by Anthology
This may be my first time to meet my soon-to-be sister-in-law, but David talks about her a lot. I knew she would be just as uptight and boring as I predicted. He never mentioned she had a sister, though. I wonder just how much David really knows about this family. I don’t even know what they do for a living. Obviously, they have money—lots of it by the look of this mansion and the staff. My brother wouldn’t marry a woman who couldn’t take care of herself. His words, not mine. I don’t give two shits about money. I blow what little money I make on alcohol and women.
“This is something you tell in person,” her sister snaps. Pristine just rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her drink. Her sister takes a long look around the table and frowns. “Where is Char?” she asks.
I shrug as if I know who the fuck this Char is. For all I know, it’s their pet dog.
“I told her she didn’t have to come,” Pristine replies.
“Why? Why would you do that?” Her sister huffs. “I called this mandatory family meeting.”
She sets her drink down on the table and sits up in her seat. Her large white t-shirt pulls at her chest, and I can’t help but look to see if she’s wearing a bra. I can’t tell. Her boobs aren’t big, that’s obvious, but I’m not really a boob man anyway. That doesn’t keep me from looking, though. “Because she’s had winter finals all week and she wanted to go out last night. There is no way she was going to make a seven o’clock meeting. Plus, she’s not gonna be in Denver long.”
“Pristine, that wasn’t your decision to make,” she snaps.
“Honey,” my brother says, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s tell them the good news. Okay? You can tell your sister tomorrow at their party.”
“Party?” I ask, perking up. I’m all for a party.
“Nothing you would be interested in,” her sister says, looking down at me over her nose.
“Yes,” Pristine says, picking her drink back up and leaning back in her chair. “We are having our winter party tomorrow night. We auction off art from the local galleries and donate to several charities in town. You are more than welcome. It will be held here at the house.”
“Thank you,” I say with a smile.
“Anyway,” her sister snaps. “Back to my…I mean our news.” They grab each other’s hand, and she smiles excitedly. “We have decided on a date and a venue.”
No one really looks all that surprised, so I feel like I’ve missed something by showing up late. I take a sip of my drink and watch Pristine do the same. “So don’t keep us waiting. When is it?” My mother speaks.
Not sure why she cares. I’m pretty close to my mother, and she hasn’t once acted like this wedding was going to happen.
“We’ve decided on February fourteenth.”
“Valentine’s Day?” Pristine asks with a chuckle. “How original.”
“It’s the most romantic day of the year,” her sister retorts.
“Actually”—she takes a drink from her glass and then sets it on the table—“the Romans celebrated a feast of Lupercalia during February fourteenth back in the 1800s. Men sacrificed animals and then whipped women with the hides they had slain.”
“Pristine!” her mother snaps.
She ignores her and looks at my brother. “If you would like, I will gladly give you a goat for your wedding gift. Then you can keep up the ritual when you have her back at the hotel.” She wiggles her dark eyebrows. “If you’re into whipping women.”
I burst out laughing. Her sister raises her fists and literally shakes as she lets out a growl. “How are we even related?” she says through gritted teeth.
“I believe I’m adopted,” she says easily before looking at her mother, “although Mother continues to deny me proof.”
Her mother stands, causing the legs of her chair to slide against the dining room hardwood. “I think it's best if you…”
“I’m going.” Pristine stands slowly. “I need a refill anyway.” Then she turns and walks out.
Her sister starts to fan her face as if she’s trying to keep from crying or to get the redness to go away. My brother leans in and whispers something in her ear that we cannot hear.
“I’m so sorry, everyone,” her mother starts to say. “Pristine is—”
“Going through some things,” Mr. Inger interrupts his wife. She throws him a look as if to say that’s not what I was going to say.
“What kinds of things?” I ask.
Everyone turns to look at me as if I shouldn’t have asked. Mr. Inger sighs heavily. “She too was engaged.” My brows shoot up in surprise.
Her sister sniffs, and I look to see she is now crying. “But since hers was ruined, she feels she needs to ruin mine as well.”
Chapter Three
Pristine
Standing in the kitchen once again, I stare down at the bottle in front of me on the counter, my glass now full. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I’m pissed. I’m hurt. I’m being a total bitch and can’t help it. This is what I do. I don’t want to be here, and what better way to get out of it than being told to leave?
“Pristine?”
I jump at my name and spin around to see Chaseyn standing in the archway of the kitchen. His shirt is still uneven, his leather jacket undone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, placing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Then what were you doing?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“I just wanted to check on you.”
I laugh, but it holds no humor. “If you thought I needed company, you were wrong. I got the man I need right here,” I say, grabbing my glass and lifting it up. I take a big swig.
“Look, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but we seem more like one another than the others out there.”
“Well, that I can’t argue with,” I say, and he smiles.
“I understand what you’re going through.”
I frown. “You’ve lost me.”
“With your ex.”
My back stiffens, and my heart starts to pound. “What are you talking about?” I swallow, hoping he didn’t hear the change in my voice.
“Your ex. They said that you were engaged…”
I slam the glass down on the counter. How dare they talk about what they don’t know! “Listen, Chaseyn.” I growl his name as I take a step toward him. “You’re right.” I take another. “You don’t know me. And I don’t care to know you,” I say, taking another. His eyes narrow on mine, and he straightens his back. “So don’t come in here and tell me who you think I am. Because they might believe all your bullshit out there, but I sure as hell don’t.” I reach him and yank on his shirt.
“What are you…?”
“Your phone? Really? More like you were too busy with some bitch to show up to breakfast on time.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I keep going. “I may not be nice, but at least I’m not a liar.” Then I walk past him giving him a go-to-hell look before walking down the hallway, passing the dining room and then the foyer, and heading right out the front door.
I stand in the middle of a ballroom in my parents’ mansion. The walls are painted a soft brown color with dark wood trim, and the floor is an even darker brown wood. I believe they had it shipped here from Italy back when they built it in 1994. The year I was born. The ceilings are tall, and the Christmas tree in the far right corner makes it look taller on any given day. Green garland and blinking white lights wrap around the wooden columns. A big green wreath decorated in twinkling red lights hangs on the back wall.
“Pris.” I hear my name being called.
I turn around to look at my little sister. The only one who was lucky enough to miss my horrible attitude yesterday morning at breakfast. “Hey, Charlotte,” I say with a smile.
She has a flute of champagne in her hand, and I take it from her. “Hey,” she says with a frown.
“You’re underage,” I tell her as if she doesn’t already know.
“Only by three year
s.”
“I don’t care if it’s three days.” I lift the flute and sip the bubbly. “Mmm,” I say as the bubbles tingle in my throat. “Mom sure does know how to pick her alcohol for social gatherings.” I’ll give her that.
My sister rolls her pretty green eyes. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”
I give her a whatever look. She has alcohol stashed in her room. I know because I found it months ago. Although I don’t condone her drinking, I do know what it’s like to be underage when your parents own wineries.
“Do you like my dress?” she asks as she runs her hands over her hips.
“It’s…” I try to think of the correct word as I look at her bare legs. Then the lack of coverage on her chest and arms. “very sparkly,” I decide on. She smiles widely, and I can’t help but ask, “Are you trying to piss off Mom?” Her dress screams club, not benefit. That’s also why she came in here with a flute of champagne in her hand. I’m the middle child, and Charlotte is the youngest. Together, we drive Mother insane. She’s told us before that all of her gray hairs came from the two of us. “What did she do?” I ask. I haven’t spoken to my mother since I left yesterday morning. It took me all day to settle down over the fact they were talking about my past to complete strangers. Then I went out and got drunk with my best friend last night. Today, I spent most of the day getting ready for this event tonight. I may not be able to keep my mouth shut, but I don’t mind dressing up when the occasion calls for it. And tonight does.
“She caught Tony and me in bed yesterday.”
I tense at that image. “How bad was it?” Maybe they weren’t actually in the act.
“Bad! She said he wasn’t allowed in her house anymore.”
Tony is Charlotte’s boyfriend, and although I can see why my mother doesn’t want him over here, Charlotte is eighteen. And unlike my mother, I know that she has been having sex since she was sixteen. “She is just looking out for you,” I tell her truthfully. I may not agree with my mother on anything, but she has always had the same rules for all her girls. No men in the house. That’s why I moved out before I was eighteen. Took her three weeks to even know I was gone.
She snorts. “She just doesn’t want an unwed daughter getting pregnant and ruining her image.”
“You are correct.” I lift the drink to my lips and take another sip. “Are you taking your pills—”
“Yes,” she snaps, interrupting me. “I’m not a child,” she says, softening her voice. “You both act like I am.”
I don’t respond to that because I know it’s a partial truth. She’s the baby. She’s also the only one who has been brought home by the police late one night because she and her boyfriend at the time were caught smoking weed in his car. She was only fourteen. “We just worry about you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” she says and then turns to look over her shoulder. No doubt looking for our mother. She has yet to make her grand entrance, but the party just started twenty minutes ago. She should be here soon enough, and I’m going to do everything I can to avoid her.
I lift the flute and take a sip of my champagne. She turns around to face me, and her green eyes are wide in shock. “Malcolm just walked in.”
That statement has me choking on my champagne. It spills out of my lips and down my chin. I hunch over in enough time for it to hit the floor and not my dress. However, I did manage to spit some on my sister. “Thanks,” she says as she reaches up and wipes her chest and cheeks then starts to look around the ballroom. Even though I knew he was going to be here, that statement wasn’t any easier to hear.
I quickly wipe my chin with the back of my hand as I continue to cough. My throat burns from choking on it, and I quickly take another sip, hoping that it helps. It doesn’t.
My sister bites her bottom lip nervously, and she turns back to face me. “What?” I ask, refusing to look away from her. I can’t see him right now. I’m not ready.
She places her hand on my shoulder, and her eyes look up at me with sadness. “I’m sorry, Sis, but he brought someone.”
Chaseyn
“We’re here, Mr. Holmes,” I hear Clay, my family’s limo driver, announce as the partition starts to drop and our car comes to a stop. My mother insisted I arrive in one tonight.
“Thank you,” I say, clearing my throat. The woman removes her head from my lap and licks her lips.
“How do I look?” she asks with a naughty smile, brushing her bleach-blond hair from her face. Her dark lipstick is smeared around her mouth.
“Like you were just fucked,” I state honestly.
She giggles and sits back in the leather seat, readjusting her black mini dress. “I’ll freshen up when we get inside,” she informs me.
I button up my slacks right as the back door opens. I step out into the cold night air, snow still on the ground from last night and earlier today, and then turn to face the limo to help her out. “Thank you,” I tell the man who then shuts the door.
“My pleasure, sir,” he says, already moving to the next limo as ours pulls away.
“This house is huge,” she says as she hooks her arm in mine. “Who lives here?”
As we make our way across the walkway, she hurries before me, wanting inside due to her lack of clothing. “It belongs to the parents of my brother’s fiancée.”
“Your brother is getting married?” she asks excitedly.
I nod. “Seems so.”
“What are they like?”
My first thought that comes to mind is Pristine. What is she like? I was trying to be nice yesterday and get her to open up to me. Not sure why, but I wanted to hear her story. She seems interesting enough. Not like the rest of her family. But she shot me down faster than I could stop her. “No clue. Don’t know them that well,” I decide to say.
“If you don’t know them, then why did we come?” she asks.
“They own wineries.” I found this out yesterday morning after Pristine stormed out of the house. I stayed and listened to my brother and his soon-to-be wife talk about their wedding in detail. I couldn’t help but ask about the open bar, and Mr. Inger answered with we have that covered. We own wineries.
She smiles brightly. “Alcohol.”
“All you can drink,” I say, walking up the white concrete stairs and to the front doors.
We walk into the house, and three men instantly welcome us. Even though I was here yesterday morning, it looks different now. Some decorations were present, but more Christmas stuff is on the walls now. Garland wraps around every post and banister. Music plays softly over the house speakers. One of the three men carries a tray of flutes and another is taking men’s and women’s coats. I choose to keep mine, and we grab the champagne. The third man dressed in a three-piece black suit smiles at us softly. “On behalf of the Ingers, I would like to welcome you to their home.”
“Thank you,” my date says with a giggle before taking a good size gulp of her drink. We won’t be here long, but I couldn’t miss it.
“This way,” the man says before turning his back to us.
She hooks her arm in mine before we follow him. We’re not a couple, but I’m all for treating her like we are. At least for a few more hours.
We make our way down a long hallway over a red-carpeted rug. I peruse the art on the dark brown walls and the lights that hang from the ceiling. It reminds me of my parents’ mansion. I hate that house. It’s too stuffy. Too well put together. There’s no homey feel to it, and this one is no different.
The man comes to a stop in front of two large wooden doors. Two men standing in front of them bow to us and then open the doors. “Mr. and Mrs. Inger wish you a lovely evening,” the man says before he turns and walks back to the front door to greet the next guests.
I reach out before he can get away to ask, “Can you show her to the restroom?” She needs to freshen up. Her lipstick is still smeared, and her mascara ran a little from her eyes watering while sucking my cock on the way here. I need her to look halfway presentable.
<
br /> “Absolutely,” he says and holds out his arm to her. She takes it and promises to return soon before taking another drink of her champagne.
I step into the ballroom. It looks like Christmas threw up in here. People mingle while they sip their expensive champagne, and I’m sure talk about their millions.
I see three women talking in front of a Christmas tree over in the far right corner. An older woman faces me, and I recognize her as Mrs. Inger. The other two, I have no clue who they are since their backs are facing me. One a brunette, the other has dark purple hair.
The girl with the dark purple hair looks more like my date than anyone else in the room. She has a short, golden sparkly dress on. It shows almost as much skin as a teddy would reveal. The other woman with her back to me has her dark hair pulled up into a tight bun. Her shoulders are pulled back. Her posture reminds me of my mother. Business. She has on a tight-fitting black dress that touches the floor. It flares out, giving her a small train. Its long sleeves stop at her wrists, and five silver buttons shaped like diamonds start between her shoulder blades and stop at the top of her ass.
Mrs. Inger narrows her eyes at the two women and then walks off. The other women move to face one another, and I instantly realize who the brunette is. It’s Pristine. She looks so different all dressed up, and I’m impressed. Yesterday morning at breakfast, she had a careless attitude that matched her attire. But tonight…tonight, she looks like a porcelain doll. She reminds me of the dolls my mother used to collect when I was a kid. She kept them in a glass china cabinet.
“Why don’t you play with those, Mommy?” I ask her, looking up at the pretty dolls in fancy dresses. Rows and rows of them lined up side-by-side.
She bends down next to me and hands me my little red toy fire truck. “Because, honey, those are too pretty to be played with. They are for show. Not to be used.”
