by Allen, Dylan
“No. But you’re an adult. If I pay and you can get in, what could he do?”
My excitement fades as the reality of our circumstances seeps back into the picture he’s painting.
“James, he’ll be so mad if you help me. It’s not worth it. I have a job. I’ll work and save. Art school in New York City...it’s just a pipe dream.”
“It doesn’t have to be, Liz.” He says solemnly and my pulse ratchets up in my chest. Oh my God. He’s serious.
Don’t get excited when the odds are so stacked against you, Liz.
“There’s student housing and everything. And New York, I think, is more your speed than Winsome.”
I’ve never been, but I think anywhere would be more my speed than Winsome, so I don’t argue. And I want to drop the subject because my heart is starting to race in a way that scares me. Expectations, hopes, dreams are so dangerous.
“I don’t know… who’ll take care of you?”
“I’ll come visit. And I’ve got a wife, remember,” He says sternly.
I swallow my comment about his wife’s frequent absences and try to deflect again.
“James, it’s fine. I’m saving—”
“You’re a fucking receptionist, Liz. It’ll take you years. And, each year you stay here, it’ll get harder to leave. Let me do this for you. Focus on your applications, and when you get in, it’s on me,” he says, and I leap into his arms and hug him tight.
“Thank you for wanting to do that for me. For believing in me that much.” I sniffle when we pull apart. His expression softens when he sees the tears pool in my eyes.
“Look at that…rainbows.” He smiles and wipes a tear off my cheek.
I cry so infrequently that he always says my tears are as rare as rainbows.
He smiles. “I want different things for you. Finish school, fall in love, paint your way through Europe. Let your heart decide. Duke Tremaine is hardly the thing of fairy tales.”
“I don’t believe in fairy tales. I want things that I can hold on to. Look at Mom. That’s what happens when you let your heart decide.”
“At least she’s happy,” he says stiffly.
The subject of our mother is a very sore point of contention between us. Unbidden and unwelcome, a quiver of pain runs through me at the thought of my mother.
“Dammit. Not today,” I mutter to myself and try to push it away so we can finish the conversation about school.
“I know I shouldn’t worry about leaving here. It’s just…y’all are all I have. Mom and Phil are gone. We may never see them again. You and Daddy are all I have. And yeah, I want him to love me.”
James’s expression turns pained.
“Liz…”
“I know with failing out of school and my learning problems and looking like her…I get scared sometimes that I’ll never do anything to please him. That he’ll always see me the way he saw Mom and the way he sees Fiona. As a nuisance. He likes Duke. If Duke liked me—”
“Duke won’t ever like you.” He says harshly.
I can’t hide my hurt at his frank assessment and my eyes sting with tears I won’t allow to fall. I let out a deep breath and collect myself before I speak again. But I can’t bring myself to meet his eye.
“Okay--. I mean I know I’m not--”
“Fuck, Liz, it’s not about you,” he shakes his head.
“If Duke knew about the money you’re going to inherit, he’d be engaged to you already.”
I have a rush of excitement at the thought of being Duke’s fiancée. My father would die of happiness. And oh, how great it would be to walk into church with his ring on my finger. Maybe if I told him…
James’s groan snaps me out of my little scheming session.
“What?”
“I can see your mind turning. He would make you miserable. Be careful with him today. If he knew…he’d be dangerous to you.”
I roll my eyes and blow a dismissive breath. “He’s not kidnapping me and dragging me to Vegas at gunpoint.”
“Shit, if I thought that, I wouldn’t be letting you go.”
It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. When they do, I squeal and jump up and hug his neck.
“Thank you so much,” I croon.
He tugs my arms off and looks like he wants to punch something when he looks down at me.
“You’re an adult. I can’t stop you, but I want you to know what’s at stake.”
“James, come on, you’re being so over the top,” I snap, exasperated by his dramatic warning.
“Dad treats you like you’re invisible and has pretty much written you off as useless.”
I flinch at his verbal slap in the face.
“I don’t care about tha—”
“You do care. Very much. And I understand. He’s your father. You want him to see you.” His expression full of knowing challenge.
I can’t hold his gaze; he’s right. I want his approval, badly.
“Trust me when I say, your life is better without his attention. The minute he thinks you’re useful, he’ll make it impossible for you to leave.”
“Well, maybe being here wouldn’t be so bad if I was useful.”
“No. Focus on your goal. The only thing useful about you or any woman in his eyes, are the sons you’ll push into this world to grow his family. You don’t want his approval. Make yourself proud. And don’t do anything stupid tonight.” His expression is full of resignation and fairly brimming with disappointment as he turns back to his work.
I leave the room, because even though he’s not looking at me, I feel exposed and guilty.
But the most unsettling thing is the way his warning sends unease prickling up my spine.
But I also know that what I said is how I feel. I could deal with his constant scorn if I could find a way to break it up with moments of pride.
Maybe then, he’d see me and my worth.
A car horn honks from the other side of the door. I walk back to his office to say goodbye. Just as I walk in, an errant cloud that had been providing shade to the room disappears. A ray of sunlight falls over him and makes his golden hair look like a halo. He looks up and smiles at me, and he’s positively angelic.
I hold my phone up and snap a picture of him, I want to draw him just like that.
He stands and meets me halfway, and by the time we reach each other his smile is gone.
“Call me if you need a ride. It doesn’t matter how late. I’ll come get you.”
“Okay,” I say and glance down in exasperation at his hand, which is still holding my shoulder tight.
“He’s waiting, J. I have to go.”
He ignores me.
“Do not get in the car with him if he’s been drinking. And here…” He lets me go and turns to open the drawer of the small wooden side table he keeps there and turns back around holding a handful of condoms.
I recoil.
“Oh my God, please stop being gross.” I stick my tongue out and tuck my chin into my neck in disgust.
“Don’t be juvenile.” He thrusts them at me, his expression frank and judgment free.
“You’re my big brother; this is weird.”
I press my hands to my ears and close my eyes and shake my head to try and dislodge that whole exchange from my head. He tugs my hands away from my head and pulls me into a hug.
“God, you’ve looked like a woman for so long, that sometimes I forget that you’re still a kid,” he says into the top of my hair, his hug growing tighter as we stand there.
“You are only eight years older than me, James,” I say as I struggle free from him.
He holds me still.
“Be good,” he whispers into the top of my head before he turns and gives me a slight shove out the door. “And be home on time. I have plans for us tomorrow, bright and early.”
“Yes, Mom.” I sarcastically singsong and dart down his paved walkway before he can stop me again.
3
ALL THAT GLITTERS
&nbs
p; ELISABETH
I pull open the passenger side door of Duke’s completely blacked-out Tahoe and hop in.
“Hey,” I chirp as I slide into the cool interior, sweat already beading down my back from the short walk down the drive.
“It’s so hot today,” I sigh as the A/C wafts over me and buckle my seat belt. I reach into my bag, digging around for my sunglasses.
“Where’s James?” Duke asks.
His question surprises me enough that I forget about my sunglasses and look at him.
“Did you invite him, too?” I ask, confused by this.
“No. I just thought when you said you were staying with him that…” His voice trails off. I frown at him, thrown off-kilter by how disappointed he sounds.
He and James were close when we were kids, but as far as I know, they only see each other when our families get together. And even then, I’ve never seen them do more than exchange hellos.
“I asked him to come, but he’s being the responsible heir apparent and working,” I say, trying to keep the mood light.
He doesn’t respond, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. My thoughts of triumph over the girls at the party today begin ebbing away. I look down at my freshly-waxed legs to hide the tears I feel stinging my eyes.
“If you don’t want to take me anymore, I understand,” I say quietly.
He starts the car with a sharp turn of the key and the engine roars to life. I glance over at him in surprise to find him smiling at me.
“No, man. Let’s go. It’ll be fun.”
I try not to look as relieved as I feel, but my nod of agreement is so vehement my neck pops.
We pull out of the driveway; the car’s radio is blaring and gives me cover from the small talk I’m not capable of.
I close my eyes and lose myself in the place where I am always safest - my imagination.
I picture the lake we’re headed to. I’ve only been once, but I know it’s beautiful this time of year.
At dusk, the dappled light makes the leaves glow like amber, honey and jade as they catch the last of the sun’s rays. The bonfires are lit as soon as the sky gets that first hint of lavender. The fire casts long shadows of the people gathered around and that’s where I find my gold.
I used to imagine when I was a little girl that the fairies and unicorns and angels we all believed in—but couldn’t see—lived in those shadows.
Most children were afraid of the dark. But to me, it’s always been a kindred spirit.
Misunderstood.
Underutilized.
In my shadows, I was free to imagine a world where I was beautiful. Elisabeth Mortimer Wells had wings and flawless skin that changed colors, depending on my mood. And when the handsome, dark-haired Fey lord kissed me, I was always the same emerald color of his eyes. When he picked flowers for me, I glowed with sparkling yellow. When he sang songs he’d written for me, I became the same color as the night sky. Deep, deep, deep blue flecked with a million diamond stars.
It’s daytime that I wish I could sleep through.
The sunrise brought with it my father’s thinly veiled insults over breakfast.
On weekdays, it ushered in a school day full of stares, snickers and solitude.
Daylight meant strangers looking at my face and asking, “Does that hurt?” or “What is that?”
I spent my days longing for that magical hour when the sun would cede its perch to the moon.
That’s when I came alive through the drawings that had become the savior of my sanity.
“Hey.” Duke’s hand on my shoulder jolts me awake. I sit up straight with a start and blink against the sunlight that’s streaming in through the windows.
“What?” I ask and run a hand over my face once before I remember my makeup.
Duke turns the radio down abruptly.
“We need to talk.” His voice is gruff and sharp. I look up to find his jaw tight as he watches the road, and his fingers drum an agitated, uncoordinated beat on the steering wheel.
His chest rises rapidly like he’s breathing hard.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
When he finally glances at me, the dread in his eyes puts me on alert.
I sit up straight. His profile’s back in view, and a muscle in his cheek is jumping.
“What?” I ask again.
“Did you tell him…what…we…?” He looks nervous, and I flush from a fresh wave of shame.
“What? No way,” I say tightly to cover my mortification.
“Are you sure?” he demands. Insult mingles with my embarrassment, and I bristle.
“Unless you’re suggesting I have amnesia, what you’re really asking is if I’m lying.” My words are rigid and clipped, but he doesn’t seem to notice and relaxes in his seat, his breath leaving him in a relieved sigh.
“No. I believe you.”
I bristle at that, and I realize that I don’t care if he believes me.
“It’s just…it’s better if we keep this on the downlow. You know…your dad is kinda old-fashioned. I don’t want to find myself walking up an aisle with a shotgun pointed at my back,” he says flippantly, and my stomach falls to my toes and shame sends heat rushing up my neck and face.
My heart has never been involved here, so that’s not what hurts… But my pride, the fragile remnant of it anyway, takes the full impact of the blow.
“Right,” I bite out and finally find my sunglasses. I slip them on and look out the window. I hope he’ll take the hint and stop talking about this.
“I just don’t want anyone getting any ideas about us or anything. We’re not a couple.” He points between us.
“Of course we’re not.” And the bitterness that is clawing at the back of my throat spills out. At least James could rest easy that Duke would ever try to take advantage of me, much less trap me into marriage.
“Your father’s been wanting to set us up for years, but I’m holding out for one of those princesses in Europe. One with money. You know when you keep that thing covered – you’re kinda hot. With your dad’s connections, you might score something like that, too.”
I look at him, some of the shine rubbed away from the rose-tinted lenses I’ve been wearing around him. He looks so self-assured.
But, I know better.
His vanity is anchored in the steady diet of praise and adoration he’s received. Not just his parents and their sycophants, but everyone who lives in Winsome. But, I remember the one time we all traveled to Houston and how a benign joke Phil made at his expense, turned him apoplectic with anger in front of a crowd of people he’d hoped to impress.
He can’t bear any criticism and needs constant flattery to maintain his interest in anything.
I never forgot that day…or his extremely delicate ego.
So, I bite back the laugh his talk of marrying a royal induces.
Besides his exceptionally good looks, there’s nothing all that remarkable about him. He was a terrible student, a second-string football player, and of his brothers, he’s the least accomplished. He works for his father, but it’s not really clear that he does anything more than book his travel and stay out of his way.
I can’t imagine that a princess, no matter how minor, wouldn’t have better prospects than him.
I may not be a prize, but at least I’m not delusional.
“We have that in common, you and I,” he says conversationally.
“What’s that?” I ask, not following his train of thought.
“Your brother gets everything; so do mine. We both gotta marry money if we want to keep living this life.”
James’ warning floats back into my head. Not that I think he would actually be interested in me even if he did know, but I don’t tell him how wrong he is.
“Or, we could just earn it ourselves,” I say under my breath.
He winks at me, his grin lopsided and cocky. “Since I was your first, maybe when we’re both tied down with our rich ball and chains, I can be
your hall pass. That night was pretty hot.”
At the mention of that evening, my tolerant amusement disappears.
“I’ll have to take your word for what happened. I don’t remember enough to say." I try my best not to sound accusatory. I don’t want to start another argument with him.
He laughs to himself, shaking his head as if he’s enjoying a fond memory. I don’t want to even try to imagine what he’s remembering. I can’t believe I let him do that to me.
“Oh man…after we were…done, you were knocked out. Fucked you so deep, put your ass to sleep.”
He’s still laughing, but there’s something sinister in the way he said that, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I press myself to the door, putting as much distance between us as I can.
I remember how sore every part of my body had been. I’d cried tears of relief when my period showed up a few days later because I’m not on birth control, and I couldn’t remember if he’d used a condom.
I look at him now, and I can’t believe that thirty minutes ago, I was thinking about him being my book boyfriend in disguise.
What a joke. I’m such a fool.
“You’re fun to party with. There’ll be lots of liquor there tonight.”
The thought of alcohol makes me queasy.
“I don’t plan on drinking much,” I say.
“Well, my friend will be there and we can get at it again like we did. He liked you. And he didn’t see you that morning so he doesn’t know about…” He draws a circle in the air next to his left cheek.
I don’t say anything. I just turn the volume on the radio up again, louder than it was before.
But, I don’t hear the music. My heart slams against my chest, and I stare straight ahead, grateful that my sunglasses are hiding my unshed tears.
I yank the mirror in front of me open and examine my face. I turn and let the light catch my cheek. The makeup lives up to all its promise of full, flawless coverage. My skin looks perfect.
Yet, what felt like a shield, now just feels like a lie. The only person I’m fooling is myself. I can’t wear make up every second of my life. At some point, anyone I’m with will see my birthmark and they’ll be disgusted. And tonight, why did I bother. Everyone there knows me. Even if they can appreciate the mirage, they’ll never forget that underneath all of this, I’m flawed.
