And when they do, I know.
CHAPTER 19
JENSEN
Mark grins from ear to ear, his hand on the shoulder of a man with gray around his temples. The man smiles and gives a friendly wave before Mark points for him to take a seat at the head of the table next to him.
Bellamy stares at her plate. Waverly watches, still as a statue.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Mr. Waterman.” Mark seems proud of his buddy, and judging by their matching Polo sweaters, I’d say they’re two of a kind. Mark gives another quick wave, the glint of his gold wedding band catching my eye.
“Oh, you can all call me Bruce.” Mr. Waterman—Bruce—flashes a crooked smile, his two front teeth overlapping just enough to be noticeable from a safe distance. He lowers himself into his chair and proceeds to make small talk with Mark as food is passed around.
A moment later, Mark goes around the table, calling out the names of his litter of children and three wives, and tells us all Bruce is a new colleague of his at the pharmacy who just so happens to be one of the seventy quorum members of the priesthood.
Whatever the fuck that means.
Our end of the table is alarmingly silent, like someone hit the mute button and sucked all the sound from the room. Mark doesn’t notice, though. He’s too busy bragging about his perfect AUB family to his buddy, and by the end of dinner, he suggests we head into the family room for some socializing. He even tells his wives cleanup can wait.
“Waverly, why don’t you show Bruce here that lovely hymn you play on the piano.” Mark motions toward an old oak upright in the corner of the room. “You know the one. Father Is My Favorite Friend.”
“Aw, I was hoping for Take Me to Church,” I dig.
Mark’s eyes snap to me for a mere second and then dart to Waverly, who takes a seat on the bench and lifts the lid to the piano, spreading her fingers across the black and white keys. He slips his hands into his pockets and stands next to Bruce, a big smile on his face like he can hardly wait to watch Waverly’s performance vicariously through his buddy.
She’s like a monkey on a leash, performing because Mark told her to. This really is a fucking circus.
“Jensen?” Gideon comes out of nowhere and tugs on my hand. “Will you help me with my puzzle?”
A thousand-piece puzzle is scattered all over the coffee table with a few rogue pieces littering the ground beneath. It’s way above his skill level, but I’m not about to rain on his parade. Little dude’s life is already hard enough, even if he doesn’t know it yet. I’ll help him with his puzzle.
“Sure thing, buddy.” We take a seat on the sofa. He tries to force random pieces together and I search for the edges, simultaneously keeping an eye on what’s going on in the far corner of the room.
I snap three edge pieces together, glancing up as the sound of some boring ass hymnal I’ve never heard before fills the confines of the crowded family room. The wives are perched on edges of furniture, still as mannequins, and the younger children play quietly.
Bellamy is seated on a big armchair to my left, away from the rest of the group. It’s almost as if she’s trying to blend in. She sits politely, her legs crossed at her ankles and her hands folded in her lap, like she’s sitting in a church pew.
“Bellamy,” Mark turns around and calls at her. “Come. You can sing while Waverly plays. Waverly, can you two do Thy Servants Are Prepared for our guest here?”
She groans just enough that I hear it and peels herself up from the chair.
Mark flashes a huge smile at her. “Bruce, I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced yet to my eldest. Bruce, this is Bellamy, my firstborn daughter. She’s twenty-two.”
I don’t know what the fuck her age has to do with anything. Most people stop broadcasting their kids’ ages once they’re past, oh, I don’t know, elementary school.
Bruce’s smile widens. Mark doesn’t notice when his narrow eyes wash over her from head to toe. She squirms and focuses on the floor. I can imagine his gaze must feel disgustingly invasive to her. He’s easily twice her age, and he’s wears the same delusional confidence as Mark.
“All right, Waverly,” Mark says. “We’re ready.”
The sisters perform with stoic faces and tight postures. Waverly knows her way around a piano keyboard and Bellamy doesn’t miss a single note. Mark stands proud, observing Bruce as he watches the girls perform.
“Jensen, you’re not helping!” Gideon nudges my arm.
“Sorry, bud.” I work on my edge pieces until the song is over. No one applauds, which is appropriate. Church hymns aren’t meant to be entertainment, regardless of the fact that Mark seems to think they are tonight.
Waverly shuts the piano lid and stands up from the creaky wooden bench. She stands next to Bellamy as if they’re about to be auctioned off, their gazes submissive and low. It physically pains me to see her that way. I’ve gotten to know her a little more over the past several weeks, and I know she’s got some fight in her. She’s a tiger, caged and subdued, behaving exactly the way she was raised to behave.
“Waverly, you’re a beautiful pianist.” Bruce’s compliment is meant to sound sincere, but his mouth-watering delivery lends creepy undertones. He’s salivating, and I don’t understand how Mark doesn’t pick up on any of this. I’m pretty sure if I checked out his pants—which I’m not going to do—I’d see the early formation of a raging boner.
Bruce steps in closer to Waverly, and as of that moment, Bellamy may as well be chopped liver. He takes her hand in his. “Your father tells me you’re a virtuous, yet spirited girl.”
Waverly nods, like she’s afraid to speak. I get that this jackass is in the priesthood or whatever, and Mark acts like the guy is a damn prophet, but I seem to be the only one noticing the way her hands shake and her eyes dart around. Her full lips part as she swallows, her face void of color. She’s fucking terrified.
I’ve seen a lot of shit in my day, and I’ve done a lot of questionable shit, but this fucking takes the cake. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand here and watch Mark pimp out his daughters to what is clearly a fellow polygamist shopping for a new wife to add to his collection.
I don’t care what anyone says. Waverly and Bellamy are victims, and as far as I can tell, I have a couple different options. I can speak up now, make shit super awkward and risk getting kicked out of Mark’s house, and spend the next two months homeless.
Or…
I can take matters into my own hands, in my own special way.
Either way, I refuse to allow this. From here on out, no one gets to use religion as a weapon to control another human being.
Not while I’m around.
CHAPTER 20
WAVERLY
His touch knots my belly, and the way his gaze crawls all over me makes me feel dirty, inanimate. I feel Jensen watching, taking it all in quietly from the other side of the room, and my cheeks warm. I am an item on an auction block, and for the first time, I am less than human.
Bruce pays extra attention to me, his beady eyes locked on mine. He’s a member of the quorum, which means we are to show him the utmost respect, especially as a guest in our house, but I’m finding it exceptionally challenging to do so when he’s practically undressing me with his eyes.
“Waverly, can you quote Article Thirteen of the Articles of Faith?” Bruce asks.
“Yes,” I say, my voice a forced whisper. My throat is dry and tight, as if I’m being choked. His presence suffocates me. Or maybe it’s fear of the unknown. “We believe in being honest, true, chaste, and in doing good for all men.”
“Good, good.” Bruce’s thin lips coil up at the corners, his voice snakes and slithers into the air between us. “And you, Bellamy?” He addresses her, but he still looks at me. “Are you chaste and true?”