“I’ll see you tomorrow, Georgie.” I turn to leave, picking up a ready-made bouquet of the roses I just bought and walking out of the shop before he can say another word and before I can understand what I just did.

When I get home, Lois tells me dinner is almost ready. I want Mercedes to eat downstairs with me tonight. We need to get back into a normal rhythm. I can’t keep her locked up in her bedroom and she can’t keep ignoring me.

I knock softly in case she’s sleeping but when she doesn’t answer I open the door. My heart immediately drops to my stomach when I don’t see her, afraid of a repeat of what just happened. But then Mercedes emerges from the bathroom and stops dead when she sees me.

She’s dressed in a loose-fitting, ankle-length dress and picks up the sweater that’s lying on the foot of the bed and puts it on.

“Do you knock?”

“I did. You didn’t hear me.”

“Then wait until I do.”

I clear my throat, see the red gash where the whip must have caught her wrist. Before I have a chance to speak, her gaze moves to the flowers and she must recognize the paper wrapping because she crosses the room, grabs them out of my hand, confirms where they’re from and hugs them protectively to herself.

“What did you do?” She screams. “What the hell did you do?”

I hold my hands out, palms up. “I invited your friends to the house.”

“You what?” Clearly not what she was expecting.

“I invited your friends.”

“Here?”

“Here.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to see them?”

She watches me suspiciously. “What’s your game?”

“There’s no game, Mercedes.”

“Then what do you want?”

I look down at the chipped pink polish on her toes. Not her usual shade of blood red. I recall Georgie’s words. Every color but red. I’m slow to return my gaze to hers.

“I want to see you smile. Hear you laugh maybe,” I say. It’s probably one of the most honest things I’ve ever said to her. To anyone.

There’s a moment of silence and I’m not sure where this is going. If she’s going to burst into tears. If she’s going to throw herself into my arms. But she does neither of those things.

“It’s all about what you want, isn’t it, Judge? You wanted to fuck me. You fucked me. But then you decided you didn’t want me after all, so you locked me up. Literally. And when I tried to escape you, your brother decided to take what he wanted too. Maybe it’s all the Montgomery men and their wants. No. That’s not right. It’s all men and their wants. Their whims. And women are just pawns. At least within The Society.”