“Not a threat, but a warning. Involving your uncle was a mistake. I raised you better than that. He’s a wildcard, someone you can’t predict, and the last thing Bishop Enterprises needs is him sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
So, Graham has been raising hell as promised.
“I didn’t involve him, Father. He found out about your little indiscretions all on his own. It seems there’s maybe one or two people on the board that are looking for a reason to have you removed.”
“If I lose my position at the company, you’ll lose your chance of ever being able to run it one day,” he warns.
“Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want your company?”
He smirks. “And yet you’ve requested shares as part of your deal.”
“Whether you run it or not, Bishop Enterprises is a lucrative business. I’m simply securing my future.”
The first sign of his rage shows as he grinds his jaw, his pause while he takes a few breaths a sign he’s losing control. “Drop this entire debacle and your future will be secure, Grayson,” he promises.
“No. My future will be yours, and I’ve had enough of living under your thumb.” I reach for the door.
“You’ll never be one of them, Grayson. You’ve grown up in luxury and privilege. To them you’ll always be an outsider.”
Opening the door, I pause with one foot out the car and look back at the man who claims to be my father. But he has no idea what parental love is. It doesn’t matter how I grew up or that I’ve had everything money can buy handed to me on a silver platter. I want the one thing money can’t buy, and Summer, Josh, and Ashton have given me that.
“You’ll never understand, Father, because you never truly gave Summer a chance to love you. But she loves me. I’m not an outsider. I’m their family.”
Closing the door on him, I stride away. I’m not always certain about everything. There are times I’m acting right along with the rest of society, but this choice—disowning my father and delivering vengeance—it’s unequivocally, the best decision I’ve ever made.
Chapter 31
Rose
“I’m so excited for tonight,” Penelope gushes, coming to stand before the floor-length mirror next to me. Her, the other girls, and I are getting ready for the masquerade ball at Penelope’s place, and while all the others are buzzing with excitement, I can’t muster the same emotions.
There was a point not so long ago that I did share the same anticipation, but that died over the last week as the days ticked by slowly and painfully, the noose my mother placed around my neck squeezing tighter until I could hardly breathe.
“You look stunning,” Penelope continues. “Maybe you’ll even be able to sneak a dance in with Ashton.” Our gazes meet in the mirror and she smiles encouragingly, as if hoping she can spark a little joy in my heart. I caved and told most of my Declan predicament to Penelope a few days ago. It was killing me not having someone to talk to that wasn’t involved like Ashton and Grayson are, so I took a leap of faith and hoped she wouldn’t betray me as Isla did, and so far she’s come through and been a great friend.
“Thanks, Pen,” I reply, forcing a smile at my reflection. My gown is full-length with a full-bodied skirt, black in color, while the tight corset bodice has an overlay of gold detailing that almost looks like bird feathers. The mask I choose is black also, in a lace-type pattern, which curves elegantly over my face to sweeping points.
Retrieving my lipstick from my purse, I finish my look off with blood-red lips and turn to face my friend. “If I’m being forced into this, I might as well look good enough to kill whilst doing it.”
She grins. “That’s the spirit.”
Penelope has gone for a more form-fitting dress; the slate gray color is in a shiny material that hugs her body until kicking out into a fishtail. The bodice is adorned with crystals, meaning with each movement she sparkles. Her mask is made of a smooth black material with feathers on the right side of her cheek. Camilla, like me, has gone for a full ball gown, but while mine is black, hers is dusky pink. Autumn is in a tight red number, her long legs on show, and Porsha has chosen a deep blue dress with a split up one side past her knee. And lastly, Bree wears a flowing white gown, with flowers around her waist.
Our hair and makeup are flawless, our outfits worth thousands; we are the image of the young and wealthy, and I’m hoping I’ll somehow find a way to enjoy myself as the others are going to do.
“You’ve got a message, Rose,” Porsha says, picking my phone up from the table I’d left it on and bringing it over. “Is it Declan?” she coos.
God, I hope not.
Declan has kept more of a distance between us during school hours, but get a drink into him, and he turns into someone who’ll happily slide his hand up my skirt uninvited and place his lips on mine when I’d rather puke. He’s not stupid; he must know I don’t like him all that much. Though he knows I have no choice but to attend the party with him and he’s used that to his full advantage.
“Gray or Ash?” Penelope whispers in my ear as I take my phone and enter my pin to open the screen.
“Both actually,” I reply just as quietly.
Ashton messages me most nights; it’s my favorite time of day. Snuggling down under my covers, we message back and forth, always skating around the Declan issue but knowing it’s there. I’d like to think after this night, we’ll suddenly be okay, but I’m not so naïve to think it will be that simple. He’s told me a lot of what’s going on in his house at the moment, from his mother’s drinking problem to the ongoing battle with Arthur Bishop. I can sense Ashton feels as if it’s his responsibility to take care of his family and maybe it is; it’s not as if he has anyone else left to take over. But the pressure gets to him sometimes, and I worry if he doesn’t somehow win this feud with Arthur, he’ll place the blame on himself.
Grayson is a whole other story; we don’t message as much as Ashton and I and when we’re at school together, he plays the role he always has, which keeps a divide between us. Yet there are moments when I catch the real Grayson. The vulnerable, funny, protective guy who I wish would show himself to the world more often. My feelings toward him are confusing at best. Maybe if it wasn’t for Ashton, I would grow to like Gray for more than a friend. There is no denying the sexual chemistry we’ve shared, but my heart has always belonged to Ashton, even if he was the one to break it.
My heart though is trying its best to stitch itself back together. It would probably do a far better job if I stopped putting it through so much turmoil or told my mother where to shove her expectations.
Ashton – Save a dance for me, beautiful xo
“Aww,” Penelope breathes, reading the message over my shoulder. “Why can’t I find a guy to send me sweet messages like that?”
“Shush,” I say, before opening Grayson’s message thread.
Grayson – He touches you tonight and I’ll kill him. P.S. I’ll be the sexiest one there. You will be dancing with me ;)
A chuckle slips from my mouth.
Penelope fans herself. “I’ve changed my mind. I want a bad boy who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, is he all assertive and commanding in bed?”
“You know, I’m regretting admitting Gray and I had sex.”
“Come on, tell me. Did he make you call him Sir?”
Rolling my eyes, I cover my laughter with my hand. “No, Pen, but if you ask him nicely, I’m sure he’ll be up for that later with you. Grayson’s a player. All you have to do is ask and his pants come off.” I say the words, yet I’m not sure if they are true anymore. I’m not the only one who has noticed the dark prince has given up sleeping with a different girl each night.
He too, though, is under pressure—dealing with his father and helping Ashton. He probably doesn’t have the time to pick up girls.
“Come on, girls. Let’s pop this champagne and have a little fun!” Camilla announces to the room, holding a bottle of bubbly above he
r head.
The cork is popped, and glasses of champagne are passed around. Penelope holds hers into the air and we follow suit as she toasts to a fabulous evening. Our time before we leave is spent taking selfies together and laughing as we pull silly faces. The drink in my hand helps to calm my nerves, fizzling its way through my blood and when the limousines arrives to take us all to the ball, I find a small flicker of excitement building in my belly.
Since taking Sophia down, I’ve struggled with feeling like a fraud. The people around me didn’t feel like friends but coerced allies, and the crown never quite fit, as if my position was as empty as my victory. As the weeks have gone by though, and Penelope and I have grown closer, I’m finally beginning to belong. Albany is my school. This is my life. It’s not an alternate universe I one day found myself picked up and dumped in, and as we all climb into the vehicle together, I decide that maybe, just maybe, I might find myself a little bit of happiness here.
One more night. One more night and then I’m free.
Free to be the queen I want to be.
***
Walking into the ballroom, Penelope on my right, Porsha on my left, we pause, taking in the sight before us.
“Wow,” Porsha breathes. “This is so different from last year.”
Scanning the room, I struggle to take it all in. The walls are lit with blue lights, casting a soft glow onto the swags of sheer fabric billowing from the ceiling. In the center of the room is a dance floor, and above it, a center piece hanging from the ceiling made of flowers that hang down as if this is a fairy-tale garden. Tables span the edges of the room, with roses overflowing out of tall vases in the middle and before us, a petal-lined entryway guides us through the archway and into the main area.
“The masks are different this year too,” Porsha exclaims.
“Oh, I like them,” Penelope adds. “Adds more of a mystery.”
“What were last years like?” I ask as we walk toward the center.
“Plain simple silver ones that just covered their eyes,” Porsha answers.
Glancing at the various male faces around us, I take in the masks my mother had chosen from this year. They cover half of their faces, sweeping over their noses to then frame their eyes in a muted gold color.
From a distance, they all look the same, and as if reading my mind, Penelope leans in close to my ear, whispering, “It’s hard to tell who’s who. So much so, I think one might mistake Declan for say Ashton… or maybe Gray.”
A devious smile spreads over my face, my chest expanding with anticipation. “You’re right. It would be a simple case of mistaken identity.”
She giggles gleefully. “Tonight is going to be so much fun.”
“Quit chatting and find the bar, ladies,” Camilla mutters from behind. “I’m dying of thirst back here.”
I make it through one drink before Declan finds me. He appears out of the crowd, taking my hand roughly in his. “Damn it, Rose, my mother’s been on at me for the past hour about letting you arrive with your friends instead of with me. Will you please come with me so she’ll shut up?”
“All right, jeez.” He tugs me and I stumble forward. Snatching my hand from his, anger flares through my body. “Calm the hell down, Dec, or I won’t be going anywhere with you.”
His fists clench, then he visibly forces himself to relax. “Sorry. She’s been on my case all week; I’ve reached my limit. For some reason, she’s taken a liking to you.” He holds out the crook of his arm for me. “Shall we?”
Forcing a smile, I slide my arm through his and we begin walking again. “I am pretty likeable, Dec.”
He eyes me sideways. “Nice to look at too, but we both know you’re being forced into this by your mother, and if I’m honest, I’ve had enough of you treating me as if I’m not good enough.” His tone takes on a dangerous note. “I don’t like being played, Rose.”
“I’m not playing you,” I lie. He arches a brow. “You’re the one who acted like a pig after the football match and then we were both played by our mothers. So, don’t blame this on me, Declan.”
“Whatever. Can we just get tonight over with and try and enjoy ourselves?”
“Sure. Where are we going anyway?”
“There’s a photographer. Our presence has been requested.”
Great.
The line to get our photo taken is miles long and after fifteen minutes of awkward silence between us, Declan’s mother appears and drags us out of the queue to the front, much to the displeasure of everyone else waiting in line.
“Don’t you look just stunning, Rose.” She beams, holding me at arm’s length. “My son and his English Rose.”
As she says her words, it hits me why I’m here—her son is a rapist, she covered up for him, and now she sees me, a delicate flower, with a prim and proper English accent… the perfect girl to boost his image.
Declan frowns at her words but doesn’t question her, and I… I scream inside. But like the proper little lady I was raised to be, I smile, innocent and bashful, fluttering my lashes as I sell another chunk of my soul.
Elizabeth gives out clipped instructions to the photographer and I find myself retreating within myself, acting on automatic, a veil coming down between the real me and the one I’ve been trained to show the world. Flashes go off, blinding me as directions are given out.
Smile… tilt your chin this way… stand closer together… hug her tighter, Declan…
Then Elizabeth is sliding in beside Declan and I am trapped in the weirdest family photo of all time. I’m a stranger. I don’t know these people, yet as I’m towed away, Declan guiding me as if I’m a puppet and he holds the strings, I hear how lovely our photograph is going to look in the paper.
I catch my mother out of the corner of my eye as we make our way back to the main room, and I see in her expression all I need to know; she knew this was going to happen. I am a prop, no better than the flowers hanging from the ceiling or sitting pretty in vases; I am the main attraction of tonight’s event.
“Did you know our photos were going to be in the paper?” I ask Declan as he leads me to the dance floor and spins me into his arms.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I was in them last year too. Only the picture was a little too crass for my mother’s liking. Makes sense now; you’re my image boost. Albany Nightingale’s queen, on my arm.”
“What do you mean by crass?” I ask, my stomach sinking.
He grins. “Had a little too much to drink. My hands found their way up my date’s dress.” He shakes his head at my disgusted expression. “Don’t act all innocent, Rose. Plenty of people have seen you hooking up with random guys on nights out.”
He’s got me. It’s true. I was broken, hollow, and I filled the emptiness inside me with meaningless sex. But it was my choice and if past evidence proves anything, Declan Moor has a tendency to take a girl’s choice away from her.
‘You’ll be keeping your hands off me tonight, Declan,” I warn.
“Yeah, yeah.” He stops me abruptly. “Come on, I need a drink.”
Chapter 32
Ashton
I watch her from behind my mask, pleased it covers most of my face and disguises the pain and rage beneath. I can’t help but think we’ve been here before; we’re heading down the same road, repeating the same mistakes and if we aren’t careful, all we’ll find is more heartbreak.
His hands are on her waist, his eyes on her face. Declan Moor watches my girl as if she’s a toy made solely for his entertainment. He doesn’t care for her. He doesn’t see the fire and strength beneath. He doesn’t know her like I do. And as I watch, as my emotions simmer and fester, I wonder if this is how she felt. Did Rose watch my hands on Sophia and experience the same anguish? Did she stand on the sidelines with longing lodged in her throat and desperation eating her up from the inside out?
Rose suffered, and now you’re suffering too as punishment….
I grit my teeth at the bitter voice in my head. This can’t go on. W
e’re back to stolen moments in hidden corners, fleeting touches, secret smiles and messages, and I can’t take it. I don’t want to hide. I want to walk through Albany Nightingale with her on my arm for all to see.
“Dude, seriously, you need to relax. Go have a drink, hell even a dance. Anything is better than standing in the dark like some serial killer stalking your next victim.”
I glare at Grayson. He’s watching her as much as I am, but he’s also doing a far better job at being discreet. “That rapist has his hands on my girl, Gray. Be pleased I’m not murdering him.”
He claps a hand to my shoulder, eyes me firmly. “Then after tonight, I suggest you let Rose know that she’s yours because the last I spoke to her, she said you were avoiding her.”
“I message her every night,” I defend. But he’s right, I am. But it’s not because I don’t want her. It’s because I want her too much and I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid and mess things up even more.
“Maybe you should try talking to her face-to-face.”
Taking off my mask, I rub at my eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
A girl catches Grayson’s gaze from across the dance floor and smiles suggestively. He grins. “Well, that’s my cue.” He hits me on the back of my head, rattling my brain. “Put on that mask, dumbass, and find someone to dance with. It’s a party after all.”
Grumbling at his retreating figure, I rub at the spot he wacked, then slip my mask back into place and scan the ball room. I’m not really sure it would be fair to force my bad mood onto someone else, my ability to pretend I’m not irritable faded before this night even began, but before I can decide, a figure breaks away from the dance floor and seconds later, I’m looking down at Penelope’s masked face.
“Come dance with me,” she says, smiling.
“Oh, Pen, I’m—”
She cuts me off. “Not in the mood. Oh, don’t I know it. I think everyone here has noticed the brooding figure in the shadows, but unlike them, I know why you’re brooding and I’m saying come dance with me, because it can’t be pleasant for Rose having your gaze boring holes into her back.”
The Resurrection of Us: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 2) Page 17
