by JA Huss
He sighs. Slumps in his chair a little. “I know. It’s just… this is not how I pictured us, right? It was never going to happen like this, Rory. We talked about it that last time I was home. It was going to be college, then marriage, then family. And now it’s all fucked up.”
I reach across the table and take his hand. He watches me squeeze it, looks up at me and squeezes it back. He says, “I love you, ya know.”
There. That. Those three words are all I ever wanted to hear when he walked out and left me.
And it’s enough, I realize. My whole world is instantly right again. “I know.” I feel a tear slip out of my eye. Five reaches over and gently wipes it away with one fingertip.
“Don’t cry.”
But it’s too late. Just the words don’t cry are enough to make me cry.
I stand up—he does too, because that’s just how his father raised him. “I’ll be right back, OK?” I say. He’s still squeezing my hand. Even when I try to let go, he doesn’t. “I’m just gonna fix my makeup. Be right back.”
I pull back. He holds onto my hand for another moment, then lets my fingers slide past his as I turn and make my way to the back of the restaurant. Rose is busy with other customers, thank God, because the last thing I need is a friend asking about my tears.
When I get inside the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror, my hands braced on the marble countertop, and stare at myself. “This is it,” I whisper. “This is the moment your mother warned you about.” And the worst part is, she’s a thousand miles away. With my dad. With Five’s mom and dad. Rook and Ronin aren’t even here. They’re visiting their family in France. So it’s just us kids. That’s it. Me and Five. Kate and Sparrow. Belle and Oliver.
Fuck.
Maybe I can convince Belle and Oliver that everything is fine. But not Kate and Sparrow. They both got “the talk” before they left for college too. Belle won’t get the truth until the end of summer. And Oliver, hell. He’s way too young to know about all the shit our parents did when they were my age.
The FBI, and the Company, and the lies, and the court appearances, and… the killing.
I shake my head. “No,” I tell the girl staring back at me. “No. This won’t happen to us. We’re different. We’re innocent. We’re just kids. We’re…”
But it might be happening.
What’s that old saying about the sins of my father?
Shakespeare, right? The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children. It’s even in the Bible somewhere.
People don’t forget things like that. Not these people. These people have long memories. These people don’t take kindly to threats. These people take care of people like us.
A knock at the bathroom door. “Rory?” Five asks from the other side. “You OK?”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing a paper towel and dabbing at the smear of mascara on my face. “Be right there.”
I take a deep breath, straighten my Shrike Bikes t-shirt, and hold my head up high. “You got this, bitch,” I whisper to the girl in the mirror. “If these people want a fight, well… then it’s on.”
I turn away, open the door, and face Five, standing in the cramped dark hallway. “Come with me,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the back door. I go along, because it’s Five. And his commands mean everything to me.
We end up out in the alley. There’s noise from the back patio area of other restaurants, but no one in the immediate area. Five stops, pushes me back against the brick wall of Anna Ameci’s, and boxes me in with his hands on either side of my shoulders.
“Promise me,” he says, those light brown eyes blazing into mine. I give him an innocent princess look, but he shakes his head. “I know you better than anyone, Rory Shrike. So stop. I know what you’re thinking. I can practically read your mind.”
“Five—”
But he shushes me with a fingertip to my lips. “Just listen to me. And then, after I’m done, you say, ‘OK, Five. I promise.’ Got it?”
“What?” I sigh. There’s no point trying to stop his little speech. He’s a bulldozer when he’s like this.
“Do not do anything without talking to me first. Understand?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He gives me a look that says, Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.
“You’re not the boss of me, ya know.”
A small smile that turns into a laugh. “I am, Princess. And you know that. So just let me handle things.”
I shrug. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Rory,” he says, pressing his body against mine. And holy motherfucking Jesus. That might be enough to make me give in. It has been six long years since Five Aston kissed me and right now, I’d agree to anything just to feel the soft press of his lips on mine.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”
He leans in, his hands on my shoulders now. His face pressing into my neck. His soft breath tickling my skin. “Promise me, Princess.”
“Kiss me,” I say it again. If he’s gonna get what he wants, well, then I’m gonna get what I want too.
“You give in first.”
I smile. This is so typically Five. “No. I’m the boss of me, Mr. Aston. Me. That’s the very first lesson my mommy taught me way back in pre-school. I call the shots.”
“Princess,” he whispers into my ear. It makes everything vibrate. It makes my whole body shiver. “I love you more than I can ever say. I want nothing more than to give you everything you want, including that kiss. But before I do, I need your word. I need to know you’re gonna let me handle this. I need assurances that you’re not gonna go home, grab one of those guns your mom keeps in her closet, and come back blazin’. So just give in, OK? Just give in to me, and tell me what I need to hear.”
“Kiss me,” I say again. “If you don’t give me what I want, I’m gonna”—my hand reaches down to the hard bulge hiding in his pants—“force it out of you.”
I can feel him smile into my neck. We’re different people now. I mean, we’ve always been these people. I’m just like my mom. Hot-tempered blonde bombshell, ready to explode. And he’s just like his dad. Control freak with a side of sexy. But this is who we are. Headstrong, and bossy, and competitive.
“You want a kiss?”
“Mmmhmm,” I say, closing my eyes as I picture it. God, I’ve dreamed of this moment for ages. “I really need one, Five.”
His mouth touches my earlobe. Lips caress the soft skin of my neck. “Like this?” he asks.
“Yes,” I practically moan. “Just… like… that.”
“Do you want more, Princess?” he asks, his voice low now. Growly. Filled with so much promise.
“More, please,” I say, in my sweetest princess voice.
“Then promise me, baby. Just say those two words. ‘I promise.’ And as soon as you do that, I’ll give you everything you want. OK?”
“Five,” I moan. “Just—”
His hands come up suddenly. He cups my face, stares into my eyes with the most sincere expression I’ve ever seen on him. And underneath that sincerity, I see… fear. “Promise me.”
“Five,” I say, unable to stop staring back. This is everything. Everything I’ve always dreamed of. Five pressing me up against a wall. Me, the only thing on his mind. Except I’m not the only thing on his mind, am I? No. Those creeps from the past are back. That’s why he’s here. And even though I’d normally not give in so easy, I know this is not a game. So I say, “I promise. Now stop talking, you stupid genius, and kiss me already.”
He smiles. Leans in. I close my eyes, ready for it. Finally gonna get what I want.
But then he moves his mouth to my ear and nibbles on my lobe. “Good girl,” he coos. “But I’m not sure I believe you, Princess. I can feel those wheels turning inside your head. They’re grinding hard.” He presses his hard cock against my hip when he says that last part. “So I’m gonna hold off on that kiss until I get back toni
ght. And if you’ve been good, and if you’ve held up your end of the—”
“What?” I say, pushing him back. “You will do no such thing, Five Aston! I want a fucking kiss and I want one right now! I’ve waited six years for this, and denying me is practically emotional abuse. Now stop fucking around and kiss me, goddammit!”
“Who’s the boss of you, Rory?”
I huff out some air. “Me.”
He smiles. It’s a big, genuine, I’m-gonna-teach-you-who’s-boss smile. “Wrong answer.”
“You!” I say. “Fine, it’s you. Is that what you want? Me to give in? OK. I give. Now kiss me.” I’m practically begging now, but I don’t care. I need this kiss.
He backs away two steps.
“I’m warning you, Five Aston. You had better kiss me right the fuck now.”
“Or what?” he says, backing off two more steps. “Or you’ll fall out of love with me? You’ll go back to the boring boyfriend at Princeton?”
“I’ll do it,” I say, as defiantly as I can. But he doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me. I am in love with this hot, weird, genius of a man and he knows that. I’ve been in love with him since kindergarten. There’s no other man for me. Not at Princeton. Not anywhere in this world.
There is only Five.
“You won’t do it. But you will behave while I’m gone. And tomorrow I’ll give you everything you want.” He reaches for my hand, picks it up, and brings it to his lips. The gentle kiss across the back of my fingers isn’t how I pictured this moment ending, but I melt.
I melt into a giant puddle of love-struck goo as he lets me go, turns his back, and walks away.
I blow out a giant breath of air and lean back against the ragged brick wall. Fucker.
“Oh, and Princess?” he asks, turning around as he walks backwards, smiling like the devil on a Sunday afternoon. “Just give in next time. You’ll get what you want so much quicker if you just admit I’m the boss.”
And then he turns, slips into the alley between buildings, and disappears.
Fucker!
“You’re not the boss of me!” I scream.
“Am too!” he yells back.
I’m frustrated. I’m horny. And I’m smiling.
Whatever. There are worse things in this world than having Five Aston boss you around.
Besides, I was crossing my fingers when I made that promise. So joke’s on him.
Chapter Four - Five
“Well?” Oliver asks as I walk up to the car. He’s grinning like he won and leaning against the hood like this ride belongs to him. “Did you make her happy?”
“I’m halfway there,” I say. I’m smiling, so Oliver’s smiling too. But I can’t stand for his insubordination, so I gotta make an example out of him. I open up the driver’s side door, get in, and then click the doors locked before Oliver can walk around and get in his side.
“Hey!” Oliver says. “What the hell?”
I pull my door closed, start the engine, and roll the passenger window down two inches to say, “This team only has one boss, kid. Me. So you can walk home.”
He flips me off, but I’m already pulling away.
I don’t want to think about Oliver Shrike. I want to think about his delicious princess of a sister.
She’s not the reason I came home. Obviously, I thought she was staying back east like she’s been for a couple years. And I wasn’t really gonna stop off in New York to look her up. Now? No. But I really was gonna make this the year we reconnected. Christmas was the plan. Another perfect Christmas Eve like the one we had just before I left for Oxford.
You know what they say about the best-laid plans.
But bright side… she’s here in FoCo where I can keep an eye on her. Maybe I could stay all summer? Would she stay all summer too, if I came back tonight and asked?
I think so.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Five. You’ve got a meeting in Denver for a reason.
Right.
And that whole Snowflake thing kinda gets to me. Right in my cold, black heart. God, we had such good times with that pony.
She was a tiny thing. The smallest Shetland I’ve ever laid eyes on, now that I think back with a grown-up mentality. But when we were little, she was every bit a knight’s steed. My steed. I was the knight. Literally.
Ron the Bombshell turned into Ron the Momshell after she had kids. She is all mom, all the time. Even though I’ve seen the off-limits photographs of her all painted up in Spencer’s office and her talent as a tattoo artist is on display on Spencer’s body, I could never reconcile in my head these two versions of her.
Ronnie made the best birthday cakes. For all of us kids. She threw all the parties and made all the Halloween costumes.
And that is my first real memory of me and my princess.
Halloween.
I was five and Rory was four. Momshell made me a knight’s costume and Rory was a princess every year, so no surprise there. But this was the first year we really took Halloween seriously. We waited for it. We sat under that old buckeye dreaming about it. It was the first year I started holding her hand everywhere we went. It was the first year I stopped calling her Rory and started calling her Princess. It was a whole bunch of firsts. And even though I’ve known Rory Shrike since she was born, it was the first year we started making memories together.
Snowflake was young then. Rory’s first pony. She’d just started learning to ride. And on that Halloween night we trick-or-treated riding around downtown Fort Collins on a perfectly-groomed white pony dressed up in every detail as a princess and her knight.
I can still feel Rory’s tiny hands holding onto my little-boy armor as we clip-clopped up and down the sidewalks.
We were so damn cute, we were even in the paper. I still have that old clipping framed and hanging in my boyhood bedroom back at the house, and another copy of it in my London flat.
And that wasn’t the only time Snowflake stood in as my steed. When I was seven and she was six, we’d go off on our own little adventures and it was Snowflake who took us there. Granted, these adventures took place in the Shrike backyard, but that’s a big-ass place. Especially when you’re so young.
Momshell would pack us a picnic, we’d stuff that into a pannier, and off we’d go. Rory would sit in front of me, holding the reins. She didn’t trust me as a rider by this time. She was the expert and needed to control the pony. But I didn’t care. Are you kidding? I could stare at her golden hair shining in the sunlight all I wanted when I sat behind her. And talk into her ear as she navigated the little rocky outcropping on the north side of the house. I could point things out to her and watch her eyes follow the line of my arm to whatever caught my curiosity.
And that was just the start of it. Snowflake took Rory to her first horse shows. She jumped those cross rails like a champion. I mean, I’ve seen the videos. The jumps were only a few inches off the ground, but it made my princess feel like she was flying. She won her very first blue ribbon on that pony. She scribbled Five and Rory on the back and gave that prize to me. I have it framed, hanging on the wall of my flat, right next to the newspaper clipping. I’ve kept it with me all through school. It’s faded to a weird purple color now, it’s so old. But I love that damn ribbon.
So yeah. Snowflake dying is a hit to the heart. And I’m actually a little ashamed that I didn’t come home for whatever elaborate funeral the Shrikes cooked up to match that pile of rocks marking her grave.
I’m in Denver before I know it, driving down the I-25 towards downtown. I get off at Speer and make my way towards Cherry Creek. It’s a pretentious neighborhood filled with pretentious houses, but these are pretentious people, so…
The meeting is really a garden party hosted by the Young and Mobile Society. It’s something they’ve been bugging me about joining for years now, but I keep turning them down. This year something they said piqued my interest.
“Mr. Aston,” they said. “It would be a mistake to fight the inevitable.”
It came off as a threat. I’m not a paranoid guy. I don’t believe in much, even though I know the real facts behind my oldest sister Sasha’s background. I know about the Company and how Kate fits into things. I have an idea about some important details my parents left out when they sat me down the night before I left for Oxford and tried to explain our complicated history.
But my life has been perfect. In just about every way. No weirdoes stalked us when I was little. There were no more trials or run-ins with the FBI. There were no secret meetings about assassins and all that crazy shit they talked about that night. And unless you count my grandfather’s attention every summer, there was nothing but lazy days on the Shrike ranch with my princess and her pony. Nothing but summer camps filled with the best and brightest. Lots of special invitations to join national robotics teams and such. And my little side business building apps that made me millions before I turned eighteen and landed me on in the top three of the “Who’s Who Up and Coming” list in Forbes four years ago.
We won.
We did win, right?
I can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming. That my parents missed something, or forgot something, or just plain left something out. That offer the Young and Mobile Society made me sounded like a threat. So I’m here to see just what the fuck these people want and get them off my back with a firm no, thank you, and that’ll be the end of it. Maybe I really can stay with Rory all summer? Maybe we really can finally have that fairy-tale ending?
When I get to a stop light, I open the Love Notes app, choose something special for her, and then press send.
It’s not a perfect second-chance plan, but it’s a start.
I make my way through the neighborhood streets until my map app tells me I’ve arrived. There are no valets parking cars. There is no sign on the front gate. There’s no music blaring or people walking down the sidewalk dressed up in their summer finery.
