we have an advantage over her at the moment. More than one, really, but if she doesn’t know that we know, then she can’t plan for it.”

His thumb traces gentle loops across my face. “You’re not on your own anymore, Stasi. I said it before, and I meant every word.”

I want to believe him. I do.

“I don’t trust anything good, Kit.” His eyes flick to mine in question, and I look away.

“Everything good gets taken away from me,” I say softly. “Every single thing, my entire life. It’s better not to expect anything.”

“So you can’t be disappointed.” He follows my lead, and his shoulders tense. “That’s no way to live, Stasi.”

“It’s the only way,” I correct him. “And it took me a long time to learn that particular lesson.”

“I hate that you ever had to.” He rests his forehead against mine. “But I accept the challenge.”

My smile is small, but it’s there. “What happens if we manage to… I don’t know. Prove it?”

Kit’s mouth opens, but it’s not his voice that answers.

“If we manage to prove your innocence?” Silas steps down from the last step, his eyes on my face. Rafe is right behind him. “You’ll be free.”

“Good.” I look away from his expression. “So I can run far, far away from men who think they know everything?”

Beneath me, Kit stiffens.

Everyone stiffens.

“It will be your choice,” Silas says tightly. “But we need to get there, first.”

I cross my arms. Silas stares at me. I stare back.

“I’m waiting,” I say finally. “For my apology.”

He looks as though he’s accidentally bitten a wasp. “I’m sorry,” he says finally.

I turn to Kit with a questioning glance. “Did you hear something? Because I think a flea just made the smallest damn apology in history.”

To his credit and my disappointment, he doesn’t laugh, although his lips twitch up.

Silas lets out a growl. “Stasi.”

“Nuh uh.” I hold up my hand, cutting off his grumpy tone. “Want to try that again, with some meaning behind it?”

Silas’s brows dip into a low frown. And then he’s stalking forward. He picks me up from Kit’s lap, placing me on the counter.

And then he kneels.

“What are… what are you doing?” I glance at Kit and Rafe for help, but they’re watching Silas. Rafe looks especially grim.

“I’m apologizing,” he says quietly. “On my fucking knees. And it will not be enough, but consider this my starting point, Anastasia.”

All I do is stare at him.

“First,” he says softly. “I’m so fucking sorry for that night. For making you leave, when you begged me to help you. For not letting you take your things with you. For all of it. I was angry, and upset, and I took all of that out on you instead of just taking a single damn second to breathe. I was so, so fucking wrong. And I have regretted the loss of you every single day since.”

Oh. That’s… not a bad apology. Not the one I was expecting, but I’ll take it.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “May I continue?”

But he’s still an asshole. Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin up in invitation.

“Second.” He looks down at the floor. “I apologize for using your position here against you, when you first arrived. I used it to punish you because I was still angry. I was unfairly angry at you for leaving, and I was angry because of my father. I thought that in the absence of your mother, I could punish you instead. And it never should have happened that way.”

He fumbles, and his cheeks darken. I wonder when the last time was that Silas Tate issued an apology to anyone.

“This was your home,” he whispers. “And this has always been your home.”

His words hit me hard. Silas clears his throat without waiting for a response. “Third… I should have known that you would never have done those things. Because I know you, Anastasia. And I think… I think I did, really. But I allowed my anger and my grief to cloud my judgement, and the only victim of that was you. And even when I knew, it was somehow easier to pretend I didn’t, because then I would have to face my own actions.”

His hands circle my ankles. Holding on to them, as if for support.

“I’m sorry we never came for you,” he says raggedly. “When we should have found you years ago. You should never have been alone for a single second, Stasi. And finally, I’m sorry that we didn’t speak up when we should have. I have no excuse for that, but one.”

He looks up at me. At my damp cheeks.

“I wanted you,” he says softly. “Wanted you here. And when we found out that it was you…I saw an opportunity to bring you home, and I took it without a second thought.”

I swipe my hands over my face. My voice shakes when I speak. “Silas…,”

“I’m going to fix this,” he promises. His eyes are steady on my face. “We are going to fix this, Stasi. And when this is done… you still have a home here. Always. But it will be your choice, from now on.”

I can’t look at him. So I look down at my hands instead, twisting my fingers together. “My choice?”

He nods. “No more lists. No more cleaning. No more demands.”

I glance up incredulously. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He tilts his head back, a low, broken laugh slipping out. “I will try to tone down the demands.”

I nod. “Much more achievable.”

He looks up at me, more vulnerable than I have ever seen him.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he says abruptly. “But I’m going to work to earn it, Stasi. I promise you.”

Slowly, so carefully, I reach forward, and run my fingers through his hair. His eyes close.

“You missed an apology,” I say, tugging lightly. His eyes fly open, and I catch the panic there. “For tonight. You overbearing ass. You should have told me they were coming. And then you ignored me. All night.”

He presses his lips together. “If I had looked at you, then they would have known. Better to ignore you than to put you at risk. Although I will apologize for not telling you why they were here.”

I eye him, but he looks unrepentant. I suppose I’ll have to take it.

And I feel a little warmer now.

“Okay,” I breathe. “But do not fuck this up again, Silas.”

He groans, pressing his head into my leg. “I wish that I could promise that. But… I probably will fuck up again. Never intentionally.”

Good enough. “Then you’re on a test run.”

“A test run?” He pulls his head back, staring at me in slight disbelief as he gets to his feet.

I cross my arms. “Take it or leave it.”

“Then I guess I’m taking it,” he murmurs. I suck in a breath as he grazes my lip. “She hurt you.”

“Not for the first time,” Rafe says. His knuckles are white as he holds his elbows. “But it will be the last.”

I open my mouth, but he’s already turning away, stalking out of the kitchen.