by Grey, R. S.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll ask Collins and Chef if they need anything from the market. I feel like going on a walk into town.”
Suits me just fine.
I’d like to speak to my grandmother alone, to have one more chance to talk sense into her concerning Maren, though admittedly, as I get started and her eyes plead with me to drop it, I find I’m tempted to take her up on it. Even as I speak, there’s less conviction behind my words than there was a week ago, and the thought is unsettling.
I want her gone. Don’t I?
14
Maren
I watch from my window as Tori and Nicholas talk on the driveway Sunday evening. Dappled sunlight spills through the trees, highlighting them from above. Tori is wearing a bright red sweater with a coordinating scarf tied in the French style around her neck. She smiles, and I can’t imagine what they’re saying. I even creak my window open a smidge, just in case their voices carry, but it doesn’t work and I’m left feeling like a stalker.
Tori and a few of Nicholas’ friends all arrived at Rosethorn just after breakfast to convene before sailing.
I stumbled upon their group on my way home from town and immediately froze, not wanting to cross paths with them. It’s one thing to face off against Nicholas when his grandmother is present and another to do so in front of a group of his peers. If he insulted me while they all watched on, I’d probably throw up on the spot.
I told myself I didn’t want to go sailing with them anyway as I circumvented the side of the property, grateful that Cornelia owns so much land surrounding Rosethorn. It was relatively easy to slip by them unnoticed as I trailed through an overgrown patch of trees. Sure, my legs got scratched up a bit from the brush and brambles in my path, but it was a small price to pay to save my dignity.
I passed the gardeners trimming an overgrown wall of ivy and sent them a wave, then I trailed back behind the house, hugging the wall until I made it to the entrance into the kitchen.
Chef was in there, preparing lunch, and I held up the sack full of ripe peaches I had promised I’d get him at the farmer’s market. He had plans to bake them into a pie and I’m sure it’s finished by now, but I sit up here, unwilling to move from my window seat.
Nicholas shakes his head at Tori and then motions back to his car—a ridiculous vehicle, by the way. Some kind of vintage Porsche, black and sleek and totally impractical. He leans in to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek then they go their separate ways, Tori back to her grandmother’s house and Nicholas back to New York.
I don’t know why that makes me feel sick, but the feeling lingers into the next day and the next, until I arrive at the club for a second round of tennis lessons with Tori.
She greets me with a friendly wave and I try to forgive her for being friends with Nicholas. I try to separate them in my mind. Tori is nice; who cares if she’s Nicholas’ best friend? She’s my friend too.
“Oh thank god,” she says, sighing when she sees me. “I was worried you weren’t going to show after last week.”
“I almost bailed,” I tease. “My arms are still sore.”
She laughs as if I’m kidding. I’m not.
“Ah, here’s our coach now. Don’t smile—I have a feeling he feeds off of our happiness.”
I can’t help but laugh, but it doesn’t last long. We’re immediately thrown into our warm-up (which I would have previously thought of as a very intense workout on its own) and then it’s thirty minutes of balls flying near my face as I try desperately to whack them away with a racquet. I succeed only twice. It’s a shitshow, and worse, we have an audience.
Tori’s cousin Barrett shows up toward the tail end of our session.
I haven’t seen him since the ball two weeks ago, which means I still haven’t had the chance to thank him for the flowers he sent.
He waits for us at the gate as we gather our bags, looking sharp in a white button-down and navy pants.
“You two might be the worst tennis players I’ve ever seen,” he says good-naturedly as we walk toward him.
“Lay off, will you?” Tori says with a groan. “We’re learning.”
“Is that what you were doing? It looked like you were putting every effort into not hitting the ball.”
She reaches over to shove him playfully but he leans out of the way just in time.
“I have to say, even if you do suck, at least you both look the part.”
He’s not wrong there. I can’t imagine what all my gear cost Cornelia: my racquet and its designer bag; my zip-front tank and coordinating skort, both from L’Etoile, a brand I’d never heard of.
“Are you here just to annoy us or are you actually going to say hello to Maren? You know, the girl you’ve been asking me about nonstop for the last two weeks?”
I blush and look away, but Barrett doesn’t seem to mind her disclosing his secrets.
“Yes, well, you haven’t done a very good job getting us together. I thought I’d take matters into my own hands today,” he says, coming forward to take my tennis bag before I can loop it over my shoulder. “Are you two heading in for lunch?”
“If I say yes, does that mean you’re going to join us?” Tori asks, sounding annoyed by the prospect, though I think it’s just her way of teasing him.
He grins. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d love to.”
Barrett’s already sitting at the table in the club’s restaurant by the time we’re done showering off. I changed into a simple blue sundress and flats then looped a scarf around my hair like a headband to keep flyaways from escaping my braid.
Tori’s dressed similarly, and though it makes me feel silly to admit it to myself, I’m glad to see I’m starting to blend in so well.
We order drinks, me following Tori’s lead with an Aperol spritz, and then I lean back in my chair and listen while she asks Barrett about his weekend.
“Weren’t you in L.A. for your friend’s birthday?”
“Yeah, Sam turned twenty-five. It was a good time. Small group. Kendall Jenner showed up for a little bit.”
“Spare me the namedrops, please.” Tori rolls her eyes. “You know I don’t care.”
He grins and cocks his head toward me. “Maren might.”
“You think you’ll win her over by bragging about celebrities you’ve partied with?”
She looks to me as if she expects me to roll my eyes too, but I don’t want to be rude.
Instead, I pick up my menu. “What’s good to eat here? I’m starving.”
Barrett laughs and reaches over to share my menu. “For lunch, I prefer the lobster and endive salad or the grilled salmon, but get whatever you want—it’s on me.”
“Try all you want, but this isn’t a date if I’m here,” Tori comments as she browses her menu.
Barrett looks wounded. “As if I would bring Maren here for our first date.”
I know it’s just a game they’re playing, trying to rile each other up, but it still leaves me shifting in my seat, unsure of what I’m supposed to do. Play along? Act offended? Flirt right back?
Barrett is cute, and I think if he asked, I would accept an invitation for a date, but not while we sit at a table with Tori. Fortunately, he’s smart enough to realize that. Instead of pushing the subject, he asks his cousin about her weekend.
“Did you go sailing with Nicholas and Rhett?”
“Yeah, it was really fun. I hadn’t been since last summer. It felt good to get back on the water.”
“Did you and Nicholas hang out after?”
I frown, wondering what he means. I did see them talking outside of Rosethorn on Sunday evening.
Tori shakes her head, not bothering to look away from her menu. “No, he had to get back to the city.”
Were they supposed to do something else? Go out together alone? My confusion must be evident on my face because Barrett laughs. “Maren, haven’t you heard? Tori and Nicholas are a thing, at least on paper. She’s practically been engaged to him since she was born. Cornelia and Lydia hav
e been planning their wedding for years—Newport royalty. I hope I get a front-row seat at the wedding.”
“Is that true?” I ask on bated breath.
I knew they were close, but I didn’t realize it extended beyond friendship. Now that I think about it, though, it does make perfect sense. They’ve known each other forever. They had similar upbringings, and they clearly care a lot about each other.
Tori takes a sip of her drink, seemingly bored by the subject. “Oh sure, it’s what everyone wants.”
“Is it what you want?” I ask again, needing to know, as if the answer is suddenly a matter of life and death.
She laughs sadly. “No one ever seems to ask that question.”
“Do you guys want to split an appetizer?” Barrett asks, completely disregarding the conversation at hand.
Tori’s attention shifts out the window, to the marina with the sailboats bobbing gently in the calm water.
Her reaction to my line of questioning isn’t at all what I would have expected, and her mood only seems to worsen through lunch.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed Tori draw inward. It’s so obvious to me the way her face—with its angular jaw and fine bones—can sometimes look like a mask.
I try to catch her eye across the table, but she turns her attention to our waitress as she comes by to take our order. After that, the moment is gone, swept away by Barrett’s antics. He’s good at lightening a mood, and Tori lets him carry her blues away. She launches into a discussion about a garden party she’s planning for Friday.
“You’ll come, won’t you?” she asks me. “Barrett can pick you up on the way.”
“Yeah. We can get a drink beforehand, if you’re up for it,” he says, showing more sincerity than he has all lunch. I can tell from his tentative smile that he really wants me to agree, so I nod and then wonder what exactly I’m getting myself into.
At dinner that night, I bring up the garden party to Cornelia, to get her permission to go more than anything else. I know she likes that Tori and I have become friends, but I’m not sure where the boundaries lie—if there even are any—and I’d rather be cautious than presumptuous.
“If you need help with something that day, I don’t have to go. Barrett mentioned taking me out for a drink beforehand, but—”
“Sounds like you’re going to have a lovely time. We’ll have to make sure you have something nice to wear. It’s not too late to get something new. We can always have Vivien tailor it quickly for you.”
I think of the ever-growing contents of my closet, and I can’t imagine a scenario in which I don’t have a single dress that could work for the party. If anything, I have too many options.
“I’ll let you pick something for me after dinner,” I assure her, confident that she knows more than I do about how to dress for the occasion. Before moving into Rosethorn, the only parties I attended called for denim cutoffs and a tank top. Something tells me that won’t fly for this.
“I’m so happy you’re getting settled here and finding friends. Everyone seems to like you as much as I do,” she says, smiling warmly.
“Not everyone,” I say, before I think better of it.
“Oh?”
I clear my throat and consider trying to evade her questioning gaze, but it’s probably best that she knows the truth.
“I don’t think your grandson likes me very much. He’s made it clear to me on two occasions now.” Three if you count our standoff at breakfast over the weekend.
She hums in understanding, not the least bit shocked.
“He’s fiercely protective of me. Don’t let him deter you, though. I want you here, and that’s what matters. Besides, others want you here as well. Tori, for instance, and Barrett, not to mention everyone here at Rosethorn.”
I’m glad she’s not trying to persuade me into thinking Nicholas does like me. We both know that’s not the case.
Though, since we’re on the subject of her grandson, I can’t help but ask. “Are Nicholas and Tori really betrothed?”
She laughs. “What makes you ask?”
“We talked about it at lunch today. Barrett made it sound like it was a done deal.”
“I have hoped they would develop feelings for one another. I’ve known Tori since she was a baby and there are few people on earth as gracious as she is, not to mention that I think the match makes sense from a practical standpoint. You catch my meaning? The Pruitts are a very established family here in Newport. There would never be a question of one of them marrying solely for money. They each have their own.”
I nod, realizing that’s never something I’ve had to worry about. All the guys in my life have been just as dirt poor as me.
“Has he ever told you he has feelings for her?” I ask, training my voice so I don’t sound overly curious.
She furrows her brow in thought. “He can be very English sometimes. He’s like his father that way, always one to keep his lips buttoned, his heart locked away. I doubt he’d ever admit to catching feelings. To him, it’s akin to admitting weakness.”
Cornelia’s words stick with me.
I wonder if Nicholas is really as closed off as she says he is. He does seem that way to me, but then I still barely know him. I run through our exchanges, turning them over in my mind and looking for any details I might have missed the first time around. I imagine him in the breakfast room, looking painfully handsome in a navy blue sweater and jeans—dressed down, but hardly.
I want to ask someone—Cornelia or Tori—if he’ll be in town for the garden party, but I can’t seem to work up the courage. What does it matter anyway? I won’t let his presence deter me from going. Besides, I’m not going alone; I’m going with Barrett. I can’t imagine what Nicholas will think of that. Will he accuse me of using Barrett too? Laughable. Barrett has made it perfectly clear that he’s interested in me, and I find that I’m actually excited to go out with him as I finish getting ready for him to pick me up on Friday.
My short blue dress is thin, so I layer a cream cable-knit sweater over it. It’s oversized and hanging off one of my shoulders in a flirty way that makes me feel confident as I walk down the steps of Rosethorn to meet Barrett. I saw on my way out that Cornelia, Rita, and Patricia are huddled in the window in the entry foyer, peering out at us.
“Have a good time!” Cornelia called as I swept past.
“You look beautiful!” Rita added.
I’m still smiling as Barrett gets out of the front seat of his silver Range Rover, coming around to greet me. His cocky smile is in place as he bends down to kiss my cheek.
“You look amazing,” he says, holding my hand as he steps back to give me a once-over.
He’s wearing khakis and a pale green shirt layered underneath a dark green sport coat.
“Thank you. I hope I don’t get chilly. Tori said she was going to set up the table outside.”
“Well it wouldn’t be a garden party if we ate in the dining room,” he quips, and I can’t help but blush at my blunder. Duh. “But it doesn’t matter—you can have my coat if you get cold. My pants too, if you want them,” he teases, and I’m immediately put at ease.
There’s something nice about Barrett’s personality. Yes, he’s cocky, but he’s also self-deprecating and silly. He chats my ear off as he drives us toward a little wine bar he swears I’ll love. Sure, most of what he says is filled with humble-brags or outright-blatant brags, but I don’t really mind. I’m intrigued by his life, and I like hearing about it. It’s fortunate, too, because he doesn’t think to ask me about mine very often.
We spend an hour at the bar, splitting a bottle of white wine, and my mind wanders in a million different directions. I know I’m a little nervous about tonight. I haven’t met many of Tori and Barrett’s friends, and while Cornelia’s have been welcoming to me, I’m not sure that will be the case with people my own age.
It doesn’t help, as I realize after the fact, that I’m arriving with Barrett.
The first few people
I’m introduced to mistake me for a girl he’s been hooking up with in Boston.
“Are you Lauren?!” one guy asks enthusiastically, as if he’s happy to finally put a face to a name.
I smile tightly and shake my head. “No, sorry. I’m Maren.”
He doesn’t even seem that embarrassed about the mix-up, writing me off instantly and turning to Barrett. “Honestly, I can’t keep your girls straight sometimes, dude.”
Barrett wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me closer as we walk away. “Sorry about that. He’s a friend from college, and sometimes I think he forgets we’ve moved on from the frat house.”
I force a smile, not wanting to make an issue of it. It’s not like Barrett and I are dating or anything, and who cares if he’s seeing some girl named Lauren, really?
While more of Barrett’s friends wander over, I search the party for Tori, a task that proves to be harder than I expected. The Pruitts live in another Gilded Age mansion on Bellevue Avenue, one equal to Rosethorn in size, which means their garden is hardly a garden and more of a maze of sprawling hedges and fountains and creeping rose vines, all of which make it impossible to see if Tori is out here among the mingling crowd.
Near the house, where a bartender has set up shop to serve drinks, there’s a long table with seating for twenty that’s overflowing with flowers and candles and fine china place settings. People gather around there, and that’s where Barrett leads me until I tell him I’m going in search of Tori.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. C’mon, there are some other people I’d like you to meet.”
I’m forced into more introductions as “Barrett’s date” rather than “Tori’s friend”, which leads to more questions about how we met and where I’m from and how long we’ve been seeing each other. It suddenly feels like too much too soon, so I use the good ol’ bathroom excuse and find my way inside. The house is quiet compared to the garden, and the moment I make it through the French doors, I sigh in relief.
Then two feminine voices drift from down the hall.
“I just don’t understand why it needs to be today?”
