Queen of Hawthorne Prep

by Jennifer Sucevic

  He glances up as I step inside the space. “Hey, what’s up?”

  It takes effort to blink away the tears and not crumple to the floor. In the end, what good would it do?

  Not a damn thing. I’m trapped. If I fall apart in front of Austin, it’ll only make matters worse. The last thing I need is for him to fly off the handle or threaten retribution.

  When I remain silent, unable to produce a sound, he straightens to his full height. His thick brows beetle together as he inspects me with more care. “What’s wrong?”

  Everything.

  “Stupid question,” he mutters, shaking his head before dragging a hand down his face. “You know what I meant.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I hoist my lips into a thin smile and close the distance. “Need any help with homework?” I ask, desperate to prolong the inevitable discussion even if it’s only for a few moments.

  He doesn’t take the bait. “Nah, I got it covered.”

  I exhale a long breath, knowing what needs to be done, but still, that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier.

  “Summer?” His voice drops as urgency fills it. “Did something happen?” His gaze falls to the tan envelope in my hand as if only now noticing it. “What’s that?”

  My fingers tighten around the packet. “A delivery from Keaton.”

  That name is enough to have storm clouds gathering on Austin’s face. “What does that asshole want now?”

  I wince at the bitter rage that whips through his voice. This is more difficult than I expected. An hour ago, I had stupidly convinced myself that my brother would accept the circumstances and agree there was nothing to be done, but now...

  Now I realize that won’t be the case.

  In true Austin fashion, he’ll fight it tooth and nail. He won’t want to lose anyone else to the Rothchild family. It’s up to me to make him understand that this arrangement, at least for the time being, is our only viable option unless we’re willing to lose everything.

  Voice devoid of emotion, I lay out the facts. “Keaton has every intention of moving forward with the lawsuit, which means taking the company from us, unless we fulfill the original terms of the contract Mom and Dad signed.”

  Austin’s mouth falls open. “You’re shitting me, right?”

  If only I were.

  I gulp down the growing nausea that churns inside, releasing the words into the atmosphere makes it more real.

  “Wasn’t it enough that he took Dad from us, now he’s taking you, too?”

  I cringe as he roars out the question. In the deafening silence of the shadowy room, it echoes hollowly in my head.

  “What other choice is there, Aus? We can’t afford a lawsuit, not with Dad gone and Mom checked out the way she is.”

  He folds his brawny arms across his chest. “What did Mom say about all this?”

  I glance away and admit, “The envelope arrived a couple of hours ago. She was sleeping, I haven’t had a chance to tell her.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Summer! You need to talk with her first instead of taking this into your own hands.”

  “What’s she gonna do about it?” Frustration roils until it reaches a boiling point. “Does Mom seem like she’s in any kind of condition to fight the Rothchild family?” I throw an arm toward the other side of the house. “She’s so overmedicated that she doesn’t even know what day it is.”

  His anger evaporates as his body deflates. Maybe my brother is reluctant to acknowledge it, but he realizes that what I’m saying is the truth. It’s a shit situation we’ll have to figure out on our own.

  When Austin doesn’t immediately come back with an argument, I take a cautious step toward him before reaching out and squeezing his arm. “For right now, it’s the only solution. At the very least, it’ll buy us time to figure out our next step.”

  “Fuck,” he grumbles before plowing a hand through his hair. “I don’t like it.”

  Does he really think I do?

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Me, neither.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, maybe you’re right.” His body vibrates with barely restrained agitation. “We agree to the terms for the time being and figure out something else. Dad had a team of lawyers working on this. Hopefully, they’ll come up with a solution. It’s not like Keaton is forcing you to marry his asshole son tomorrow.”

  I gravitate toward the window and stare up at the inky sky. It’s too early for the stars to be visible. And even if they were, there wouldn’t be any solace to be found in the tiny pinpricks of light.

  “Summer?” Austin’s voice turns sharp, piercing my thoughts.

  Now I have to finish it. Much like ripping off a Band-Aid, it’s best to do it quickly. I exhale and push the rest out in a rush. “One stipulation is that I live at their house.”

  “With the Rothchilds?” he asks incredulously.

  I swing around to face him. “Yup.”

  “What the hell for?”

  I shrug and force my expression to remain bland. “I would imagine they don’t want us plotting and scheming against them.” I give him a thin smile since that’s exactly what we’re intent on doing.

  Austin growls before spinning away and slamming his fist into the plaster wall near his bathroom door. “Goddamn them!”

  I stifle a sharp yelp before slapping a hand over my mouth. Austin has always been the more volatile twin while I’ve been the calm, pragmatic one. “Are you—”

  “I’m fine,” he barks, shaking out his hand with a wince.

  My teeth sink into my lower lip to keep silent. Coddling him won’t do a damn bit of good. He needs to work off his anger or it’ll fester like poison beneath the surface and then he’ll blow like a geyser. And more than likely do something much worse than damage a wall.

  He stabs a finger at me. “Over my dead body are you living there!”

  “What choice do we have?” My shoulders fall under the overwhelming weight of the world that attempts to press me down. My reservoir of strength is quickly being depleted. At this very moment, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel. “Mom can’t handle a lawsuit. And we have no way to fight this by ourselves.”

  Concern fills his eyes. “Are you really going to be able to deal with living over there?” There’s a pause before he adds, “Interacting with those bastards every single day?”

  Definitely not.

  Rather than admit how frightened I am, I lie through my teeth, “I’ll be fine. They won’t hurt me.”

  Much.

  A shiver scampers down my spine as I recall the look of hatred that had filled Kingsley’s eyes.

  Austin slumps onto the bed before cradling the sides of his skull in his hands. For a sliver of a moment, he reminds me of the child he once was. “What am I supposed to do, Summer? Tell me how to make this better.”

  My heart lurches painfully under my breast. It’s always been difficult for me to glimpse Austin’s pain. If given the choice, I’d put myself through hell to ease my brother’s way. We’re family, and that’s what family does. They take care of each other.

  In three swift steps, I eat up the distance between us and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “There’s nothing you can do to change this. Just take care of Mom.”

  “Fine,” he murmurs brokenly.

  I draw in a deep breath, relieved this conversation has been put to rest. “I need to get over there.”

  “Tonight?” His head snaps up. “They’re making you leave tonight?”

  “If I’m not standing on their doorstep with my belongings at precisely nine o’clock, Keaton will call his lawyer and start the proceedings.” It takes effort to separate myself from him before heading to the bedroom door. I don’t want to leave anymore than he wants me to. Unfortunately, the Rothchilds have other plans. “I’ve already packed everything up.”

  “Summer?”

  Austin’s voice has me halting over the threshold be
fore swinging around to face him. “Yeah?” It takes every bit of strength I have to keep the turbulent emotion from breaking loose.

  “I love you.”

  I press my lips together and jerk my head into a tight nod. A thick lump of emotion clogs my throat as wetness gathers in my eyes. “I love you, too.”

  Once the door is closed behind me, I pause and allow the tears to slide down my cheeks.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With my suitcase in hand, I press the doorbell of the Rothchild Mansion. A muffled chime echoes throughout the cavernous space. Only now do I realize that I’ve never stepped foot in Kingsley’s house. He’s always come to me. Either sneaking into my room at night or picking me up for school in his Mustang. I’m unsure what to expect. Even though the house is a monstrosity, I know it’s just the two of them. His sister, Harlow, is at a boarding school in Europe. And his mom...

  I have no idea where she is. Kingsley doesn’t talk about her and the one time I asked, he quickly shut down the conversation and changed the subject.

  The front door swings open, and I’m surprised to find the older woman from the beach house. When I remain silent, unsure what to say, she raises her brows in askance. Does she recognize me from that morning months ago when she threatened to call the police unless I vacated the property?

  I really hope not.

  “Can I help you, young lady?” she snaps, unfriendliness bleeding through every syllable. This is exactly the demeanor I remember.

  I wince and force myself to say, “Um, yes. I—”

  Her narrowed gaze falls to the black suitcase parked beside me. “I suppose you’re Summer Hawthorne. I was told to prepare a room for your arrival.”

  She makes it sound like I’m here for a holiday when in actuality, I’m nothing more than a glorified prisoner.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking,” she barks when I remain silent, “grab your bag and I’ll show you to your accommodations.”

  Holy crap. If rudeness had a face, the dour one before me would be it.

  I glance longingly over my shoulder, tempted to make a run for it, but I get the feeling this woman would give chase, tackling me to the ground before dragging me inside.

  My fingers tremble as they wrap around the handle of my suitcase before hauling it over the threshold. Once inside the foyer, my gaze travels around the spacious interior. No matter how fancy our house is, this is a hundred times more so.

  A sparkling crystal chandelier drips from the vaulted ceiling. It looks more like an impressive work of art rather than a utilitarian piece that gives off light. My gaze skitters to the intricate wrought iron railing that wraps around the second-floor gallery, giving the area an open and airy feel.

  The older woman clears her throat, drawing my distracted attention to her.

  “Sorry,” I mumble before following her up the sweeping staircase. What has become clear in the two minutes I’ve been here is that Rothchild Mansion is more museum than house. This place is easily fifteen thousand square feet of sprawling, perfectly decorated space. While it’s spectacular, it’s not exactly what one would call homey. There’s a definite chill to the air mimicked by its owner. Or maybe vice versa.

  Landscapes in gold leaf frames are carefully arranged on the wall. I glance at a few as I drag my suitcase up the stairs. I’m more into astronomy that art history, but I’d stake money on these being original works that cost a small fortune.

  Kingsley told me that his family owns a chain of stores named Rothchild’s. Like fifty of them. The flagship is in Hawthorne, but the rest are scattered throughout the Midwest.

  It’s glaringly apparent that the Rothchilds don’t lack for wealth, which means that extracting a pound of flesh from my family is the driving force behind this lawsuit. Maybe my great-great-grandfather murdered Gerald Rothchild eighty years ago, but to go to these lengths to settle almost a century old score seems diabolical.

  I’m huffing and puffing by the time we reach the second-floor landing. It takes a moment to catch my breath before scurrying after the older woman as she turns to the left, walking with military precision past numerous doors. My shoes sink into the plush rugs that are strategically placed over the long stretch of dark hardwoods. I don’t realize that one wheel on the suitcase is wonky until I drag it for what feels like a block. Finally, she stops in front of a closed door and waits for me to catch up.

  Her hand wraps around the brushed nickel hardware. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay.”

  That doesn’t sound ominous at all.

  I nod as she thrusts open the door and steps over the threshold. My eyes widen as they rove over the interior. Again, I’m awed by the opulence. The ceiling is ridiculously high, soaring at least twenty feet. If the room weren’t so palatial, the king-sized bed with its tufted headboard trimmed with a silver-colored wood would overwhelm the space. The wall behind it is tiled in square mirrors set in a diagonal pattern. Matching silver nightstands flank the bed. A thick white carpet covers a portion of the marble floor with tall windows that stretch from floor-to-ceiling. During the day, I can only imagine the sunlight that must pour in.

  There’s a short staircase on the other side of the bed. I’m curious where it leads. Perhaps an escape hatch?

  I almost snort.

  More like wishful thinking.

  The sumptuous surroundings are almost enough to distract me from the fact that I’ve been forced into this living arrangement.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  Startled out of my cursory inspection, I swing around with a million perched on the tip of my tongue. Instead of giving voice to them, I shake my head.

  She takes a step toward the hallway before stopping. “Forgive me, but it just occurred to me that I failed to introduce myself earlier. I’m Mrs. Fieber, house manager for the Rothchild family. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”

  Even though the offer has been issued, Mrs. Fieber doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would welcome questions, comments, or demands. She looks like she should be commanding an army through enemy territory. Or maybe work at a maximum-security prison. For some reason, that image sticks in my brain.

  When I stare mutely, she raises her severely plucked brows and I jerk my head into a tight nod. Without another word, she strides to the door before closing it firmly behind her. Now that I’m alone, the breath rushes from my body until my lungs are completely emptied.

  It's tempting to fly across the room and shake the door handle to confirm my prisoner status. Am I trapped in this gilded cage or free to come and go as I please? Maybe that should have been my first question.

  I force myself to the sleek silver bench at the end of the bed before collapsing on top of it. My gaze wanders around the room, soaking in all the elaborate details. My brain is operating on sensory overload. It’s almost too much to absorb. Anything more and I’ll splinter apart. And much like Humpty Dumpty, I’ll never be put back together again.

  A mirthless chuckle slides from my lips.

  Fucking Grandma Rose.

  This is all her fault.

  Dad is gone, and I’m being forced to live with the Rothchilds. At some point, I’ll marry Kingsley so my family can keep ownership of Hawthorne Industries. I don’t give a crap about the stupid company. I never did. I wish it were possible to walk away, but Keaton won’t allow that to happen. And neither will the specifications of Grandma Rose’s will.

  Thoughts of my father are enough to leave me gasping for air. A tightness develops in my chest before slowly spreading throughout my body like a virus. It feels as if I’m being suffocated from the inside out. I open my mouth but aren’t able to draw in enough oxygen and my head grows light. Little spots dance before my eyes.

  The spacious room turns oppressive as the walls press in on me.

  I need to get out of here.

  It’s unsteadily that I rise to my feet before staggering to the balcony doo
r. With fingers that tremble, I grab the handle before yanking it open and stumbling onto the porch that stretches across the back of the house. Stone balusters line the perimeter with tall potted plants that are strategically spaced out across the width. Chairs are arranged in small clusters with a few loungers and cafe-style tables that allow for relaxation, all the while surveying the property and the golf course that lies beyond the trees. With the darkness that has fallen, that’s not possible.

  My fingernails claw at the railing as I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale deep gulps of air. Blackness swirls around me, threatening to suck me under. When my knees weaken, my grip tightens.

  Don’t pass out.

  Don’t pass out.

  Don’t pass out.

  I chant the mantra and concentrate on regulating my airflow until the muscles in my chest loosen and my breathing isn’t so agonizing. Only then does the laughter and voices floating on the breeze push their way into my consciousness. I force my eyes open and survey the scene below. Much like our house next door, there’s a custom pool, hot tub, and cozy seating arrangement. Orange flames twist and dance from the firepit as moonlight slants across the concrete. The perimeter is illuminated by tiny lights that dot the darkness.

  I blink as my eyes adjust to the inky blackness and the people below coalesce before taking shape. There’s at least a dozen reclining over chairs and the curved sectional that surrounds the firepit. I’m not able to make out all the faces, but the ones I can see, I recognize from school.

  It’s the dark-haired boy sprawled on a plush armchair who snags my attention. Once my gaze locks on him, glancing away becomes impossible. Even in the shadowy darkness, I’m aware of the moment his interest is drawn to me. The energy we always generate careens through me, lighting up every cell in my body. Maybe I don’t want to feel the spark of attraction, but it’s there, humming beneath the surface. Once my gaze is captured, Kingsley doesn’t relinquish his hold as he lifts a green bottle of beer to his lips before taking a long swig. I can almost imagine the way his thickly corded throat constricts with each swallow of golden liquid.