THE MAN I WASN’T ALLOWED TO WANT

The suitcases were already by the front door when Sienna came downstairs. Three of them. Her mother’s good leather set, the one nobody was allowed to touch. Sienna counted them twice, hoping she’d got it wrong. Hers wasn’t there. “Sit down, Sienna,” her mother called from the dining room. She sat. The table was still set from lunch, the plates stacked, the tea gone cold. Her father stood at the window with his back to her, staring at the street like something out there needed watching. “Houston is a fresh start for us,” Marianne said. She had her hands folded and her voice flat and even, the way she talked to people she was about to disappoint. “The new position comes with a house, a school for Toby, everything. It’s a lot to ask of a company, you understand. They only agreed to a family of three.” Sienna looked at her. “Three.” “Yes.” “So I’m the fourth.” Marianne didn’t blink. “You’re twenty-two. You have your degree. It’s time you stood on your own feet.” Nobody said anything for a while. Upstairs, Toby was dragging something heavy across the floor and humming to himself. He was ten. He had no idea. “Dad?” Her father turned around at last. Walter Rhodes had always been a big man, loud at barbecues, quick to laugh, and it hurt to see how small he looked now. “It’s not what you think, Sunny. I’ve worked something out. You won’t be alone.” “With who?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I called Elliott.” Her heart did something stupid. It stopped, then kicked hard against her ribs, and she kept her face still because her mother was watching. Marianne was always watching. “Elliott Graves?” she said, as if there might be another one. “He’s got that big place on Tradd Street. Plenty of room. He said you can stay as long as you need.” Her father cleared his throat. “He’s a good man. The best I know. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with you.” If you knew, Sienna thought. If you only knew. She’d been sixteen the first time. A summer cookout, a paper plate in her hand, and a man in a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up who asked what she was reading and then actually listened to the answer. Nobody in her house had ever done that. Six years she’d kept it buried, through two boyfriends who weren’t him and one very bad prom. Six years of dreams she woke from with her face burning. And now her father was handing her over like it was nothing. “Okay,” she said. It came out steadier than she felt. “When?” “Tonight. He’s picking you up at six.” She glanced at the clock. Five forty-one. Her mother stood and smoothed her skirt. “Pack what you can carry.” Sienna went upstairs and she did not cry. She folded her clothes into one bag, zipped it, and stood at her bedroom window watching the street. At six exactly, a black car rolled up to the curb. Elliott Graves stepped out, tall and quiet in a dark coat, his eyes already moving over the house. Then he looked up and found her in the window. He held her gaze one second too long. Then he looked away, like it had burned him. Sienna pressed her palm flat against the cold glass, and for the first time that day she almost smiled. This was it, she thought. This was her chance.