by E. M. Snow
“What do you mean? There’s a whole fucking fleet of cars in that stupid auto gallery. How pretentious is that? A goddamn temperature-controlled auto gallery.”
“Phoenix won’t let me use any of them,” I admit. “He had the last one I drove towed a few weeks ago.”
“Oh my God, what a dick.” She shakes her head, disgust clawing at the corners of her mouth. “Why are you putting up with him? Why don’t you just tell him to go fuck himself? Please, Josslyn, tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”
For someone who seems to know everything about everyone, this has to be killing Reina.
And the thing is, I’m so tempted to tell her. To reveal everything because I know for a fact how good it will feel to purge myself of all this stress. But I don’t know what Phoenix will do to Jasper if I step out of line so severely. More than that, I don’t know what he will do to me. “It’s … complicated,” I whisper.
She pulls her sunglasses down again and studies me intently for several beats before pursing her lips. “Whatever. It’s your business, I guess. If you want, though, I can take you to visit your grandma.”
I gasp and stare at her in disbelief. “What? Really? You’d do that?”
“Why not? It’s not like I’ve got a lot of other stuff going on right now since...” She trails off, and curiosity spirals through me. Since what? I want to ask, but I know she’ll shut down my question almost immediately. She always does, and it’s not like I can complain. I’m not exactly forthcoming with my secrets either.
Which is probably why Reina and I work.
“So, you’re serious?”
Hunching her thin shoulders, she makes a face. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”
But it is a big deal. A huge deal. Reina may not want an official friend, but whether she likes it or not, she has one.
19
My days fall into a rather straightforward routine. Six weeks into school, and things feel like they’re settling. As best as things can settle in my life, anyway.
Each morning, I go for a run around the grounds. With Phoenix. He’s joined me every single day since our encounter in the greenhouse, and I’ve come to expect his presence. Some days, we talk, our conversations uneasy.
It’s drizzling the morning I discover that he normally wrestles 170. This school year, he’s shooting for 182 since that’s Clark Stanfield’s weight class, and Phoenix wants to destroy the other guy.
It seems to be a common theme with him. Seek and destroy. Rinse and repeat. Although I have no clue who Clark Stanfield even is, I can’t resist asking Phoenix why he’s so hellbent on hurting this guy. He scrubs his hand over his face to wipe away the moisture from the rain before slanting me with an intense look.
“Because I can, what other reason do I need?”
“I hope he beats your ass,” I mutter, and he laughs at me. Cups my face between his hands and bends his head until wet strands of his dark hair mingle with mine.
After a moment, he grins and my heartbeat stutters. “Not a fucking chance,” he drawls.
My face still prickles from his touch long after I watch him take off for his cottage.
The next morning, he questions me about my music because he’s heard me singing in the shower. I ask him if he’s been hanging around outside my door—after all, he spends most of his time in the guest cottages. He responds that there’s no need to stand outside my door when he’s installed cameras in my bathroom.
I nearly trip over my own feet as I come to a complete stop. “Even you wouldn’t…”
“Look at you, making excuses for me again.” His green eyes gleam with something that causes my brain to fizzle. “Sadly, I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing that ass out of those shorts. Eventually, though.”
“You should really talk to someone about your issues.”
“I have. They quit. What a lightweight, right?”
I dart off without another word, and he yells that I should try out for the track team come spring. If I’m still around.
Most mornings, though, we run in silence, the sound of my heavy breathing crashing with his slow, unlabored breaths as I try to keep up with him. The silent mornings are my favorite because the next item of business for my day, school, is a disaster.
The bullying and taunts are at an all-time high.
A football to the chest when I’m walking through the courtyard, check.
My textbooks and bookbag destroyed with bleach, yep.
Locked in the music practice rooms? That’s happened three times.
I was also the running joke for a few days after Kallista posted the chronological timeline of my “glow up” on Instagram, starting with old yearbook photos from before I lost weight and ending with a picture of some porn star dressed in a French maid uniform that she superimposed my face on.
She made sure to tag Phoenix, and he’d responded in her comments with four words—Tell Krystin to call.
I’m not sure if she passed along the message. All I know is that she raged around school for several days, more ruthless than ever and determined to tear me to pieces. And then there’s Margaret. She hasn’t said anything to me in weeks, but when Kallista really gets going, she just sits back. Watches it. Allows this tiny little smile to drag at the corners of her mouth.
Like she never gave a shit about me.
My heart hurts thinking about the fact that, when all this is over, I’ll have lost just about everything.
Still, once school is over, the best part of my day takes place. I meet up with Reina and she drives me to see my grandma. The visits never last very long, but I’m appreciative of whatever time I can get with the woman who raised me.
Reina usually takes off once we get back to Bel Air because I always have dinner with Gideon. Since today is Sunday, I’d asked her to join us, but she declined before I even finished the question. Instead of making up a random excuse, she pointedly told me, “I’d rather get punched in the tit on repeat than sit down for a meal with my cousins.”
Luckily, it’s still just the two of us at dinner. I also don’t mind spending time with Gideon. We’re not nearly so close as Reina and I have become, but he’s surprisingly nice. I genuinely enjoy talking to him.
Stepping into a pair of flip flops, I pad out of my bedroom and into the hall and start for the dining room. As I cross the threshold, I spot Gideon already at the huge table.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how’s wrestling—” I pause, my eyebrows jerking together when I fully process the expression on his face. He looks irritated and his jaw is tight. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be, Gideon?”
I jump at the deep, mocking voice that rumbles at my back. Oh, shit. What the hell is he doing here? Clenching my hands, I turn and there he is. Phoenix. Leaning against the wall next to the door, intentionally keeping himself out of my immediate view. Sadistic prick. He’s smirking, and I have a terrible feeling about his reasons for being here.
“You never come to dinner,” I point out, keeping my gaze zeroed in on the center of his nose. I don’t want to do something stupid, like acknowledge how good he looks in jeans and a green V-neck that accents his green eyes and shows off his muscular arms.
And his chest.
Dear God, his chest…
But no, I won’t acknowledge any of that.
He pushes away from the wall and saunters toward me, his eyes sweeping over my faded gray T-shirt and black cotton shorts. “What? Am I not allowed to eat dinner with my brother and our houseguest? Is that suddenly a crime?”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I say, but my voice trembles because he gets so close that we’re practically sharing the same breath. “Th-this is the first time you’ve come to dinner since I’ve been here.”
“I decided I wanted some more of your company. You’ve been amusing me lately, and I’m interested to see if you can be entertaining outside of school. Your interactions with Kallista are fascinating. There’s
actually a betting pool right now, and—”
“Then maybe you should do something about it,” I say through gritted teeth. “She listens to you like a perfectly loyal lemming.”
Which still blows my mind. Most of these girls are heirs to insane fortunes and yet they’re drunk on the Phoenix Townsend Kool-Aid.
“Did I not take care of Vic Harper for the football incident?” He arches a brow. “And I replaced your books and bookbag, Luna, what more do you want from me?”
I could answer him, but it will just be a waste of air. Reiterating my desire to be treated like a person instead of an object will just sail right over his perfectly mussed hair, so I turn on my heel and storm to my chair across from Gideon. I hate that he feels it’s necessary to shoot me an apologetic look. It’s not his fall his brother is such a piece of shit.
To my horror, Phoenix slips into the chair next to me and scoots close enough that our legs touch. A jolt of electricity sparks through me, but I ignore it. Nothing good can come from that sensation.
“Why?” I snap, offering nothing further to provide context to my line of thinking.
He grins, looking for all the world like he’s having a hell of a fun time. “Why not? Besides, I’m bulking.” To drive his point home, he grabs a roll and bites off a huge chunk.
This meal is going to be pure torture.
A tense silence drapes over us as we fill our plates with the food that’s been left on the table for us. Seared duck breast with a red wine sauce, sweet potato mash, Brussels sprouts, and Eliza’s famous rolls. Everything smells divine, and I’m sure tastes just as good because she is such an amazing cook, but I have a hard time stomaching my food with Phoenix right next to me.
Of course, he’s the first to speak. “Are you two always this quiet during dinner? Fuck, it’s like a goddamn funeral in here.”
“No,” Gideon snaps. “We’re never like this.”
“Ah, so it must be me,” Phoenix drawls because he’s a dick.
“Must be,” I growl.
Phoenix gives me a side-eye that flays. “Should we go around and talk about our day?”
“No,” Gideon and I say in unison, and he snorts.
“What should we talk about then? The weather? Politics? Religion? Me? I’m cool with talking about myself if you motherfuckers don’t want to say anything worth listening to. Who wants to know what I spent my Sunday morning doing?”
Kicking puppies? Flaying kittens? Making a stalker wall in his cottage?
“Come on, Luna,” he taunts. “Ask me what I did.”
My grip tightens around my fork, and I tell myself over and over again that I cannot, under any circumstances, stab him with it. “No,” I finally say.
“Do you have to do this?” Gideon demands in a hushed voice, and Phoenix blinks at him in mock surprise.
“I’m trying to be hospitable. Didn’t Josslyn just say that I haven’t done enough for her?”
What. A. Sociopath.
You know what? If he wants to play this game, I can play it right along with him. I filter through my mental file of things I know pisses Phoenix Townsend off, and two topics immediately claw their way to the top of my mind.
Fighting my own maniacal grin, I ask, “How’s that business trip going for your parents? How many weeks is it now? Four? Five? I’ll be honest, I’ve lost track at this point.”
Phoenix stiffens, and I know I’ve got him. “That’s none of your business,” he hisses. “All that matters is that you’re shit thug of a brother meets his deadline.”
But it is my business. And it does matter because it’s obvious at this point that his father isn’t on a work trip. I’d googled Royce only to discover that he’s taken an extended leave of absence from Townsend Investments due to exhaustion. Meaning there’s a 99.9 percent chance that Mr. and Mrs. Townsend are traipsing around Europe as we speak, leaving their boys in the care of their staff. Which is fine. It’s their money, their kids, so they can do whatever the hell they want.
Regardless, the fact Mr. Townsend took off immediately after making such a terrible deal with Jasper makes me stabby. If he had no plan to stick around, why not just let me stay home? It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go, not with my grandmother being so ill.
“So where is he then?” I ask.
“Maybe you should be more concerned about your own … father.” He says that word—father—with the same emphasis he used that day in his dad’s office. I hadn’t thought much of it then because I was on the verge of a panic attack, but now, it makes me pause.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Does he know where to find my dad, too?
He simply offers me a smug look. “Hmm,” is all he says. The evil bastard.
Gideon’s blue gaze bounces between us, but I ignore his look of wide-eyed alarm and give Phoenix my full attention. After all, he’s demanded it. And since he refuses to respond to my question about my dad, I’m putting the focus back on his.
“Your father’s the one that arranged all this, isn’t he? He’s the one who wants my brother to give back what he stole, whatever the hell that might be. Why does he want me here when he doesn’t even have the decency to speak to me himself?”
Phoenix doesn’t immediately answer me, but I can tell I’ve got him worked up now. It’s in the way he clenches his hand on the tabletop and how he’s stopped eating just to shine that intense, raging look in my direction. The thing I’ve figured out about Phoenix is that he’s not as sharp when he’s emotional. When he’s really angry, he’s almost like an animal, relying on instinct and brutal force to get what he wants rather than reason and intelligence.
“That’s the worst thing about the beautiful ones.” He focuses on his brother when he says this. “Perfect to look at, but they never know when to shut the fuck up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up!” But something deep in my core pulses as I register what he just said. That I’m beautiful. Of course, there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that it’s his way of throwing me off balance. Compliment and then crush to a million pieces.
Since he’s done nothing but crush me since the moment I met him, I keep talking. “You keep acting like you’re hot shit, but you’re not, are you? Just your daddy’s little stooge, doing his bidding while he’s off living his best life and leaving you alone. I bet you don’t even really know what it is my brother took, do you?”
“Josslyn, don’t,” Gideon cautions from across the table.
His warning is too little, too late, however. I’m in the thick of it now, and I’m not backing down. Phoenix Townsend can throw the biggest temper tantrum he wants, but I won’t allow him to keep treating me like the doormat he claims me to be.
I wait, ready for him to unleash his fury on me. To scream at me or curse me out. To knock the dinner dishes to the floor with a roar.
He doesn’t do any of that.
To my surprise, he rises to his feet, turns for the door, and walks right out of it.
I blink as Gideon releases a groan from the other side of the table. What the hell just happened?
And why don’t I feel like I’ve won?
“Josslyn! Hey, Josslyn, hold up!” a voice calls behind me on Wednesday morning as I’m walking toward class.
I stop in the middle of the hallway and glance over my shoulder. Easton is striding in my direction, a friendly smile quirking his lips. He comes to a stop right behind me, so I have no choice but to face him.
“What’s up?” My eyebrows shoot for my hairline because, other than our usual glances and smiles in Spanish, the guy has said very little to me since the night of the Townsend party and that was weeks ago.
“You’re alone,” he points out with a shrug, a bitter reminder that Phoenix is ignoring me today. Again. He’s gone out of his way to avoid me since dinner on Sunday evening, and it’s unsettling. This was the third morning in a row that he didn’t show up for our morning jog and had delegated chauffer duty to Gideon.
Since Gide
on had a girl stay over last night, the ride to school this morning was awkward, though I admittedly hadn’t paid very much attention to whatever her hand was doing in his lap the entire time. All I could think about was Phoenix. The fact I’m bothered by his blatant refusal to acknowledge my existence is terrifying. I’m supposed to be thrilled he wants nothing to do with me. I’m supposed to feel like I’ve one-upped the bastard who seems to take pleasure in fucking over everyone he meets.
Instead, here I am, consumed by him.
“I’ve been wanting to pull you aside after class for a while now, but I guess I’ve just been too nervous,” Easton says, yanking me away from thoughts of dark hair and green eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d be interested in talking to me again. After hearing you yesterday, though, I decided I had to just go for it.”
I furrow my brow, my confusion cutting through my shock at his words. “Hearing me? Doing what exactly?”
“Singing,” he answers with no hesitation. “I was passing by the practice rooms in the music hall, and I heard your voice. I saw you through the door’s window. Gotta admit, I had no idea you sounded like that.”
Heat floods my cheeks. He caught me practicing one of the audition pieces for the musical. I still have no plan to tryout, but I’ve been going to the music rooms every day during my free time because Reina is so adamant that I at least learn the sheet music.
“You’re good, Luna. Really good, for what it’s worth,” Easton continues before I have time to collect my composure.
My cheeks burn even hotter. “Th-thank you,” I stammer.
“Why do you look so surprised?” He scoots closer, his voice dropping to a rumble. “You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re gorgeous. A fucking dream girl among a sea of … well, you know all about the girls at this school.”
Oh, my God, he’s flirting with me. Like, really flirting. Nobody ever flirts with me. Thanks to all the drama that’s surrounded me this school year, I’m pretty sure dating me would be some kind of social suicide.
Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself. Easton hasn’t said anything about dating me. Not really. He’s just flirting and playing around. At that realization, a knot I hadn’t even known was forming in my chest loosens. Feeling calmer, I smile up at him. “Dream girl, huh? Guess I’ve got to be somebody’s, right?”
