Free Insidious by Aleatha Romig Page A

wear for my mystery meeting.
    “Yes, I found these as well as a few other things. Thank you.”
    “You’re very welcome. However, it wasn’t me. It was Mr. Harrington. He wants you to be as comfortable as possible.”
    I edged toward the window and gestured toward the sofa and chair. “Would you mind having a seat for a few minutes? I’ve been reading this contract for hours, and I have so many questions.” Suddenly I thought about the nondisclosure clause. Would talking to her be a violation of that clause? Would all of this have been for nothing, even if I opted for the walk-away agreement?
    The concern must have been evident. Lisa reached for my hand and using a reassuring tone said, “It’s okay. You can talk to me about it. Mr. Harrington showed me the documents. He assumed you might be more comfortable talking to me than to him.”
    “S-so… if we speak about it, it doesn’t constitute my breaking the do-not-disclose clause or agreement?”
    “No.” Lisa sat and looked at the table where I had left the contract and my notes. “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously. I was concerned that with your…”
    “My age?” I asked, finishing her sentence.
    “Yes. I don’t mean any disrespect, my dear. It’s just that Mr. Harrington is an intense man. He didn’t make his offers lightly. This arrangement has been thoroughly researched and dissected. I was concerned, before I met you…” She added with a nod in my direction. “…that you would think it to be a flippant offer.”
    I closed my eyes. My head ached from all the deliberating. “I assure you, Lisa, I’m not a silly child. I may be only eighteen, but I’ve been making life-altering decisions for much longer than I should. I’ve not had the most stellar parental support.”
    “Given the circumstances, I presumed. How may I help you?”
    After trying to understand all the verbiage in a purely technical manner, having Lisa’s kind words and expressions brought emotion where I’d worked to keep it away. I didn’t want emotion. Even at my young age, I’d found that my head made better decisions than my heart.
    I abruptly stood from the chair near Lisa and walked to the window. With the night sky, the ocean below was dark: the only exceptions were the scatterings of lights here and there from ships, yachts, or boats. From the height of the penthouse, the expanse was enormous. I searched for the horizon: the place where the black water met the darkened sky. The moonless, starless night made the differentiation difficult.
    Keeping my eyes fixed toward the ocean, I asked, “You have used the word offer twice. Do you really see this as an offer?”
    “What else would it be?”
    I shrugged, turning back toward her and fighting the impending tears. “I guess, technically, it is an offer. But I feel like I’m agreeing to a sale, not a proposal. I mean, if I understand all that I’ve read, and I agree.” I rephrased. “ If I agree, I’m in essence accepting money, housing, the repayment of my parents’ debt, and Stewart’s name in exchange for my life. M-my body… m-my future.” I lost the fight with the emotions as a few renegade tears cascaded from my still-painted eyes.
    “In essence, isn’t that the way it is with every marriage proposal?” Lisa asked. “In marriage, doesn’t the woman give herself over to her husband in exchange for his protection? When she does that, doesn’t she usually choose to take her husband’s name and financial support?”
    I nodded. “Yes, but…” The next words sat heavily on my chest. “…most women marry for love. I never imagined marrying anyone, but if I ever entertained those fantasies, I imagined candlelight dinners and walks on the beach. I assumed I’d know—really know—my husband, and he’d know me. I never, in a million years, imagined a fifteen-page contract and a twelve-hour deadline.”
    Lisa looked down. There truly was no answer. No one imagined his or her life would be