Stripping the Velvet
The rear passenger seat of Julian’s black town car was silent except for the rhythmic, hitched breaths of a child recovering from hysteria.
Julian had pulled the car to the curb three blocks from the estate, beneath the canopy of yellowing maple trees along Central Park South. He climbed into the back seat beside Lily, unbuckled her from the leather booster seat, and pulled her into his lap.
"Let Daddy see your elbow, baby," he whispered gently.
He produced a clean linen handkerchief from his pocket and a bottle of mineral water from the console. With infinite patience, he washed the tiny scrape, dabbing away the speck of grit from the estate floor. Lily watched him with wide, glassy hazel eyes—eyes that looked identical to those of her mother, Clara, who had passed away when Lily was barely ten months old.
"Mean lady," Lily whispered, her bottom lip trembling. "Victoria pushed Lily."
Julian felt a sharp, burning pang in his chest that nearly stole his breath.
I brought her into our home, he thought, the guilt rising like bile. I invited a predator in silk to live under the same roof because I thought Lily needed a 'proper' society mother. Because I thought wealth and status could protect us from emptiness.
"You did nothing wrong, Lily-bug," Julian said softly, kissing her temple. "You just wanted to see the pretty cake. It was my fault. But you are safe now. Daddy promises you: no one will ever push you again. Ever."
Julian looked down at himself. The burgundy velvet tuxedo jacket, custom-tailored on Savile Row, felt suddenly like a suffocating suit of armor made of vanity and compromise.
He unbuttoned the jacket, slipped his arms out, and tossed it onto the floorboards of the car. He tore off the silk bow tie, unfastened the stiff top buttons of his dress shirt, and rolled his cuffs up past his forearms.
He took Lily’s little lilac tulle dress—a stiff, scratchy garment Victoria had forced her to wear for the photographs—unzipped it, and replaced it with the soft grey cotton hoodie and fleece sweatpants he always kept in her diaper bag for emergencies.
As soon as the cotton touched her skin, Lily let out a long, shuddering sigh and leaned her head against Julian's sternum.
Julian pulled out his phone. The screen was an unbroken wall of notifications: seventy-two missed calls from Victoria, fourteen from her father, Marcus Vance, and dozens of urgent emails from his firm’s public relations director.
May you like
Julian powered the device off completely.
He climbed back into the driver’s seat, turned the key in the ignition, and steered the car away from the glittering skyscrapers of Midtown, heading directly north toward the quiet, dark expanses of upstate New York.
