LITMIR.BIZ

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born into a mapped-out future. But I hope that she also sees my determination to bear the weight of family expectation.

      After ten blows, my stomach churns and hot blood runs down my skin. Good. Now I shall fast until sundown. The gnawing hunger should dull any unwelcome thoughts.

      I’m fastening my white collar when a bell rings, a sign someone has entered the chapel.

      A quick glance in the hall mirror provides confirmation that I appear every inch the picture of a serene priest eager to tend to my flock.

      No hint of the devil within.

      Ruby

      I straighten my Cleopatra-style wig and dip my head to make sure the girls are in place, assessing the cleavage and how my breasts threaten to spill over the top of my corset. I take my chances that my client is a breast man, because, really, what man isn’t? Clients tend to pay more when they salivate upon introduction. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. In fact, I’ve heard some girls say they’ve taken home an evening’s worth of pay from a man’s ogling alone. But ogling won’t be enough for this job. My instructions require far more than that, and though it’s my first night of employ, I am required to give my client whatever he desires. And if he desires nothing, I must tempt him to want more. There is no work in this kingdom for an artist from a disgraced family, so I have to take what I can get. The Madam at The Jewel Box sought me out, and I couldn’t refuse her offer, not when it meant I could provide not only for myself but also my brother’s wife and child.

      “They asked for Pearl, but I believe an ingenue will appeal so much more to our dear, inexperienced prince,” the Madam had said before I left. “And you’re the freshest of my pretty little blossoms. The flower not yet picked. Pearl’s not desperate like you are. Plus, that damned bodyguard X would recognize her in an instant. I’ve been looking for a way inside the palace—and other buildings on the grounds—which means you get to be my little lookout.”

      “I don’t understand,” I told her. “You want me to spy for you? Why?”

      I can still feel the sting of her palm against my cheek.

      “And here I thought you’d been trained,” she’d crooned. “Question me, and there will be consequences. Disobey me, and—consequences. All I need you to do is tell me if he owns a painting of an angel—until recently, one I was led to believe had been destroyed when your father passed—and report where the painting is.” She smiled her mirthless smile, and I fought back tears at the mention of Papa—at the fear of being struck again. “Darling, you not only get to seduce a celibate prince, but you get to find me something very valuable. Succeed in gathering the prince’s attention—and finding what I seek—and you’ll be a jewel as prized as your name. Succeed, and you and your remaining family will want for nothing as long as you remain in my employ.”

      I swallow the threat of my own conscience trying to weigh in. What do I care about a stupid painting or what she wants with it? I have the chance to save my brother, Jasper. That’s all that matters.

      So I repeat her words over and over again to center myself in the moment—to remind myself of what I must do.

      I nearly break an ankle climbing the chapel stairs in these boots, four-inch stilettos that cuff just below my short skirt. After almost two months of my apprenticeship, I’m used to the shoes and clothes, but my attire was not built for more than seduction.

      There’s also the small fact that I’m on the Edenvale Palace grounds—making my way to an apartment in the lonely-looking, ivy-covered tower next to the chapel. My phone rings, and instead of silencing it as I pull it from my pocket, I accidentally answer it.

      “Hello? Are you there?”

      “Shit,” I whisper-shout as I scramble back down the steps. “Camille, I’m here. Just...give me a second...” I race outside and around the corner, through the first door I see, not wanting my client to catch me conducting any sort of personal business when I am supposed to be...working. Complaints equal a reduction in my take, and some, I’ve heard, suffer worse.

      I freeze, though, when I realize where I am—in the Royal Edenvale Church itself.

      “Is everything okay?” I whisper into the phone, and I hear my brother’s wife sniffle before she speaks.

      “You’re...you’re working. Aren’t you?” Her voice breaks on that word, working, and I can hear her anguish, her guilt.

      “Yes,” I answer, trying to soothe her with the one word. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. But something is wrong with you. Tell me what it is.”

      She sniffles again. “I took Lola to visit her father today. It was the first time I brought her with me, the first time she would see Jasper in two months, and when the guards told him we were there, he refused to see us.”

      I suck in a breath, both at Camille’s pain but also for my brother, Jasper. Because I’m at the Edenvale Palace, completely out of my depth, about to seduce a man I’ve never met—a prince, no less. I understand his shame.

      “He loves Lola. You know that. And he loves you. But prison is no place for a child. And you can understand him not wanting her to see him like that. Can’t you?”

      I hear the clang of heavy shoes on metal in the tower entryway next door, which can mean only one thing. My client is approaching.

      “He wouldn’t refuse to see his child,” Camille weeps. “Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones.”

      “I’m sorry,” I say frantically, trying not to let my own worry about Jasper sink in but also not wanting the prince to find me hiding out in the chapel on my phone. “I have to go, but if tonight plays out as it should, I will have enough to pay this month’s lease on the cottage. You and Lola are safe for now. That is all that matters.”

      “But—”

      The door from the stairwell starts to slide open, and because I have no choice, I end the call and sneak past the pews and into a confessional. I’m still trying to calm my breathing when the shadow of a man appears on the other side of the lattice.

      “Have you come to make confession?” a deep, gravelly voice asks.

      I stopped believing in any higher power long ago. But I know why I’m here and what part I need to play. “Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.”

      I open the screen on my phone that has my script for our introduction. I must believe in my brother’s innocence, and that giving up my own will set him free. If I can earn the money the Madam is talking about, then I can buy the best legal representation and set my brother free. Jasper Vernazza is a world-famous art historian. He’d never dream of stealing anything from the museum to sell on the black market. Someone set him up, but for the life of me I cannot imagine why.

      “You may proceed, child,” he says. “The Lord is ready to forgive your sins.”

      I stroke a finger along the lattice grate and hum, reminding myself to play the part for which I’m being paid.

      “What if I want to keep sinning?” My voice is breathy and soft as I infuse it with the need a client would ache to hear. It’s practiced need on my part, of course. But if my training was a success, he won’t know the difference. I glance at the screen in my palm. “What if all I want is to relieve you of that desire pulsing between your legs?”

      “Who sent you?” he says, and I can tell he speaks between gritted teeth.

      “Let me taste your thick, aching cock, Father,” I say, my voice sweet as an angel as I try to sound less like I’m reading and more like this is what I truly want. “Let me take you so deep. I want to feel you throbbing, salty sweet against my tongue—”

      I jump at the sound of what must be his fist thumping the wall between us.

      “Who. Sent. You?” he interrupts, but I will not be deterred, not when my only choice is to succeed.

      I

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