Page 70 of Ceremony of Lust

“Divorce seems extreme, though. Yael doesn’t seem the type to leave you high and dry.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I’m in prison for whatever reason, the Elders can force Yael back to Ripley. At least if we’re legally divorced, she can be formally shunned and live her life.” He reluctantly slides the last of the paperwork over to me, and I scribble my name across the line, hoping it never needs to be used.

“Is that all?” I ask. He nods as he tucks the paperwork away. “Good. You know what to do. Just bill me.”

“Already did,” he says with a smirk.

“Can you do me another favor?” When Fraser starts yelling, I hold up my hands until he quiets down. “I want you to look into the death of Yael’s mother, Aviva. Her name was scrubbed from Ripley’s community records when she was shunned, so it’s pretty much a dead end.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he says.

When I arrive home, it’s hard not to notice the black sedan parked a few houses down. Security is my job, so I’m supposed to be aware of things like this. The windows are heavily tinted, but I can still make out two shadowy figures. I want to approach them, but I know better. It’s better to wait and see. There’s no doubt in my mind who’s having us watched, but it’s best not to provoke them.

Inside the house, Yael is snuggled into one side of the couch with a blanket tucked under her chin. She still looks pale, but there is a pinkness in her cheeks. I’m careful not to disturb her, but like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to her. There is life growing inside her, a life we created together. I settle on the sofa next to her, carefully lowering myself so as not to disturb her. Inch by inch, I lean forward slightly and bring my hand up to rest gently on her belly.

“You’re home,” she says in a breath, her eyelids fluttering open.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, reaching up to brush my lips across her cheek. “Have you eaten anything?”

She shakes her head. “Thanks for the muffin, but one smell of it, and I ran right to the bathroom.”

I brush her hair away from her forehead with soft strokes. “Can I get you anything now?”

She covers the hand still resting on her belly with her own and holds it there. “Just sit next to me,” she says softly.

I lose track of time sitting beside her, stroking my thumb just under her belly button, knowing she’s carrying my child. It took almost a year for her to get pregnant, but it finally happened. And now we must prepare for the arrival of our son or daughter.

I catch the glint of sunlight off the top of a car as it passes by and wonder if it’s the black sedan.

Now more than ever, it’s imperative I free myself from the Elders. I realize I’m willing to do whatever it takes. If I must burn down the whole goddamn town, I’ll do it. I don’t merely enforce the archaic rules that everyone seems to blindly follow, but I keep their secrets. If I have to expose myself in order to send Ripley tumbling, I will.

As long as Yael is still beside me at the end.

39

Yael

I don’t wantto be pregnant anymore. How often did I wish, hope, pray for this, yet even though my prayers have finally been answered, I’m absolutely miserable. The house reeks of burnt toast because it’s the only thing I can stomach. Zev hates it, and so do I, but I’m told this phase will pass. Once I hit my second trimester, I’ll feel better.

Right now, I’d settle for simply getting out of bed and into a hot shower.

“Yael,” Zev calls out as he stands in the doorway of the bedroom.

I don’t dare make a move out of fear of upsetting the delicate balance currently existing inside my body.

“Yael, we need to talk,” he says a little quieter. The bed dips slightly from his weight as he settles himself on the edge.

The first thing I notice about him is he’s dressed all in black again. The second thing I notice is the pain etched on his face. He leans forward to brush the backs of his fingers across my cheekbone. “I have to go, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Where? To work? To your office?” I ask, confused because he’s been staying closer to home these days.

“It’s work. I have to go out of town,” he says plainly as his fingers dance across my cheek and down my neck.

“For how long?” I murmur.

“As long as it takes. The job is very complicated.”

I reach out a hand and run it down the front of his dress shirt. “You’re wearing black again.”