by Wendi Wilson
It was positively primeval.
We’d skipped the first part, going straight for the main course, and I’d bet my last dime the Bellamys felt the insult. These rich assholes were stuck in the early twentieth century, and they didn’t want to leave. They loved their rigid structure, their solid social lines, and their pristine bloodlines.
I was sure my dramatic entrance into their lives was a real kick in the gut. My very existence upset the balance of power they’d striven so hard to maintain. And by balance, I meant unbalance. They held all the power, and people like me and my mother were meant to stay far beneath them. Like bugs. We were dung beetles in the world of Gwyneth and Phineas Bellamy.
Once everyone was seated and served, an awkward silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of silverware clinking against fine china. The air was thick with tension, and I had to force myself to eat while my stomach rebelled. It was a waiting game, the seconds ticking by until someone spoke and broke the seal of silence to relieve the pressure.
We didn’t have to wait long.
“What exactly is this?” Gwyneth asked, staring at the bit of cheesy goodness on her fork.
“It’s chicken enchilada casserole,” Mom offered, “a real favorite around here.”
“Charming,” Gwyneth replied, setting her still-full fork down on her plate before picking up another fork and taking a small bite of her salad.
My mother was wearing the most serene smile I’d ever seen as she took a big, gooey bite of the casserole. I cocked my head, studying her for a second more before dropping my eyes to my plate. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing back the shit-eating grin that tried to escape my forced stoic expression.
Mom was a fucking genius. She created this menu with the sole purpose of forcing these uppity assholes out of their comfort zones. There would be no tiny portions plated with fancy sauce designs at her table. Good, old-fashioned comfort food was one the keys to happiness, and she was determined to prove it to Gwyneth and Phin. She’d show them what real joy looked like.
And judging by the way Atticus was inhaling his food with moans of delight, this point went to Mom.
My eyes cut to Seth, who winked at me with a barely-suppressed grin of his own. I realized we were going to be okay. That our dinner with devils wasn’t so bad. We were strong enough and smart enough to come out the other side as victors in this battle of wills and wicked tongues.
“Seth,” Gwyneth said, placing her fork on the table before folding her hands in her lap, “how are things going with Amelia? I hear you two are in the running for homecoming king and queen…right behind Mason and Charlotte, of course.”
Her eyes cut to me with that last bit. The glance was so quick, her eyes immediately darting back to Seth, that if I hadn’t been watching her, I would’ve missed it. Of course, it was a dig at me. I was surprised she hadn’t started in on me before that.
“Fine,” Seth grumbled, his jaw tightening as he picked at his food.
“Just fine?” Phin asked. “That girl is from a strong family line and beautiful, to boot. I doubt you could do better than Amelia Westwood.”
Subtle as it was, I heard the insult—Seth was somehow lacking and should feel grateful to them for orchestrating his farce of a relationship with Amelia. Seth heard it, too, if the muscle ticking in his jaw was any indication.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I saw a video of Amelia getting naked and trying to seduce Mason,” I said, keeping my tone nonchalant and my eyes on Gwyneth.
Her red-painted lips tightened until the skin around them turned white. She stared at me with open and unrestrained loathing, and it was all I could do not to laugh. Point number two goes to Chaz. The Miller-Kincaids were killing it.
“It’s rude to mention such things at the dinner table, young lady,” she sneered. “Perhaps if your parents had taught you any manners, you’d know that.”
I opened my mouth to tell her where she could take her pompous manners and shove them, but Mom beat me to it.
“Do not speak to my daughter that way,” she interjected, slamming her palms on the table so hard the dishes rattled.
Her brown eyes burned with hellfire, and I wouldn’t be surprised if her chair started to levitate. I’d never seen her so pissed off.
“Oh, Trisha, darling, no one is blaming you,” Gwyneth cooed. “Kids these days can be real heathens without parents who keep a tight hand on the reins. What, with you being a single mother who worked all hours at a…questionable establishment, it’s no wonder she ran wild. It’s not too late, though. Her behavior can still be reformed.”
“That is an excellent idea, my dear,” Phineas said, looking at Atticus. “I have connections to an excellent reform school for girls. She can finish out her senior year, and they also offer college courses to cover all of the general requirements. Three years at Lester Reformatory, and she’ll be a whole new person.”
“I’ll be damned if my daughter is going away to any reform school.”
Holy shit. My mother just cursed.
“It was just a suggestion,” Gwyneth chastised. “There’s no reason to use such vulgar language.”
“Bitch, I will—”
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, out loud this time.
Mom’s ass flew out of her chair like the thing was on fire, and she lunged across the table with a butter knife in her hand. Atticus wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her from the room as she kicked and yelled about cutting a bitch.
“What was she going to do with that butter knife?” Seth asked from the corner of his mouth.
Laughter burst from my closed mouth. The loud spewing sound that resulted made me laugh harder, which was accompanied by an obnoxious snort. I didn’t even try to rein it in as Gwyneth’s eyes shot daggers at me.
“Maybe we should go,” Phin suggested. “May I use your restroom, first?”
Seth directed him to the bathroom while I held my staring contest with Gwyneth. I could hear my mother still shouting about bitches and mother fuckers in the other room, my smile growing in time with Gwyneth’s frown.
“You cannot win against me, little girl. Don’t even try,” she warned. Waving a hand toward the closed door behind which Atticus was still trying to calm my mother, she added, “You come from low-class stock, and you’ll never be good enough.”
“Mrs. Bellamy,” Seth started in a chastising tone, but she cut him off with a steely glare.
“Do not even get me started on you, Seth Kincaid. I’ve arranged everything, handing Amelia Westwood to you on a silver platter, served with a side of money and power. But you turned your spoiled little nose up at it, for what? My useless daughter?”
“Stella is not useless,” he growled as his hands clenched into fists on the table.
“She is only good for keeping her brother in line,” she snarled, her gaze moving back to me.
With one last glare, she stood and dropped her white cloth napkin on top of her uneaten casserole. Smoothing her skirt, she lifted her chin and walked toward the door. Seth and I rose from our seats to watch her go.
Just before she stepped out, she stopped and turned back.
“Please tell your father thank you for the invitation,” she said to Seth before her eyes chased to me. “You can tell him he better keep your trash-whore of a mother away from me if he doesn’t want to have to bail her out of jail.”
Without thinking, I lunged forward, toppling my chair in the process. Seth’s arms tightened around my waist in an iron grip as I tried my best to escape him while hurling various, barely-comprehensible profanities at that redheaded bitch.
“Like mother, like daughter,” she sneered, then pranced from the room.
I struggled against Seth in earnest. I needed to get to her before she left the house. With only the Kincaid family and staff present, I was fairly certain they’d testify on my behalf, corroborating my claim of self-defense.
“It’s not worth it,” Seth hissed in my ear. �
�Think about Stella, Chaz.”
His words finally cut through the white-hot haze of my rage. I slumped in his arms as the fight drained out of me. Deciding I was back in control, Seth released his grip, and I dropped into his chair. Mine was on its back four feet away.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly, saying, “Sorry about that, Seth. I just lost it.”
“I understand,” he said, “but you have to realize that’s what she wanted. She kept prodding until she found a weapon that would pierce—and both you and Trisha fell into the trap.”
“I know,” I groaned, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“Hey,” he said, patting the top of my head, “it’s okay. Now that you know what you’re dealing with, you’ll be better prepared next time.”
I swatted his condescending hand away from my head, and he laughed.
“No next time,” I grumbled.
“Oh there will be a next time, Chaz Miller,” he said, his voice strong and full of promise. “And I hope to have a front row seat when you decimate Gwyneth fucking Bellamy.”
8
“No, she did not!”
Josh’s over-the-top reaction to my retelling of the night from hell had me in stitches. I’d video-called him as soon as I made sure Mom was okay and escaped to my room. I knew if anyone could make me feel better, it would be my bestie.
“Yes, she did,” I laughed. “Mom never uses foul language, and gives me the worst guilt trips if I let so much as a hell pass my lips. But she grabbed that fucking butter spreader like it was a serrated hunting knife and started screaming that she was going to cut a bitch.”
Josh dissolved into hysterical laughter before falling out of his chair. I stared at the empty desk chair back for several beats before yelling his name. He climbed back into the frame, wiping tears from his eyes as he sniffed loudly.
“Sor-ry,” he stuttered between giggles. “I’m just trying to picture sweet, angelic Trisha climbing over priceless china filled with chicken enchilada casserole to carve her initials into that demon’s flesh with a butter knife.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, you should’ve been there.”
He sobered, asking, “Then what happened?”
I shook my head, my own humor fleeing. “She taunted Seth about Stella, saying her daughter’s only use was to keep Mason in line. Then she called my mom a trash-whore and threatened to have her arrested.”
“Shit. I guess we know where Charlotte picked up that lovely term.” He tilted his head. “What did you do?”
“I tried to go after her with my claws extended. Seth stopped me, and they left.”
Josh’s gaze drifted to the right, his eyes glazed over as if he were deep in thought. After a few moments, he looked back at the camera and sighed.
“It’s probably a good thing Seth held you back. She’d have you arrested for attacking her, and with you out of the picture, she wins.”
“I know,” I admitted. “I’m sure that was her plan from the moment she invited herself to dinner.”
“Yep,” he said, he voice trailing off as a sad expression flitted across his features.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his face the perfect reflection of innocence.
“Josh.”
His shoulders slumped and his face dropped into a frown. He took a couple of breaths and tilted his head to stretch out his neck, then cracked his knuckles. He was stalling, obviously.
“Josh!”
“Fine!” he yelled back. “I was trying not to be a crybaby because we all have bigger problems, but Theo isn’t returning any of my texts.”
“Have you tried calling him?” I asked, earning a look that said, Are you stupid?
“Straight to voicemail,” he answered. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I think I might,” I said. “You know Mason and Stella had to stop texting and calling me because their parents have been checking their accounts for my number. They even have to be careful contacting Seth, using only Mason’s phone and making it brief. I bet the Bellamys had Theo’s mom and dad check his bill for your number.”
“But, as far as they know, we’re just friends,” he said, his voice high and soft.
I shook my head. “There’s no way they didn’t hear about that kiss, Josh. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Bellamys were somehow behind everyone at school acting like it never happened.”
“It is strange,” he mumbled.
“Exactly,” I said. “No one has said a word about it, they never even blinked an eye when he showed back up at school with Isla hanging all over him.”
“So, why now?” he asked, his gaze focusing back on me through the screen. “We’ve been texting and calling nonstop for weeks. What changed?”
I bit my lip, thinking about everything that had happened since school resumed. All of the bad stuff seemed to revolve around me, Mason, and Stella, leaving Josh, Theo, Cooper, and Simone out of the spotlight.
“I don’t know. Maybe Charlotte convinced them she has me covered, so now they’re able to focus on the other boys in the group. They seem to be happy with Simone as a match for Cooper, but there’s no way Gwyneth Bellamy is going to let a little fact like Theo being gay get in the way of her grand master plan.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ll ask Seth to text him, but if they took his phone, it won’t do any good. If not, we’ll just have to wait until Seth can talk to him and get back to me.”
“Thanks, Chaz,” he muttered.
“Of course,” I said. “I love you too much, and I can’t handle those sad, puppy dog eyes.”
He shot me a smirk that was a watered-down replica of my own, saying, “Marry me.”
“Nope,” I replied. “When all of this is over, you’re going to marry Theo Davenport and live happily ever after.”
“Hey, now,” he said, his head jerking back in shock, “nobody said anything about marriage. I’m eighteen, for fuck’s sake.”
I couldn’t repress a snort. “You ask me to marry you at least three times a week. You literally just asked me ten seconds ago.”
“Well, yeah, but you’re the girl of my dreams.”
“Just not your wet dreams,” I shot back.
“Eww, gross. Bye.”
My phone screen went black as he ended the call, and I couldn’t help but laugh. A second later, a text message came through.
Forgot to say I love you, so I love you, you foul-mouthed wench.
I love you, too, Josh. More than the moon and stars, I texted back.
I pulled up Seth’s number and shot him a message asking if he’d heard from Theo at all. I knew I was being lazier than shit, but I was comfortable and didn’t feel like getting out of bed. My phoned chimed a second later with his response.
You’re texting me? I’m right down the hall, lmao.
STFU, and answer the question, I sent back.
His response came through almost immediately, like he’d already been typing it out.
I haven’t, but that’s not unusual. He’s kind of an introvert, if you hadn’t noticed. I’ll text him now.
A few minutes later, knuckled rapped against my bedroom door. I called out, and the door swung open. Seth walked in with his hand covering his eyes, stopping just inside.
“Are you decent?”
“Why the hell would I tell you to come in if I wasn’t?” I shot back.
His hand dropped, and he shrugged. “Good point.”
I shook my head as he crossed the room and slumped down on the bed next to me. As we sat in silence, I thought about how cool it was to suddenly have a brother. That we actually liked each other is a bonus.
Things had come a long way since I first moved in with Mom.
“Did you really hate me so much when we first met?” I asked.
“I didn’t technically hate you,” he said with a
sigh. “I thought your mom was a gold-digger, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Hey!” I shouted, back-handing him across the chest.
“What?” he asked, rubbing the spot with his fingertips. “I assumed you wanted the truth. My dad came home, out of the blue, telling me he was marrying some woman I’d never met or even heard of, and she and her daughter were moving in the next day. When he told me she worked at the Silver Fox…what was I supposed to think?”
I hummed, conceding to his point. I would’ve thought the same damned thing. Hell, I’d assumed Atticus was some drunk degenerate who hit on strippers when Mom told me the news.
“It didn’t take me long to realize how sweet she is and that they were really in love, but I assumed you already hated me for the way I acted and for standing by and letting the girls bully you without a word.”
“I guess I kind of did,” I admitted, “until Amelia went too far and drugged me, and you lost your shit.”
“Brothers protect their little sisters,” he replied, smirking.
“Who’re you calling little?” I demanded, holding up a threatening hand.
“Truce. Truce,” he chanted, holing up his palms in surrender. “Anyway, I came in here to tell you Theo texted back…but it was weird.”
“Weird, how?” I asked, and he tapped the screen of his phone before handing it over.
Hey, man, how’s it going? Seth’s text read.
And he was right—Theo’s response was weird.
I was feeling fabulous, but Josh is being a salty bitch and won’t take a fucking hint. Do me a solid and tell him to stop texting me, k?
“Fabulous? Do me a solid?” I repeated. “And I can’t believe Theo would talk about Josh like that. Can you?”
Seth shook his head. “No.”
I cocked my head. “It’s almost like someone tried to patch together stereotypical phrases with words they found on the urban dictionary website to make you think a gay teenager wrote it.”
“My thoughts, exactly.”
