I know, poor little rich girl, right? Cry me a river.
Mason though, he took to it like a duck to water. Though our actual parents raised us very differently – he was a different person back then – it wasn't long before he adopted the snooty, entitled, totally condescending, and arrogant air of the rich kids we went to school with. He assimilated with that crowd all too easily.
Mason was always trying to prove that he was better than the next guy. As if by tearing them down, he was propping himself up even higher. And maybe in his mind he was. But, the way I see it, he tried too hard. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't really one of them, and never would be, and it killed him.
Mason has always tried to prove that he belongs in the wealthy, elite circles my aunt and uncle belong to.
And he did it by becoming an even bigger, more arrogant and condescending asshole than they were. And, as he's become established in his career, and started to make a name for himself in his own right, Mason’s only gotten worse. That sense of arrogance and entitlement only became further entrenched in his DNA.
Yeah, our relationship isn't exactly the best. We were close at one time. Inseparable. When we were at St. Agatha's, and even shortly after we went to live with our aunt and uncle, we clung to each other. We were the only real constants in each other's lives for so long, and our bond was strong.
But, it wasn't long after Mason got a taste of that upper-class lifestyle and all of its trappings, that he started to change. It wasn't all that long after we moved Upstate that he became somebody different.
After we moved back to the city, he really changed. Once we were fully immersed in our aunt and uncle's circles, Mason became somebody I didn't even recognize anymore. He became self-absorbed, narcissistic, and entitled as hell.
It broke my heart to see Mason go from being a protective and doting big brother, to another spoiled, rich asshole, with the world handed to them on a silver platter.
I'm not going to deny that I love the privilege that comes with belonging to such a wealthy family. I'd be an idiot not to. I’m entirely grateful for the advantages and perks that come with being able to buy nice clothes, travel the world, and basically, doing whatever I want. But, that's the thing – I recognize it as a privilege. A privilege I know not everybody gets to have. I know I get breaks and advantages that others don't. I'm always cognizant of that fact, and unlike my brother, it's never all that far from my mind.
Also, further cementing the privilege I enjoy in my life is the constant reminder – at least, the reminder I give to myself – that this is not how we grew up. Or rather, it's not how we were growing up before our parents were killed. As young as I was when they died, I still remember that we were a blue-collar, middle-class family. We never went without, but we certainly didn't have anything resembling the lavish lifestyle we do now.
Unlike Mason, I haven't forgotten where we came from.
“It's cold,” Jade complains, pulling her sweater around herself a little tighter.
“It's that time of year again,” I reply.
She looks at the lot again, an expression of distaste upon her lips. Jade’s a sweet girl, she isn’t arrogant, entitled, or condescending, but she doesn’t really understand the concept of privilege either.
“You're not really going in there are you?” Jade asks.
I look back and give her a grin. “How do you expect me to get the shot I want from so far away?”
She sighs. “This is why you asked me to wear this – costume?”
I look her up and down. She's in jeans, a white button-up shirt, a fashionable cardigan, and tennis shoes. I only told her to be comfortable, and that we'd be walking a bit, so something casual would probably be best.
Though she probably considers it borderline scandalous to be dressed in such casual attire – in public no less – I don't want to attract any undue attention to us. God knows we get enough whistles and catcalls from the old perverts on our side of town when we're in our school uniforms.
Hell's Kitchen is entirely different. I'm smart enough to know that. It's the last place two girls like us want to be running around in prep school uniforms, or in designer outfits that obviously cost a lot of money.
Gravel crunches beneath my feet as I step into the lot, approaching the mural, looking at it with awe. For someone with nothing more than cans of spray paint, and an idea in their head, the work is exquisite. Absolutely beautiful.
The main subject of the mural is an older black woman. There's a euphoric smile on her kind face, and she's reaching out to a group of children of various ethnicities. The piece is breathtaking.
The eyes of the subjects are what captivates me the most. The eyes are somehow so real and filled with actual life, that they seem to be looking at you. Seeing you.
Digging my camera out of my bag, I make my way around all the trash in the lot, careful to avoid twisting my ankle or stepping on a hidden needle, or something equally dangerous. I find a vantage point and take some pictures of the mural, shooting it from different angles, reveling in its majesty.
“I honestly don't know how anybody can say this isn't art,” I say. “I mean, look at it. It's absolute perfection.”
Jade shrugs. “Well, it is spray painted on the side of a building?” she says. “Instead of hanging in a gallery? I mean, that's kind of the definition of art, isn't it?”
“Well, it's a little more complicated than that,” I say.
“Whatever,” Jade says, obviously growing a little impatient.
* * *
“Okay, got it,” I say, slipping my camera back into my bag. “I want to see if there are any others.”
Jade sighs. “This is so boring,” she says, folding her arms over her chest, though I can't tell if it's in irritation, or because she’s cold. “This is not what I had in mind when you said you wanted to do a walking tour.”
I grinned as we left the lot. “And what did you think I had in mind?”
“A walking tour of dress shops, maybe?” she asks. “Boutiques? Places with hot college guys?”
I laugh. “I need to get these shots for a project I'm putting together for Ms. Sutherland's class,” I say. “I appreciate you coming with me, though.”
“You owe me,” she says, narrowing her eyes.
“Of course, I do.”
Though I'm a little cold, all the walking we're doing is keeping me warm. I need to enjoy days like this, when it's not too frigid yet. With winter, and Christmas, on the not too distant horizon, things in the city are going to get very, very cold, and very, very crazy.
We walk down the street and are rounding a corner when a guy comes rushing out of a bar and bumps into me. I stumble back, and he manages to catch me before I fall. Looking up into his eyes, I feel my breath catch in my throat. We stand like that, with me in his arms, for a long moment, and my heart begins to race.
I don't know what it is, but there's something so familiar about him. Slowly, he sets me on my feet, but our gazes remain locked, and his hand is still on my arm.
“Get your hands off her, you creep,” Jade snarls, as she steps forward, and smacks his hand away from my arm. “And watch where you're going while you're at it. You just about knocked her on her ass.”
The man recoils and looks at her, as if noticing her for the first time. A slow smirk spreads across his face as he takes her in from head to toe.
“You her bodyguard or something?” he asks.
Jade shrinks back from his direct, piercing eyes, but quickly catches herself. She lifts her chin defiantly and stares daggers through him. She is a small girl – all of five-foot-three, one hundred pounds – but, she does her best to not let other people push her around or intimidate her. She overcompensates for her tiny stature, by being full of nothing, as my uncle would say, but piss and vinegar.
My best friend, she's a feisty one. Jade doesn't usually back down from a challenge.
“Yeah, maybe I am,” Jade says, trying to put some heat
into her voice. “You want to make something of it?”
I can't take my eyes off the man and feel some fuzzy memories stirring in the back of my mind. I know him from somewhere – I’m sure of it. I just can't put my finger on where that might be.
The feeling though, is like a splinter in the back of my mind, and I can't seem to shake it. His attention is fixed on Jade – not that I blame him. She's a knockout and has the perfect body to go along with her supermodel good looks. She's usually the center of attention whenever we're with guys.
I know I'm not terrible to look at, but I feel downright plain and ordinary when I stand next to her. It's almost like I cease to exist when Jade enters the room. My hair is red, instead of perfectly blonde. And I'm not a big girl, but I've got some curves.
“Maybe I do,” he says.
The man steps closer to her. He's over six-feet tall. He's got wide shoulders, a thick chest, and under a tight black t-shirt, I can tell he has a toned body corded with lean muscle. He looms over her, engulfing Jade in his shadow.
She swallows hard and tries to put a tough look on her face, but I can see the fear in her eyes as the man glares down at her. He's got a strong jawline, blue-gray eyes, and sandy-blonde hair. He has classic good looks. Being the classic movie junkie I am, he reminds me of a young Marlon Brando, and I feel like I might swoon if I look at him too long.
“Sweetheart, you ain't from this neighborhood,” he says. “Just a piece of friendly advice, but you really don't wanna step up on somebody like that. That's just an invitation for things to go sideways real fast.”
“What are you going to do, hit me?” she spits.
“I’m not gonna hit you,” he says. “Like I said, I'm just givin' you some friendly advice. When you bring your posh little ass down here from the Upper East Side to slum in the Kitchen, you need to know where you're steppin'. That's all I'm sayin'.”
I stand to the side, completely forgotten, watching the exchange silently. The air around us is electric and filled with tension. It's like the atmosphere right before a storm break.
I don't know what it is, but as I look at him, and listen to him speaking, I don't believe he'd actually hurt Jade. Or me. He might seem tough. But, there's something about him that also seems – kind. It's like he's wearing a mask to hide his true self and keep him safe.
But, something – maybe, my intuition – tells me that beneath that mask is a completely different man. Someone who is kind and caring. The mask of the bad boy he wears is just that – a mask. A facade. A persona he's constructed for – for whatever reason.
And still – that intense aura of familiarity lingers.
“That's pretty presumptuous, you cretin,” Jade hisses. “To assume we're from the Upper East Side like that. How totally gauche. Stereotype much?”
The man laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, practically doubling over in hysterics. I have to admit, it is pretty funny, but I bite back my grin, and the giggle that threatens to bubble up out of my throat. Jade doesn't even realize how she's just given herself away, and I don't want to add to the embarrassment he's about to rain down over her.
“You're hilarious,” he says. “For a pampered little rich girl, you're damn funny.”
“I don't see what's so funny,” Jade shoots back at him.
She cuts me a curious look, but I'm still trying to keep the smile off my face, so I just shrug like I have no idea what he's talking about.
“First of all,” he says, “people from around the Kitchen don't use words like presumptuous or cretin. And we certainly don't use words like gauche. Those are words you only know, let alone use, if you go to some fancy prep school in Richie-Rich land.”
Jade's face colors and she looks away, realizing her error. As if he'd forgotten I was even there, he turns to me and I see his eyes widen slightly. And when our gazes meet, I feel a current of electricity pass between us. Then, I see a light of recognition dawn in his eyes, and see a slow sweet smile touch his lips.
He snaps his fingers, and then points one at me. “Your name doesn't happen to be Darby, does it? Darby White?” he asks. “I mean, I feel stupid for asking, it's just that –”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. “I'm Darby White.”
I'm speaking too fast, I know, but I feel an excitement bubbling up within me. I finally have a name to put with the face. I only hope it's the right name.
“And you're Carter Bishop,” I say. “Right?”
He nods, and his smile grows even wider. “Damn,” he says. “I can't believe it. What's it been, eight years?”
I nod. “Yeah, about that.”
“I don't believe it,” he says. “Look at you, all grown up.”
“Yeah, I can't really believe it either. I mean, what are the odds?” I say. “How'd you even know it was me after all these years?”
I see a hint of color in his cheeks and he cuts his eyes away from me. “Your eyes,” he says. “I remember your eyes.”
“This little reunion thing happening here is great and all,” Jade interrupts as she gets her footing back. “But, who in the hell are you?”
I turn to Jade and give her a smile. “Sorry,” I say. “This is Carter. He was in the home Mason and I stayed at after our parents died. He – watched over us.”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
I laugh. “I clearly remember you beating up a guy who was picking on Mason.”
“I don't remember that,” he says.
“Great, so he's a thug?” Jade snaps. “Nice company you keep, Darbs.”
I roll my eyes. “Easy, Jade,” I say. “Carter took care of us while we were in the home. He looked out for us, and made sure nobody messed with us.”
Jade looks at me and then to Carter and I can see something passing across her face, as well as a bit of a fire burning behind her eyes. I know exactly what she's thinking and know her expressions well enough to know that it's lust. A burning, insatiable, unquenchable lust. I don't know why it took me so long to recognize it.
“Listen,” Carter says, looking at his watch. “I need to go run a few errands. Can I give you two a lift somewhere?”
Considering we'd taken a cab down to the Kitchen, I'm certainly not opposed to getting a ride. I look over at Jade, who gave me a small, sly grin. I know exactly what she's thinking.
“Yes,” she replies, letting her eyes slide up and down his body.
“That'd be great,” I say. “Thank you, Carter.”
We follow him around the building to a parking lot. He walks over to a classic Thunderbird convertible that looks like it's in perfect condition. It's a beautiful car and kind of fits with that “old Hollywood” vibe he has about him, and somehow, it endears him to me a little bit more.
Despite the fact that it's a chilly day, the top is down.
He holds open the door and pushes the seat forward. Jade all but pushes me into the back seat, and then slips into the front seat herself. He closes the passenger side door, and I hear Carter laughing to himself as he comes around to the driver's side.
He slips behind the wheel and buckles himself in, adjusting the rearview mirror so he can see me. When our eyes meet in the mirror, I feel my breath catch in my throat, and an electrical charge surge through my body that makes me flush.
I haven't seen him since I was a child, a full decade ago, and yet I somehow feel like I know him. I somehow feel comfortable around him. It's crazy, I only spent about a month around him, but it feels like there’s a connection between us.
Carter starts the car, and Bing Crosby's voice issues from the speakers, singing some old holiday classic. Carter quickly turns the volume down and looks a little abashed.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No need to apologize for liking Christmas music,” Jade says, her voice sultry. “I think it's sweet. It's not often you see a man like yourself getting into the Christmas spirit.”
He laughs. “Hate to break it to you, but I'm not a fan of Chris
tmas,” he says. “Some of the music is nice to listen to now and then, but Christmas itself is just another day to me. Nothing special about it. That song just happened to be on the station.”
Undeterred, Jade moves herself across the seat, moving a little closer to him. He looks at her, a cocky grin on his face, and shakes his head.
“Better buckle up,” he says and pushes her back to her side of the big, bench seat.
Carter pulls out of the parking lot and looks at me in the mirror. “So, where am I taking you?”
“Wherever you'd like,” Jade says, a flirty tone in her voice.
He smiles but says nothing. Instead, his eyes continue to flit between me and the road. Traffic isn't moving very quickly, and the sun is beginning to drift toward the horizon. A staccato rhythm beats wildly in my chest whenever his eyes catch mine in the mirror.
“How old are you?” Jade asks.
“Twenty-two,” he replies.
“Well, why don't we go grab something to drink and go park somewhere,” Jade suggests.
I'm not much of a drinker, to be honest. Never have been. I don't need alcohol to have a good time.
But, if it means spending a little more time with Carter, I'm suddenly all for it. It's crazy, but I want to know more about him.
It makes absolutely no logical sense. I barely knew him at St. Agatha’s. I was only eight years old. I know this is crazy. I know how utterly ridiculous this all sounds, and there's part of me that's shocked at the thoughts racing through my head. I mean, I was just a little kid when I knew him, really. Maybe, he was my first crush or something. I really don’t know.
“How old are you two?” he asks.
“We're both eighteen,” Jade quickly respond.
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