by K. Webster
“He’d always tell Mother we had important matters to discuss between men,” I say, my lips turning up at the fond memory. “And we’d get borderline drunk on his stash. Later, Mother would threaten us within inches of our lives if we embarrassed her.”
Five years.
It’s been five long years since I had those moments with my father that I selfishly took for granted.
“Are we ever going to discuss the elephant in the room?” he demands in a moody tone that’s more fitting for Perry.
My brow hikes up. “The fact your girlfriend isn’t with you?”
“She’ll be here later.” His eyes pull from mine like they did when he was a child and hiding something. “I’m talking about what’s eating you. You’re all worked up. We don’t do heart to hearts, Win, so spill.”
I study him for a beat, impressed with his ability to sniff out my weakness, which is difficult for most men, never mind a teenager. “How close are you with the Mannford triplets?”
After some research, I discovered Dr. Mannford got them into Pembroke the second semester of their junior year.
“The new kids?” Keaton takes another drink and shrugs. “They stay on their turf, and I stay on mine. They don’t fuck with me.”
“You’re not a gangster, Keat. Explain this in civilized adult terms.”
He rolls his eyes, reminding me of his age again. “I mean, I don’t talk to them if I don’t have to. Pembroke is less about social standing and more about circles. My circle is rugby and theirs is lacrosse. Those circles don’t often overlap. And they aren’t welcome in the Hellfire Club.”
I almost snort. Just the mention of the Pembroke Club that ruled all others brings back memories of prep school dustups. But I have to focus on the now. “Your circles don’t often overlap, but sometimes they do?”
“It’s like this. We’re lions. They’re the hyenas feeding off our scraps. There’s no partnership, only awareness.” Leaning forward, he sets down his glass on the table between us. “Why the sudden interest in the Mannfords?”
“They’re…” I trail off and scratch at my jaw as I ponder how to word this without it getting back to Mother. “They’re overstepping into my circle. They’re on my turf. I want to know how this affects you if I kick them out of play.”
His blue eyes flash with interest. “It would entertain me greatly.”
“Something we both can agree on.” I sip my drink, my attention lasered on my little brother. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Favors will cost you.”
I bark out a laugh, because I love this kid. Fucking Constantine through and through.
“Naturally,” I rumble. “Name your price.”
Our negotiation has my thoughts drifting back to Ash and her mysterious text. Something I will get to the bottom of soon enough.
“It all depends on the favor.” He shrugs, but his eyes are shrewd, clearly invested in our negotiation. “Let’s hear it.”
“For now, I only want information. Not the bullshit Ulrich can get either. That’s common knowledge.”
Ulrich, our family’s most trusted private investigator, is the one who helped Mother uncover what she did on my ex, Meredith, and information on Dad’s “accident” that has every single fucking Constantine questioning his death.
“What then?” Keaton probes. “Like who they’re fucking?”
“Again, common knowledge. I imagine anything with a skirt.” I twirl the liquid around in my glass, enjoying the heady scent of it. “I want to know what makes them tick. I need to know how to detonate them with one push of a button.”
His brow lifts, amusement contorting his handsome features. “You’re such a dick sometimes.”
We both laugh, because he’s one too.
“Fine,” he says after a moment. “I’ll get you your information.”
“And what do you get, baby Keat?”
He stands and walks over to the liquor cabinet, picking up the bottle we’ve been drinking from. “This. Your birthday gift.”
“Little shit,” I grumble over my shoulder. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
I don’t tell him my real birthday gift will be when Cinderelliott gets on her knees and chokes on my cock. Because, if he knew, he’d want that instead, especially once he realizes Ash is his age. He might convince Mother he’s in love with the prissy little rich girl he’s with, but I know better. She’s nothing more than a tool to be used in his agenda, whatever that may be. Another reason to add to the list of why my family can’t know about this girl.
Each and every one of them will try and take her from me in some way.
Except Perry.
For the first time in . . . ever . . . the golden child is my favorite, too.
2
Ash
I can do this.
I’m not some run-of-the-mill damsel in distress.
Women who can go toe-to-toe with a Constantine and hold their own don’t faint at the first sign of danger. And though I’m shaking like a leaf with tears steadily streaming down my cheeks, I won’t let this assault stop me.
I’ll make it to that birthday ball, find my dark prince, and show those twisted triplets they’ve messed with the wrong girl. They may scare the hell out of me, but my inner fire begs to be unleashed so I can watch them burn.
My mind races with rampant thoughts. Most of them revenge filled. Some of them terrified and cowed, especially when I think of Leo and the rest of the Morellis. But the thoughts that keep me powering forward are of him.
Winston Constantine.
My fucked-up Prince Charming.
The games we play are ours, and I won’t let those psycho stepbrothers of mine or Leo Morelli make me feel ashamed of them. Win gets me in a way no one else does. But, though I’m not embarrassed of what goes on between us, and I’m certain neither is he, I can’t discount the fact that there are ripple effects that could ultimately harm us in the end. That’s why I can’t be cavalier and assume he’s going to rescue me from this situation.
No, I have to think like Winston.
There’s a way to get the triplets back. I’m sure I’ll find it, too. They see me as this weak girl they can toy with and control. They’re playing with fire even though they don’t realize it yet.
As for Morelli . . .
That’s going to take a little more thought.
Winston can help me with Scout and his scary shadows, but Leo was pretty clear about his threats. I’ll figure something out. Once I’ve rested and had time to think.
Right now, I have a party to get ready for.
The doorbell rings, and I startle. I swipe the rest of my smeared makeup off my face before tossing the washcloth back into the sink. The bell rings again. By the time I reach the door, I’m out of breath. Standing on the other side is Perry Constantine, ravishing in a tuxedo.
His concerned expression transforms into one of fury. All plans to be brave and vengeful fly out the window in this moment. I burst into tears, thankful to have someone on my side after the horrible crap I just endured.
“Fuck, Ash,” Perry growls, pulling me to him in a fierce hug. “What the hell happened to you?”
He squeezes me tight, holding all the cracked and brittle pieces of me together. I allow myself a few ragged sobs before I’m reeling it back. Sniffling and swallowing down the emotion. There’s no time for this. I pull from his embrace, swiping at my eyes with the palms of my hands.
“Long story,” I croak out. “Right now, I need your help.”
Turning on my heel, I rush up the stairs to grab my bag. His heavy footfalls behind me are comforting. As soon as we enter my room, he lets out a string of curse words.
“What the fuck happened?” he demands, gesturing at my ruined dress on the floor. “Don’t give me the ‘long story’ bullshit. Your brothers did this to you?”
“Step,” I hiss, shoving the contents of my backpack they’d yanked out earlier back inside and zipping it. “They’re assholes.”
&nb
sp; Perry shakes his head, blue eyes flashing with anger. “This is beyond asshole behavior. This is insanity. It’s assault.” His face pales. “Wait . . . Did they . . .”
“No,” I rush out, swiping at another tear. “Just cut my dress up and did their best to ruin me.”
He scowls and lifts a thumb to my lip, brushing over the cut Scout gave me when he kissed me. “They hurt you.”
“Scout did that, but don’t worry, it’s the worst of it.”
His eyes penetrate me as he attempts to read past the surface. Of course there’s more to it. He may be the nice Constantine, but he’s still a Constantine—able to smell bullshit from a mile away. But, unlike Winston, he doesn’t demand answers or do everything in his power to extract them. It’s better that Perry came to my rescue rather than Winston. There’s no telling what Winston would do if he saw me in a wrecked state he had no part in.
Why?
Because he cares.
Right?
My self-doubt wars with logic.
As much as he would like to deny it, I know deep down he does. We wouldn’t have gotten ourselves in this mess to begin with if he didn’t. But I often wonder if it’s enough. Could someone like Winston Constantine—intense, handsome, incredibly successful—tie himself to a woman of not only another class entirely, but someone half his age? I’d like to think we have more in common than what appears on the surface. Only time will tell, I guess. Time. How much do we have? I push away the nagging memory of his words, of how I’m only his entertainment for this year, and next year it’ll be a yacht or a car.
“You can’t go to the party looking like that,” Perry utters, frustration evident in his tone. “You know that, right?” He sighs and pulls out his phone, sending a tremor of apprehension skittering through me. “Hold on. I know what to do.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Reinforcements.”
He starts talking on the phone, barking out orders in a way that reminds me of his older brother. I follow him out of the room and down the stairs. Once outside, my eyebrows lift at his car. He ends the call, pocketing the phone and chuckling.
“Sweet ride, am I right?”
I try not to grimace. “It’s so . . . orange.”
“It’s a 1969 Chevy Chevelle. Custom exterior and interior. Seventeen-inch wheels. A 454 big-block engine.” He flashes me a boyish grin. “Total chick magnet.”
That smile of his is the chick magnet, not the bright orange beast of a car.
“It looks like a pumpkin,” I blurt out, laughing.
“A pumpkin with badass white racing stripes and white leather interior.” He flips me off as he opens the passenger side door. “Your carriage to the ball, princess. Get in or walk. Your choice.”
I pretend to consider his ultimatum, tapping my chin with my finger. “Kidding.” Quickly, I hug him again. “Thank you.”
“You’re my brother’s girl. There’s nothing to thank me for.”
His brother’s girl.
A girl can certainly wish.
I’m stunned speechless as we make our way up the driveway to what Perry calls “the Constantine compound.” It’s bigger than any mansion I’ve ever seen. Maybe a few mansions shoved together. People are milling about everywhere, dressed in fancy gowns and tuxedos, reminding me that I have to get my ass into gear and quickly.
“I’m going to park in the garage. We’ll sneak in that way,” Perry assures me, flashing me a comforting smile.
I swipe my sweaty palms over the denim of my jeans. I’m thankful for Perry. There’s no way I could consider doing this without his help. If I’m Cinderelliott, then Perry is most definitely my fairy godmother, which means this story is completely, irretrievably fucked up.
Perry pulls into a garage bay, the loud engine echoing against the walls and rattling my bones. After he kills the engine, we climb out, rushing into the stately home. Rather than heading toward the sounds of piano and voices, Perry ushers me down a series of hallways. I’m practically running to keep up with him.
“This way is Tinsley’s room,” he says, grabbing my wrist.
“Tinsley?”
“Little sister.” He flashes me a grin over his shoulder. “Reinforcements.”
My heart does a little flutter that Winston’s siblings are helping me. I’ve felt so alone ever since Dad started dating Manda and then more so after they were married. I’d been delusional to be excited, at first, to have three stepbrothers. Being an only child, I always craved having siblings. Seeing how the Constantines stick together, it warms my heart, especially now that I feel like I’m a part of it.
“In here,” he says, pushing into a bedroom that’s bigger than the entire first floor of our brownstone. “Ash, meet Tinsley. Tins, meet Winston’s . . .”
“Assistant,” I throw out. “I’m his personal assistant. Ash Elliott.”
Tinsley, dressed in white denim shorts and a pale yellow halter top, turns to look my way. Her bright blue eyes are curious, though a bit apprehensive. All the Constantine kids look alike. Perfect, golden-haired, beautiful people who could easily be models or celebrities. Tinsley, though she seems younger than Perry and me, is every bit as gorgeous as the rest of them.
“Personal assistant?” Tinsley’s lips curl into an amused grin. “Is that what Winny’s calling her?”
Perry chuckles. “For now. Do you have something she could wear?”
“Don’t you think we ought to do something about her face and hair first?” Tinsley asks, frowning. “Mother will lose her mind if Winston’s ‘personal assistant’ shows up looking anything less than perfect.”
“Jac and Gus will be here soon. I already texted Keaton to grab them and bring them back here.” Perry gestures at his little sister. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
She shrugs, her bottom lip pouting out slightly. “I don’t feel like it.”
“Mother won’t stand for a no-show, Tins,” Perry says, his voice firm. “You need to get dressed.”
She’s saved from further big brother bossiness when the bedroom door opens, drawing all of our attention. Another Constantine, much younger than Winston but still a hot replica of him, strides in, arrogance rippling from him. His tuxedo fits him well, showcasing a muscular, athletic body. Where Tinsley and Perry have a warmness about them, something feels much colder with the new arrival.
“Keaton,” Perry greets. “Where are Jac and Gus?”
“Unloading their car.” Keaton’s eyes land on me, and he narrows them. “You must be the charity case.”
Tinsley mutters something under her breath about him being rude, and Perry clenches his jaw. I, however, am not unnerved. If anything, he reminds me the most of Winston. And there’s a familiarity in his coldness that I immediately warm to.
“In the flesh,” I say with a shrug. “Winston wants me at his party. Someone thought I shouldn’t go and tried to stop me. But we all know Winston gets what he wants no matter the cost.”
Keaton smirks, and Perry rolls his eyes while Tinsley smothers a grin.
“We’re here!” a high-pitched voice sings. “Miss Tinsley, you look ravishing. Give us fifteen minutes and you’ll be ready for the—oh, sweet baby Jesus do not tell me this is what we’re working our magic on!”
A small, short man with pink hair and a lip ring is gaping at me like I’m a disease he might catch. Right behind him, a heavier-set guy loaded down with bags grunts, also unsure as he sizes me up. Unlike his prissy other half, he’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans with jet-black hair styled messily on his head.
“Gustavo,” the little man whines, waving a wild hand at me. “Feast your eyes on this monstrosity! This is going to be impossible. I mean, just look at all that splotchiness on her face! Don’t even get me started on the fright that’s her hair!”
Keaton laughs, smacking Perry on the back. “Maybe you should be paying them double. He’s right. She’s a mess, man.”
Perry straightens and stalks over to me. “Charge me whatever it take
s, Jac, but make it happen. She needs to not only be party ready, but she needs to be the highlight of tonight. Make her stand out.”
Jac scoffs. “Don’t insult me. You know my brother and I are the best.” He then turns to regard me with narrowed eyes, gesturing at my messy, damp bun. “The hair is going to be the most difficult part. You have a ton of it, and it’s still wet. Luckily, I brought the emergency hair.”
“What the fuck is emergency hair?” Keaton asks, his features more boyish now that they’re contorted into a horrified expression.
“Wigs, dumbass,” Perry says, shaking his head. “Come on, Keat, let’s have a chat while they work on the girls.”
“I’m not going,” Tinsley says, straightening her spine, her voice soft but unwavering. “Please don’t make me go.”
The three siblings seem to converse without words, each of them eyeing each other up as though they can see into the other’s head.
“She can wear my dress, not borrow one.” Tinsley’s blue eyes brighten as if she’s sold herself on the idea and now needs to convince her brothers. “Jac brought emergency hair because he thought he was getting me ready which means Ash here can pass as a blonde.”
Keaton scowls, and Perry shakes his head.
“Yes,” Tinsley says, her voice a litter firmer. “No one will notice. Ash can avoid Mother, and she’ll think I was there as long as Ash keeps her distance.”
“Nope,” Perry grunts. “Mom already texted to let us know we’re expected to make toasts at midnight. You have to be there.”
Tinsley deflates, her bottom lip poking out in a cute way. “Oh.”
“Maybe there’s a way.” Keaton edges over to her, his overprotectiveness rippling in waves as he slings a muscular arm over his sister’s dainty shoulders. “Ash could always attend the party, avoid Mother, and before the stroke of midnight, the two of you could swap the dress out just in time for the toasts.”
