“I am far from all right, Rose,” she rasps.
“Could have fooled me.” I glare.
“I am just trying to do what is best for you.”
I hate how she turns the conversation around in her favor. As if this move isn’t about her holding on to her social status. I’ve lost mine; I don’t see why she should get to keep hers.
My laptop stops ringing and starts up again.
“Bullshit. This move, in fact, this whole entire mess started with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dad told me everything. I know why you moved to London. I know why he started doing what he did.”
Disbelief coats her face. “If he did, then I have no idea why you’re blaming our situation on me.”
“Because he could never keep up,” I shout. “Because you were born into this world.” I throw my arms up, wave them around the bedroom. “And he was desperate for a way to give it back to you.”
“Is that what he told you?” she asks far too calmly. I expected yelling. Dignified outrage at least, but the more I’ve said, the calmer she’s become. “He said the words: he broke the law for me so I could live the good life? He said that?”
“Not exactly.” My anger stutters. “But it was implied, and I know what you’re like.”
“Why did we leave America, Rose?” she asks carefully.
I’m confused; I feel like I’m walking into a trap, but I don’t understand why. “Because of your parents, because they made it too hard, and you both wanted a fresh start.”
She sits down, but I don’t copy her. Instead, my stomach churns with the warning of what’s to come. I glance at my now quiet laptop and wonder what lies my father has spun.
“We did want a fresh start, but did he explain why, other than my parents?”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t want you to know this,” she begins. “But your father has always had the tendency for breaking rules.”
“What do you mean?”
“He started something here, invested money with someone else to start a business, but it went under. At first, it seemed to just be one of those things, but your father had been taking money out of the business for his own gains. I believed his excuses of course. I gave him his second chance, even as my love for him destroyed the relationship I had with my parents. Nothing could be pinned on him or proven, but it didn’t mean our life in New York City wasn’t over. So we left, started over, and I believed him when he said he’d stay on the straight and narrow. When it happened a second time, I threatened to leave, but he convinced me to stay.” She smiles sadly. “Your father was always so good at convincing me.”
“How do I know this isn’t a lie?” I snap. “He wouldn’t lie right to my face like that.”
“He didn’t, Rose. He just didn’t tell you the whole truth.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Why would he do that? And why would you stay if he did it again?”
“For you, Rose.”
“No! Don’t do that. Don’t put this on me.”
“Darling, just because I stayed for you doesn’t make it your fault. We were a family, and by then, we already had a new life set up. I didn’t want to lose it for you or myself. So I made sure I was involved in your father’s business. I checked the accounts; I watched his every move so he would have no choice but to follow the rules.”
“And yet he didn’t.”
“I got lax, Rose. I trusted him again. For ten years he conducted business by the book. How was I to know the second my back was turned he’d fall into his old ways?”
“Why?” I cry. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “For the thrill, or maybe simply because it took less work to be crooked.”
“How could you stay when you knew what he’d done the second your back turned? How did you sleep with him at night?”
“Loves a strange thing, Rose. It makes us do all sorts of unreasonable, questionable things, but in the end, I stayed so I could work out how to leave.”
“Leave with money, you mean,” I mutter.
“Yes, Rose, money. The stuff that buys all those expensive clothes in your closet and pays for this home and your private school.”
“Grandpa pays for all those things,” I growl.
“He wouldn’t have paid for any of it if I hadn’t shown him I could run my own business and look after myself. They’ve never fully cut you off, Rose, but they cut me off the day I chose your father over them.”
I’m breaking. My heart is shattering from the inside out. I picture my father. He lied with such ease, implied he’d done what he had for my mother without ever quite saying those words. He played me, like he plays everyone else in his life, and the worst part is, he could have told me the truth, and I’d have forgiven him. I’d have preferred the truth. It would have hurt far less than another lie.
He wanted our last few weeks together guilt-free. He wanted to listen to me cry and complain about my mother when it was his actions that led me to this situation to start with.
I hate my mother at times. She can be hard and cruel with an ability to cut straight to the ugly truth without flinching, but my mother never intentionally lies. She’ll pretend, she’ll avoid, but when it comes to the final confrontation, the truth always spills from her lips. No matter how deadly.
And as I look back with a new perspective, I can see my father has subtly manipulated me. He was always there ready with a new gift and a smile. Always willing to distract me with his love and affection to avoid the hard truths. He could ignore me for days at a time, but when he turned his head back my way, I’d eat the interaction up like a starving pup. He’s played me my entire life, and I let him do it again, even with the cold, hard truth staring right in my face.
I can’t decide if I’m angrier at myself or him. I’m not sure if I’m even angry anymore. What is the point when he’s not here? I’m weary, numb. I’ve reached a point where I just can’t take another day.
“You mustn’t give up, my darling,” my mother says as if she can see the life draining out of me before her eyes. “I know he’s lied, but he loves you, Rose. He has always loved you.”
“You don’t lie to the people you love.”
“It’s not as simple as that, sweetheart, and you know it. That’s why it hurts so much.”
A tear slips down my cheek. Liquid sorrow on show for her to see. “I wish I was more like you. I wish I could just start again like nothing has happened. I wish it didn’t hurt.”
“Darling, no.” Closing the space between us, she takes me into her hands, and as the warmth of her wraps around me, I try to recall the last time my mother hugged me. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel a thing? That my heart isn’t as broken as yours?”
I can’t answer past the pain clogging my throat.
“Because I do, Rose. And no matter what he’s done, I miss him. I miss him even though I knew a long time ago we’d be leaving. I miss him even though I was having an affair with another man. It’s stupid, isn’t it? How the heart clings to people even though they’ve done unspeakable things?”
“Then how are you acting so fine?” I ask between tears.
“It’s what I do, Rose. I keep it all inside and bury myself in work, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t come home each night and needed a full bottle of wine just to sleep.”
“So your suggestion is become an alcoholic at nearly seventeen?” I mumble, pulling back from her hold.
“No. I’m merely pointing out you are not alone. I am struggling too.”
I attempt a smile, but it feels odd on my face and I’m certain it looks more like a grimace. “I hate school, Mum.”
“If it’s really that bad, I’ll pull you out,” she offers.
For a second, I consider it. I imagine never having to walk through the elegant, decorative doors again, but I know it’s not as simple as that. Leaving Albany Nightingale won’t make Sophia disappear. I live
on the Upper East Side now. We’ll bump into each other at Sunday brunch or charity galas my mother will make me attend. The Upper East Side isn’t just a place, it’s a lifestyle, and as tired and defeated as I might feel, there are just enough sparks left inside me to fight another day.
My mother buries herself in work. Maybe it’s time I bury myself in revenge. I can’t change my father’s actions or our move to New York, but I can walk back into school and deliver vengeance. After all, I’ve already lost my father and my crown. What else they can do to me?
Chapter 12
Skipping morning coffee with Isla at the Met, I head early to school. Dressed impeccably, not a hair is out of place on my head, and my lips are painted a delicate shade of blush. I cried my tears, I raged at the unfairness of my life, and then I picked myself up and decided revenge was best served with a smile and in a fabulous pair of shoes.
“Miss Devenport, what brings you into my office so early?”
“I have an offer for you, Mrs. Chandler,” I begin, taking a seat and then crossing my legs neatly. “You see, my mother heard of the upcoming fall gala and would like to offer her services free of charge.”
“I see.”
I knew Mrs. Chandler wouldn’t be so easily convinced, throwing freebies at her wouldn’t be enough, especially because I’m certain the two have history I don’t know of.
“She was a successful events planner in London, and we thought it would benefit the school, having her help. It would, of course, leave more money to be donated to the charity.”
“Yes, that is true. I suppose you’d be wanting to help on the committee as well?”
“I would love to, Mrs. Chandler. Of course, I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I am new here, and I understand it’s not easy accepting foreign students.”
Her head tilts. “What do you mean ‘accepting foreign students’? Are there people who haven’t made you welcome, Rose? Because if there is, something will need to be done about it.”
Smiling gratefully, I hide my true feelings and cast my eyes down as if troubled. “It’s fine, honestly, Mrs. Chandler. I just thought if I was on the events committee and my mother helped the school, it would help others see I want to belong here at Albany Nightingale like they do.”
“Of course. Well, Miss Devenport, if you’d please thank your mother for me. There is an event meeting after school today. If you’d like to help, we’ll be meeting at Mrs. Barrett’s classroom.”
“I look forward to it. Thank you, Mrs. Chandler.”
Task one complete, I head quickly to the school lockers before students begin to arrive and slip a note in between the vents to drop inside Sophia’s locker. My note is simple and to the point. A reminder it will take more than some soda and knocking my lunch to destroy me.
Bring it on, bitch.
“Hey!” Isla rushes up to me. “I’d already bought coffee when I got your text.”
I take the cup. “Thanks.”
“Did you get in trouble for the locker stunt?”
“No. I was coming in to see Mrs. Chandler and get myself onto the committee.”
Isla shakes her head. “You’ve got a death wish.”
“It’s not my death that’s impending, Isla.”
“What have you planned?” she asks, eager.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
My first two classes pass with relative ease. I share both with Sophia and her worshipers, but the most they can do to me is glare. I take great pleasure in smiling back in return. What I’m most dreading is third-period art and an entire hour alone with Ash. I find it hard to think of him as one of the elites. In my head, he’s a mashed-up version of the boy I knew and the person he’s become. A part of me wants to do nothing more than steal him from Sophia, but my heart is hurting enough already, and any game involving Ashton is going to become complicated fast. I’ve learned over the years that feelings are best left out of schemes; otherwise, they tend to go horribly wrong.
His smile hits me in the chest as I walk into the room. It’s ridiculous how a simple smile can affect me. I take my seat next to him, doing my best to ignore the seemingly genuine happiness on his face.
“Hey, Rose,” he says softly.
“Hi,” I reply curtly, spending longer than I need putting my things on the floor.
“So,” he begins as I straighten in my seat, “would it be too much to ask for you to take the high road and drop this thing between you and Sophia?”
I laugh. Of all the things I thought he was going to say, it wasn’t that. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend to step down?”
“I did. She refused.”
“And what made you think I would be any different?”
“Because you’re not like her, Rose,” he murmurs softly.
Our eyes connect, and my stupid body reacts as memories flood me. His laughter echoes through my head, his smile, the light in his eyes, but there’s my laughter too, my happiness. Longing fills me. I want us to be those two kids again, happy and free.
“You’ve no idea who I am. And if she’s not willing to drop the fight, why should I?”
“Come on, Rose. The note you sent her… you might have well declared war.”
I smile, cruel and hard. “Did you ever think it’s maybe your fault? If you’d have acknowledged who I was on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry, okay. If I could go back and change it, I would. But, Rose, Gray’s had it out for you the second he knew who you were. He’s whispering in Sophia’s ear. I tried to talk her out of the soda stunt, I swear.”
“The wicked stepbrother.” I laugh bitterly. “Honestly, Ashton, I don’t care whether you helped her or not. We aren’t friends. You were right the first day. We don’t know each other.”
The teacher walks in and calls the class to order.
“We could,” Ash hisses, keeping his eyes forward.
I glance at him briefly. Annoyed with the flare of hope that runs through me at his words. “We’re on opposite sides, Ash,” I whisper. He’s the enemy, no matter how much I don’t want him to be.
“Not in here. In here, we exist outside of the politics.”
His words invade my head, seep into my blood, and pulse through my heart. One class. Two hours a week. To be free. To pretend nothing has changed. To be Ash and Rose and nothing more. Yet I can’t forget the first day, the hurt he caused when he blanked me.
“You know you want to,” he whispers with a smile.
I glance at Miss Spice, try to look interested as she explains our next project.
“I owe you nothing. I can’t just forget what you did. I still don’t understand why you did it. It’s not a secret you’re from Brooklyn.”
He sighs. “Please give me a chance to explain myself. Please, Rose, then decide if you can forgive me. Meet me at five at our café.”
Our café. I internally roll my eyes. I’m surprised you even remember.
I tear my gaze from the front and stare at him far too long. I’m being pulled in two directions, and either way, it’s inevitable pain will await me. “Fine, but there are rules.”
Ash laughs under his breath. “Of course there are.”
“No flirting.” He looks at me, all charm. How he can look so innocent and sinful at the same time is beyond me. “And no smiling at me like that,” I growl quietly. “I mean it.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll be a good little boy and keep my hands to myself, but I’m telling you, Rose, you’ll be begging me to change the rule.”
“In your dreams.”
“Ashton. Rose.” I groan as Miss Spice calls our names. Shit. “Because you are so interested in this class, I’m now assigning you two extra work. Consider yourself the volunteers for our mural project.”
“Come on, miss. Football practice takes up all my spare time,” Ash moans.
“I suggest you keep talking for outside of the classroom then, Mr. Cole.”
“We’re sorry
, Miss Spice,” I respond solemnly. Art’s one of my favorite subjects. I don’t want Miss Spice thinking I’m not interested.
“Stay after class, please,” she requests.
I nod my agreement and glance at Ash to see him doing the same. He looks agitated, and I wonder if it really is because of football or something else. He never once mentioned football or any sport for that matter when we were younger. He was too busy scribbling sketches and telling me how he was going to design comic books one day.
He looks like a jock—all defined athletic muscles, yet I can’t picture him playing. As we begin today’s project—a still drawing—I find myself watching Ash work. Taking in every detail as he puts his pencil to paper, the way his lips part slightly as he concentrates and his eyes narrow as he studies the object. To me, the real Ash has smudges of pencil lead on his fingers and a sketchpad under his arm, not a football. But is that Ash real? Was he ever real, or was he simply a figment of my imagination? I’m not sure I want to find out. I’m not sure I can handle another part of my life being a lie.
Chapter 13
I’m nervous as lunchtime approaches. My next move will be the spark that starts an inferno. There will be no turning back after this. I’ll have no choice but to keep fighting until I’m either the winner or the loser.
Leaving my sandwich with Isla, I stand, opening the yogurt I bought. Sophia’s sitting in her usual spot—Ashton and Grayson on either side of her while her girlfriends sit opposite her. Ash catches my eye as I approach. He frowns and he notices the yogurt pot in my hands. He sits back, eyes wide, a silent no on his lips.
There is no going back. Going down on one knee, I pretend to trip, flinging the yogurt pot in my hands. An audible gasp fills the air as it seems to flip in slow motion, flying through the air and landing on her back, splattering into her hair.
Sophia screams, her chair falling backward as she leaps to her feet, her rage-filled gaze finding mine.
The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1) Page 8
