Chapter 39 Try Another Woman
Elizabeth's "old place" was a dead amusement park, the kind where laughter had long since rotted away with the paint.
Once, it had been alive.
She and Quinton used to stand outside the gates, selling toys to children on their way in.
Today, Quinton came in a white shirt and black dress pants, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a cane in the other. His steps were slow, deliberate, toward the woman waiting by the carousel.
They had met decades ago—he was seven, she was eight—inside an orphanage that smelled of damp walls and old secrets. She'd worn a faded red dress, watching Calista walk away from the front door. He'd clutched a battered schoolbag and watched her instead.
Both had been discarded by their parents.
The orphanage wasn't a sanctuary. It was a place where children were currency.
Once, they overheard Elijah—the man in charge—speaking to a stranger. The stranger wanted corneas.
The next day, a beautiful child with eyes like glass was gone.
Fear became their shadow. They learned to hide—hair over their faces, clothes ragged enough to make them invisible.
When Elizabeth turned ten, Elijah's gaze on her changed. A twisted kindness. Her beauty bled through the dirt.
Quinton never left her side. Even outside the bathroom, he'd wait. But Elijah was an adult. Separating them was easy.
Elizabeth didn't like to look back. Life moved forward, or it didn't move at all.
"Elizabeth."
Quinton stopped beside her. Together they stared at the rusted carousel horses.
"Want to ride?"
Once, he could have lifted her up. Now, leaning on the cane, he couldn't. Not anymore.
But he could still make it clean for her.
He passed her the roses, took out a tissue, and wiped the dust from the seat.
Elizabeth stepped up, roses in her arms, and settled onto the horse. She smiled down at him. "It's nice."
They were still alive.
Quinton loved her. She loved him.
Not in the way lovers do, but in the way that meant no matter how far she walked, he'd be there when she turned back. Closer than family.
"Today I hit Natalia. My mother said she regrets bringing me back to the Howard family."
Elizabeth's voice cracked. She almost never cried—but this time, the sobs tore out of her, raw and unrestrained, until she hiccuped.
Then they laughed together. It sounded insane.
Quinton wiped her tears, then her nose. From his pocket, he pulled a ring—made of paper.
The day they'd escaped the orphanage, they'd come here. He'd found a scrap of paper on the ground and folded it into a ring.
"Elizabeth, look at this diamond… just like the ones in the ads. It's for you. Do you like it?"
They hadn't known what a proposal meant back then.
She held out her hand. He slid the ring onto her right pinky.
Not the wedding finger. In their world, the pinky meant protection.
Timothy watched from behind a tree, cigarette unlit between his teeth. Roses and a ring… He couldn't see the ring clearly.
He laughed once, sharp and humorless.
Turning away, he left the park, tossing the cigarette into a trash can.
The road outside was empty. He drove alone today.
One hand on the wheel, elbow hooked on the window frame, he let the speed build. Wind slid in, brushing the sharp lines of his face.
His expression was cool. Irritated, though he didn't know why.
Elizabeth on the carousel, holding Quinton, kept looping in his head.
He pulled up at Dream House, tossed the keys to the doorman, and went inside.
It wasn't open during the day.
Matthew arrived to find Timothy sprawled on a sofa, cigarette between his fingers, watching the Male Revue on stage.
He was the only man in the seats.
Matthew's jaw almost hit the floor. "You're skipping the girls' show for this? Are you okay?"
Timothy looked at him once, flat-eyed, then turned back to the stage.
Sleeves rolled, he lounged deep into the cushions, smoke curling from his lips. The black mamba tattoo on his arm seemed to sink its teeth into the rose inked beside it.
A waiter stood in the corner, silent.
Matthew waved for liquor.
The music shifted to a pounding beat. The men on stage stepped closer—it was the tip-in-the-underwear segment.
Matthew chuckled awkwardly. "Mr. Robinson, not into women anymore? Switching teams?"
Timothy's gaze slid sideways. He unbuttoned his shirt to the collarbone and said lazily, "You trying to die?"
"I'm just trying to cheer you up."
Matthew had thought Timothy was here to settle a score. Elizabeth had been at his club recently, but Timothy didn't look like he cared.
"Heartbroken?"
Timothy took a slow sip. "My woman was holding another man and crying."
"That's rough." Matthew shrugged. "Men like us shouldn't tie ourselves to one woman."
"That's why your kidneys are shot."
Matthew bristled. "Half an hour each time, three or four times a night—I'm fine."
Timothy smirked, not bothering to crush him. He could go an hour each time, seven or eight times a night. But she was too delicate to take it.
The smirk cut deep. Matthew's pride flared. "Plenty of men aren't as good as me."
"This Male Revue isn't much to look at."
No kidding. If he went to the girls' show, it'd be better—but Matthew didn't say it. His mood was dark, his edges sharp.
He thought for a moment. "Want me to find you someone clean tonight? One word."
In their circle, everyone played. Timothy had never been interested.
"Want me to?" Matthew grinned. "I'll make sure it's arranged."
Timothy flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes on Matthew.
After a beat, he said, "Sure. Why not."
Try something different.
He didn't think much about it.