by Grey, R. S.
“I wasn’t that bad.”
She arches a brow in contest. “You were a total dweeb.” Then she shrugs, as if slightly regretting her words. “Sorry. Was I supposed to lie? I mean, you loved playing piano and reading and shit. God, it took so much arguing to convince you to come out with me. It’s like you lived and breathed by our house rules. God forbid we ever broke curfew.”
“I liked Nancy and Bob. They were good people. I didn’t want to make them worry about us.”
“We were seventeen!” Ariana argues. “What do you think they expected?”
“Were they strict?” Tori asks.
“They had to be with Ariana,” I say, giving in to the urge to tell the truth.
Ariana takes a sip of her drink before replying with a gloating tone, “Yeah, whatever. I’ve never been good at following rules, but Maren always covered for me, didn’t you? Said I was in the bathroom when they’d come to do bed checks at night. Helped me climb back in the window when I’d get home from sneaking out.”
She laughs at the memory. Meanwhile, my stomach clenches tight. Those nights were horrible. I sat up, worried she’d be caught, counting the minutes until I’d hear her rocks hit the window. It was the rudimentary signal system we’d devised so I’d know it was time for me to open it and help her back inside.
“Sounds like you were a wild child,” Mary Anne notes curiously.
Ariana smiles, obviously proud of the title. “Oh my god, Maren—do you remember the night of JJ’s party? That feels like so long ago.”
She laughs at the memory, and I’m visibly taken aback. How can she bring up the subject so casually? How is she not more remorseful after all these years? The crap she put me through still stings, and I’m surprised to find pain stirring inside me, fresh as ever, even now.
Nicholas’ hand hits my lower back and he leans toward me.
“Come outside with me for a moment.”
I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already directing me away from the group, nodding toward the others while pushing me along.
His hand slides around my back, holding on to my waist, and to anyone looking, it’s obviously an intimate gesture, protective and loving.
I stutter-step and he grips me tighter, glancing down at me with concern.
“Are you all right?”
I nod but stay silent as we slip out of the ballroom and out into the warm air of the garden. It’s deserted since it’s still so early in the evening. There’s so much to take in inside that people haven’t found their way out here yet, no one but us.
“Why did you whisk me away?” I ask after he leads me down a shallow bank of steps and toward a bench, hidden from the French doors by a row of Italian cypress trees.
“You looked like you needed it.”
I hum and drag my finger along the smooth marble seat beneath me. Is everything here so perfect? Even the garden benches are pristine white.
“What’s wrong, Maren?”
I sniff and beat back the emotions threatening to overflow, glancing up at him standing in the shadows.
“Does no one cry here, either? I suppose there’s no need to, in heaven,” I quote.
He smiles softly, recognizing the words. “Wharton.”
“Cornelia’s favorite.”
He nods.
I glance back down at the bench, aware of the fact that he means to extract the truth out of me eventually. I might as well make it easy for him and for myself. “I guess I’m sad to realize Ariana isn’t who I want her to be, even now.”
“Isn’t she your friend?”
“Oh, I’m not sure she ever was.”
“I’d like to hear what happened between you two. Will you tell me?”
“What do you mean?”
“When was the moment you realized she wasn’t your friend?”
I laugh bitterly. The moment? There are too many to count. He’s intuitive, though. There was a specific night that hurts more than the rest, that damaged me more than the others.
“You heard her mention a party just now, and you must have seen my reaction…that’s why you pulled me out here. If you listen to Ariana, it was the best night of our lives. Wild. Hilarious…” I laugh sarcastically. “I remember it a little differently.”
He stands perfectly still, listening to me with earnest eyes.
I realize as I begin to talk that it’s the first time I’ve told the story to anyone. No one’s ever asked about it before, or even known to ask.
The words feel clunky at first, like I’m pulling them out of disuse after years of being stuffed away in the recesses of my hurt locker.
“I had just turned eighteen and Ariana wanted me to celebrate. I didn’t feel like it. I was a few weeks away from graduating out of the foster care system, and I didn’t have a place to go yet. My foster parents had offered to let me stay on at their place, but I knew I was keeping a bed from someone else, and besides, I didn’t love their house. It was tiny and all the kids had to share one bathroom. I was…ready to get out. I just didn’t quite know where I’d land yet.” I shake away the tangent and return to the important part of the story. “Anyway, Ariana convinced me to go with her to a party she knew about. I rarely went with her when she wanted to go out. I knew she was into some pretty hard stuff, and I’d met a few of her other friends. They seemed like a bad crowd to me.
“I mostly agreed to go so I could keep an eye on Ariana and make sure she got back home on time. She’d been getting into trouble a lot at the house lately—bad grades, bad attitude—and I’d heard Nancy and Bob threaten to kick her out if she screwed up again. I thought they were pretty serious about it, but Ariana didn’t really seem to care.”
“So you went with her?”
“Yeah. The party was fine, bigger than I was expecting. There was a DJ set up in the living room and the bass was shaking the walls. I couldn’t think, let alone talk to anyone. Ariana slipped off somewhere early on and I just stayed in the living room because it felt like a safe zone. There were a lot of people in there. Nothing could happen to me, I thought.”
I rub my forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “Sorry. I’m rambling. None of that’s even important. It’s just the bass was so loud, like I said, so I didn’t hear the police cars pull up. Everyone scattered like they had some preset plan in place for how to get the hell out of there. I could have run out a side door easily enough, but I stayed to look for Ariana and eventually she came barreling down the stairs, clearly high as a kite. She took my hand and pulled me out into the back yard. We ran for the fence and tried to hop it, but it was too high. I helped her over, and her backpack fell off onto the ground. I picked it up and swung it onto my shoulder without thinking.
“I remember her being more worried about it than she was about me. She kept shouting, ‘My backpack!’ instead of, like, ‘Hey Maren! C’mon, hurry up!’
“Once I told her I had it and not to worry about it, she hopped down onto the other side and the cops found me there, trying to get over the fence by myself.” I scratch the center of my palm to give my brain something else to concentrate on. “I got into a lot of trouble.”
“There were drugs in her backpack, weren’t there?”
I look away, out through the maze of cypress trees.
“Yeah. Quite a lot, apparently. I didn’t realize she’d been dealing some on the side. She never told me.”
“Why’d you take the fall for her?”
“Because like I said, if she got into trouble again, she’d get kicked out of the house. I figured I had a clean record so I could take the hit. Also, naively, I assumed I could just tell the cops the backpack wasn’t mine and they’d believe me.”
That wasn’t the case. Lesson learned.
“It’s still on my record.”
He walks over and takes my hands so he can pull me up off the bench. He’s too close, pressed against me; if I wanted to look at him, I’d have to tip my head back. It’s nice to have that excuse to keep my gaze pinned on hi
s chest instead, feeling his arms wrap around my waist. He bends low and kisses my cheek once. Then again. It’s an invitation, and I can’t resist the urge to turn my head so our lips can finally meet.
He tightens his hold on me and our kiss grows from something soft into something more, like he’s trying to rewrite a wrong, trying to draw the pain out of me like it’s venom.
I curl my hands around his neck, along the base of his hair, feeling the short, soft strands as his tongue touches mine. I’m hungry for him to take it further. I want his touch on my skin, under my dress, inside my panties.
I can feel him getting carried away too. The farther he pushes me back into the shadows of the garden, the faster my heart beats. His hands are everywhere, on my shoulders and bare arms, tracing along the strapless V-neck of my gown. Lower they slide, pressing the tulle skirt between my thighs. There’re so many layers and still, I feel him there, still react with a sigh and a plea.
His kiss turns punishing as he rubs me through all the fabric, faster, harder. I claw at his arms, angry that this is as far as we can go. Angry that, for all his wealth and lineage and arrogance, he can’t whip up a bed for us right here out of thin air.
“Let me take you home,” he whispers, and I’m nodding my head in agreement before he even finishes the request.
25
Maren
He leads me through the party, walking so fast I nearly have to run to keep up. We slip by everyone as if we aren’t really there, past ballerinas twirling on stage and dozens of conversations flitting in and out of earshot. Nicholas ignores the few people who call his name, and we must look so bizarre fleeing from the gala, like two criminals on the lam.
We’re near the entrance of the house when I blurt out, “Nicholas, I have to tell Ariana I’m leaving. And what about Cornelia?”
He groans as if annoyed to hear their names.
I laugh. “We can’t just abandon everyone.”
“Why can’t we?” he asks, actually picking up his pace.
“Nicholas,” I protest with a laugh, tugging him back. “We can’t just leave.”
“But you agreed in the garden,” he says, turning back to face me with a wicked look in his eyes.
“Yes, well, I was under duress.”
He grins at that, leaning in to kiss me on the mouth. I lean into him too so that when he pulls away, I have a millisecond where I feel like I’m falling and no one will catch me.
His arm comes around my waist and he sighs. “Fine. If you think we have to stay here, we’ll stay.”
“Do you plan on keeping me pinned against you all night?”
“If I have to. Have you seen yourself in this dress?”
He looks down as if in pain.
“I warned you about it.”
“You didn’t warn me enough.”
I try not to look like I’m gloating as we whirl back into the ballroom. Nicholas keeps his hand on my back as he leads us toward the bar. After he orders, he takes a long sip of his drink, gets another good look at me in my dress, and then downs another sip. I can only smile.
It doesn’t take long for our party of two to get interrupted. Cornelia finds us soon enough, glancing down at where Nicholas’ hand is still on my back. She doesn’t issue any commentary, but she is intrigued enough to arch one of her eyebrows.
“Maren? Can I steal you away from Nicky for a moment? I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. Her grandson goes to St. Michael’s, and he’s been raving to her about his new piano teacher Ms. Mitchell.”
“Of course. Nicholas won’t miss me too much,” I tease, hurrying to follow after her.
He tugs me back for a moment, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand as his eyes narrow on mine. His look says, Hurry back…or else, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
Cornelia locks elbows with me as we walk across the room, her shrewd gaze trying to catch mine.
“Should I ask?”
I shrug. “If you do, I won’t have an answer for you.”
“I was worried that might be the case. I do hope the two of you know what you’re doing. I can’t think of two people I care about more.”
“Would you be upset if—”
“I’d rather you not even finish that question. It’s insulting. You know how I feel about you. I’d love nothing more than to see you with Nicholas.”
“What about Tori?”
“Yes, well, I think we all know that match was never meant to be. Tonight proves it.”
“I don’t want you to think Nicholas and I are anything serious. You know him—I have no idea what he’s thinking at the moment.”
“I’d rather not get involved. I’m not sure whose side I would take, and if he treats you badly or you break his heart, I’d rather not know the gritty details. I can’t imagine picking one of you over the other.”
“But he’s your family,” I press.
“And so what? I’ve fallen in love with you just the same. You’re my dear Maren, and please don’t forget that.”
I’m surprised by how busy I’m kept for the next hour. Cornelia introduces me to her friend, who wants to introduce me to another friend. Then Tori and Mary Anne catch up with us and we three sneak away to the dessert table. I search for Ariana, wondering where she might have gone off to, and accidentally lock eyes with Nicholas across the room. He’s standing with Rhett and a few other guys, but he’s angled in my direction.
I blush as he lifts his drink to his mouth, and I’m unable to look away.
We should have never left the garden, I think, flicking my eyes to the French doors.
The subtle tilt of his mouth tells me he agrees.
“Are you hopelessly in love with him yet or what?” Tori asks, following my gaze.
I laugh as if the idea is insane and turn my back on Nicholas to face the desserts.
“Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m still not convinced we can sit in a room together for longer than five minutes without wringing each other’s necks.”
“I think you two might just want to tear each other’s clothes off.”
I hum as if the idea hadn’t occurred to me and reach for a little cup of chocolate mousse. “You guys haven’t seen Ariana, have you?”
“Last I saw she was headed out to the garden with Barrett.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Is that weird? You don’t like him, do you? You were just sending Nicholas some pretty heavy screw-me eyes.”
I’m quick to defend my reaction. “No, I don’t like him like that. I’m just surprised…”
“Oh, wait, there’s Barrett,” Tori says, nodding her head toward a group of people not far from us. “But no Ariana.”
“I’m going to go check outside.”
I don’t want her to feel like I abandoned her here. I know so few people, which means she knows even fewer. I reach for another cup of mousse as a peace offering and carry it to the French doors, relieved to see a blonde girl leaning against the thick stone railing that divides the porch from the garden beyond.
“Ariana?”
She turns over her shoulder and sees me approaching, but there’s no accompanying smile.
“Do you want some dessert? It’s really good.”
I hold out one of the cups for her, and she accepts it before placing it down beside her hand so she can prop her elbows back on the rail and glance out at the garden.
“Are you having a good time?” I ask.
“I’m not sure.”
I frown and put down my dessert, mimicking her posture and staring out at the grounds before us. We stand there, quietly surveying the sprawling landscape, and the tension in the air seems to grow thick with things unsaid.
“Is the sea right there?” she finally asks. “Beyond those cliffs?”
“Yes. Can’t you hear it?”
“No. The party’s too loud.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Why are you out here all on your own?”<
br />
Ariana doesn’t succumb to moments of introspection often, or at least she didn’t when we were teenagers. She was always in a rush to go somewhere, do something, cure the inevitable boredom of teendom. I’d bring up something serious—like what we were going to study in college—and she’d groan in agony. Who cares?! We’re young. Can’t we just worry about what we’re going to do this weekend?
It’s unsettling to stand beside her now, unsure of where her mind’s at.
“This isn’t really my scene.”
I smile. “Yeah. I’m not sure it’s mine either.”
“Don’t do that.”
I flinch at her hard tone. “What?”
“Don’t try to make yourself small just to comfort me. You do belong in there.”
“Well if I do, it’s only because I’ve made the effort to get to know people, to put myself in their world. I’m sure if you stayed here, you’d start to feel the same.”
She snorts under her breath and shakes her head, looking down.
“I’m not staying here.”
I frown. “Why not?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and I listen as she scuffs her high heel against the ground over and over again. I put my hand on her shoulder but she shirks away in disgust.
“Don’t.”
I let my arm drop to my side as the sharp pain of her rejection momentarily paralyzes me.
“I don’t deserve your comfort. Believe me. You know, Barrett hit on me tonight, and I encouraged him.” She continues scuffing her shoe. “You know why?”
I shake my head.
“It felt good to take something from you.”
There’s no malice there, her tone so dejected. I stay quiet and hope she’ll keep talking, wanting to hear what she has to say once and for all.
“It hasn’t always been easy to be your friend,” she continues, and I immediately want to cut her off.
My friend? MY friend?!
I was the best friend she ever had. I was the one who put my neck on the line for her time and time again.
