by Gemma Weir
Carson moves quickly searching her case. “What the fuck?” he asks, waving a massive cell phone in the air. “How old is this? It has buttons for fuck’s sake.”
“Hey, I like my cell. It does everything I need it to do and if I’m bored I can play snake, arguably the best cell phone game of all time,” she says, arching her eyebrows and daring him to argue with her.
“Sorted, the latest iPhone is on its way to Arlo’s. It’ll probably be there before we get back,” Watson says, his own cell phone clutched in his hand.
“I don’t need a new cell phone and I’m not moving in with Arlo,” Tally says, uncurling her legs and stretching them out ahead of her on the bed as she braces her hands behind her.
“Fuck yes, you need a new cell, and yes, you are moving in with me. This is my fault. I’m not letting you live in a hotel, especially not a room like this. Didn’t they have any suites available?” I snarl, glaring at the tiny room we’re in.
“Why do I need a suite? There’s only me and I’m not planning on living here. I’ll find an apartment or a house as soon as I can go out in public,” she says, motioning to her face again and making that well of guilt even bigger inside of me.
“No,” I snap.
“No,” she snaps back, elongating the word.
“Look, this is my fucking fault, so use me. Let me do something to try to make up for everything I’ve done. I can’t let you live on your own. I’ll never fucking sleep again worrying that your fucked up parents are going to track you down and hurt you again.”
“You are partially to blame and I’ve already told you I plan to use you, but I’m still not moving in with you. I want to get my own place. I already found a few places to go and view. There’s even one that would be a great investment. It’s not in Greenwich, but it’s not too far from school.
“Buy a place if you want, but at least for now come and stay at my house. My dad’s away on business for the next week, so he won’t see you until most of the bruising has gone down,” I say, not telling her that I plan to tell my dad what those assholes did to her anyway. My dad wants wealth and power as much as the next rich guy, but he will lose his mind when he finds out what her parents did to her. It means I might have to tell him about the engagement being fake, but I’ll take whatever punishment he wants to send my way if it helps protect her.
She sighs and I can see her wavering, so I press on. “It will only piss them off more when your family finds out that we’re living together.”
“I suppose I could stay there for a week while I heal. After that, I should be able to cover the worst of the bruises with makeup and then I’ll go view these properties,” she muses.
“Yeah, definitely, you want us to help pack up your stuff?” I say, wanting to get her into Carson’s car and to my house as quickly as possible before she changes her mind.
Olly jumps into action, heading into the bathroom and collecting her stuff, while Carson and Wats are collecting up anything else they can see and loading it into her case.
Tally just stares as the guys all go to work. Her eyes move to mine and I offer her a small smile, my gaze still focused on the bruises I helped cause. I need to get her to my house. I need to help her put her plan into action, and somehow, I need to make her parents pay for this.
Five
Tallulah
The guys crowd around me as we leave the hotel, with Olly taking care of check-out as Arlo guides me with his arm draped carefully over my shoulders. I’m not sure I actually agreed to go and stay with him, but they had my stuff packed and were shuffling me out of my room before I even had a chance to argue.
Carson drives a shiny white Mercedes and yet again I get squashed into the back seat, only this time I’m stuck between Olly and Arlo, both of which are acting like my black eyes and bruising mean I must be on the verge of falling apart and breaking into pieces.
Honestly, I haven’t really allowed myself to fully process the fact that both of my parents were violent toward me. They both hit me hard enough to leave marks, bruises, and maybe even a scar on my lip. I haven’t turned my cell back on yet, but I don’t expect either of them will have contacted me to apologize. I think they’re both so far gone that I’m not even sure they realize that their behavior is wrong.
I feel like I should be sad, and I am, but more than anything I’m frustrated and pissed. I’ve literally given up my own identity at my family’s request, to protect my sister’s legacy and ensure nothing prevents her from meeting the terms of the will, and this is how they repay me.
If I asked him to, I know Arlo would go and tell them this was all his doing, that I’d never set out to steal him from Carrigan, but no, fuck them. They didn’t even give me a chance to explain before they beat the hell out me.
Right now, I couldn’t give a fuck about that money, our families inheritance or anything else that might benefit my fucked up parents. Right now, I want to make as many people as possible see me, to look at me, and know that I’m Tallulah fucking Archibald. To see me, not my sister.
I won’t be hiding in plain sight anymore. I won’t be pretending to be Carrigan. All of my obligations to my family ended on Saturday when my parents beat me to the ground and called me a cunt. I’m pretty sure that in the long run, my little act of rebellion won’t have a massive effect, but it’s the only thing I can come up with that will balance out my anger. In the grand scheme of things, my revenge is nothing, but after over three years of blind devotion to a family who got colder and more dismissive toward me, even a small rebellion is worth it, until I graduate and leave the States.
When we get to Arlo’s house, I have a brief moment of panic. Arlo is so entwined with my family, my sister, and the bruises on my face, that it feels like I’m betraying them just by being here. Swallowing down the surge of misplaced guilt, I glance down at the huge Lexington diamond that’s still on my ring finger. I’d wanted to take it off, but I didn’t want it to get stolen or lost so I’d just carried on wearing it.
Now it feels like a small victory. This ring is the one thing my parents wanted so desperately for my sister, but no matter how much they negotiated and cajoled, I’m the one wearing it, not her. Of course, I know it’s all fake and they don’t, but somehow that makes it just that little bit sweeter too.
Susan’s eyes widen when they land on me, but she quickly neutralizes her expression, offering me a polite nod of acknowledgement as Arlo ushers me inside and back up to the bedroom I stayed in on Friday night.
“This can be your room, unless you don’t like it, in which case there are several other rooms you can pick from if you’d prefer,” Arlo says, his voice gruff, yet weirdly accommodating.
“This room’s beautiful, thank you,” I say, moving past him and into the familiar space. My brow furrows when I spot several Van De Burg garment bags hanging on the closet door.
“Oh yeah, I had Fitzy bring your new clothes back here, rather than taking them to your parents after you left on Saturday,” he admits a little sheepishly.
“Why?”
“I figured you’d have to come here and get them,” he says with a boyish grin. “I just need to change out of my uniform, then I’ll have Susan make us all something to eat, seeing as you never got a chance to eat your room service.”
I nod, looking down at my black slacks and cashmere jumper. I hate this outfit. I hate most of the clothes in my case, because they were things my mom picked that looked like things my sister would wear in case anyone mistook me for her when I was out of the house. “Do you have a trash bag?” I ask.
His brows pull up in question, but he nods. “Yeah, give me a minute and I’ll get Susan to grab you one.”
“Thanks,” I say turning away from him and pulling my case up onto the bed. Unzipping it, I pull out each item of clothing, flinging everything that’s Carrigan’s style to the floor and placing the few items that are what I like on the bed.
Susan knocks gently at the door a few minutes later and I turn and mov
e toward her. “Thank you,” I say, reaching out to take the trash bag from her. “Do you know of a refuge or a charity or anything that could make use of these clothes?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she steps into the room. “These ones?” She asks pointing to the pile of designer clothes on the floor.
“Yes, it seems wasteful to throw them away. I’d rather someone else use them if they can.” I say shaking out the trash bag and then folding each item and placing it inside.
“There’s a woman’s shelter about thirty minutes from here. They’re always looking for donations. But there are thousands of dollars worth of clothes here. Are you sure you don’t want any of them?” She asks, her eyes a little wide like I’ve lost my mind.
“I’m positive,” I nod. “I know you’re trying really hard not to look at the state of my face, and I appreciate that more than you know. But these clothes and the person I was forced to be when I wore them isn’t me. I won’t pretend anymore, so I have no need for any of this stuff.” I say, folding each item in turn and placing them in the bag. “I’m never going back,” I whisper.
Susan’s nod is full of understanding as she moves and picks up a shirt off the floor, folding it and placing it in the bag. “I’ll run these things over to the shelter once I’ve made you all some lunch. I’m sure they will appreciate them.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, not speaking again as we work side by side, placing all of my Carrigan approved wardrobe into the trash.
“You okay?” Arlo asks, appearing in the doorway in baggy sweats and a muscle vest, his tattoos so prominently on display that I can finally see what they are.
In shades of gray, a giant bird glides up his arm, its wings spread wide. The silhouette of a wolf and mountains all somehow blend effortlessly around the magnificent bird and the tattoo I’d seen peeking out of his collar is actually the tip of the wing. It’s stunning, truly a work of art, and I want to reach out and touch it, so much so that I actually clench my fingers around the edges of the trash bag to stop myself.
“Tally,” he says, pulling me from my daze and making me avert my eyes away from him.
“Err,” I say clearing my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting rid of the stuff that’s from my Carrigan appreciation society wardrobe and not really my style. Susan offered to run it over to a woman’s shelter that’s not too far from here.”
“Oh, okay, are you coming downstairs?”
“I’ll be down in a minute. I just need to finish up here and get changed. I should have just kept my sweats on. Old habits I guess,” I say trailing off.
Arlo nods, knocking his fist against the door jamb. “For the record, I think you look more beautiful in your sweats than in anything that’s supposed to make you look like your sister.”
My mouth falls open a little, but he doesn’t speak again. He turns and heads downstairs, like he didn’t just drop a very sweet compliment and then walk away.
“I’ll take this bag. Is there anything else, Miss?” Susan asks.
“No, thank you, Susan. You’ve been really helpful.”
She nods, offering me a small smile as she scoops the trash bag from the floor and silently leaves the room. Closing the door behind her, I quickly strip out of my Carrigan approved clothes and pull on my favorite pair of jean shorts and a shirt that ties in a knot at the waist. Walking into the bathroom, I avoid looking at myself in the mirror as I drag my hairbrush through my hair and then quickly twist it into two braids.
My fingers secure bands into the bottom of each plait, and I catch my reflection. I don’t gasp, or pull back in shock. I know what I look like. I’ve already seen the matching black eyes, the darkening bruises and cut across my cheek, and the still sore looking cut on my lip. I look like one of those battered wives in movies.
The wave of emotion I’ve been fighting to keep below the surface surges upward, but I drag in a breath and push it down again. I can’t fall apart right now. It won’t do me any good. Falling apart won’t make my parents better people. It won’t make the marks, pain, and memories go away. No, I’ll fall apart once I’m done doling out the only justice I can think of. Then I’ll take a week and lose my mind grieving a family that literally pretend I don’t exist. Until then, I’ll pull back my shoulders and do the only thing I can, which is be me, and convince myself over and over that it’s enough, until maybe I’ll believe it.
The shiny wooden floor is cold and comforting beneath my bare feet as I make my way down to the living room, where I’m assuming Arlo and the rest of the guys are sitting. I’m not sure it’s a room I’d choose to spend time in, but the terrace that’s attached to it is beautiful.
When I walk in, the doors are open and I can hear the guys outside, so I head that way, not even pausing when my feet hit the pavers on the terrace.
“Hey,” I say to Olly when he’s the first to notice me.
“Hey, come sit, do you want a drink?” Olly asks, jumping up from his spot on the couch and moving toward me.
“A soda please,” I say as I step to one of the free chairs and sink into it, curling my legs beneath me.
“Fuck, Tally, you look like shit, babe,” Watson calls, his features cringing as he looks at me.
“Well that’s what happens when you get punched a bunch of times. I’m not putting on makeup,” I reply tersely.
“Did you ice it? Does it hurt? Do you need some painkillers or something?” he asks and I instantly feel bad for kind of being a bitch.
“I took some Tylenol this morning. It’s much better today than yesterday,” I say with a shrug, taking the glass of soda that Olly is holding out to me.
“Want me to go beat the shit out of your dad?” Carson says, his expression serious, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Not right now, but thanks.”
Pulling up one shoulder he shrugs slightly. “Offer’s there, no expiration date.”
My eyes fall on Arlo, his attention firmly fixed on the cell in his hands. His jaw is tense and he looks angry, or at least I think that’s anger.
My lips part and I go to speak, but Susan arrives with a cart full of sandwiches and steaming bowls of soup. She busies herself setting up a lunch spread to the side of the wet bar and my stomach growls appreciatively.
When she’s finished, she moves to Arlo and hands him a small FedEx box, before she nods and leaves. I watch as he lowers his cell to the table in front of him, then looks up, finding me watching him.
“Here,” he says, throwing the package across the table at me.
I catch it on instinct and furrow my brow as I rip open the tab and find a box with the latest model cell phone Watson ordered for me inside.
“I like my cell. I don’t want a new one,” I say.
“I already got your number assigned to the new one and added you to my account in case your parents disconnect the line,” he says dismissively as he gets up and crosses to the table, filling a plate with food, then shocking me as he hands it to me.
“I could have got my own,” I say a little sulkily, as I take the plate from him and fight not to groan when I spot the melted cheese oozing from the toasted sandwich.
Ignoring me, he just turns around and makes himself a plate before he returns to his spot on the couch as the other guys all grab their own food.
“I got us all the rest of the week off school. I told the principal we were all being featured in an article about the most influential families in New York,” Arlo says between bites of sandwich.
“Won’t she realize it’s all bullshit when an article doesn’t get published?”
“It will get published,” Carson says. “We’ve all been asked to do the article. They were over the moon to have Arlo’s beautiful fiancée from the very old and influential Archibald family be included as well.”
“Whaaat? I can’t have photographs taken with my face looking like this,” I gesture to my beat-up face.
“It’s fine. We’ll hire our own hair and makeup and have them sign an NDA. O
nce they’ve worked their magic no one will suspect that you’re anything but perfect and blemish free. Plus, this is the perfect way to rocket you back into the public eye,” Olly says enthusiastically.
“We’re going to spin it that you chose to take a step away from the elite social circle for the last few years, but that with the engagement you’re ready to retake your position in society. Consider this your coming out article without the dreadful dancing,” Arlo says austerely.
“Where is it going to be published?” I ask, a ghost of a grin starting to take over my lips.
“The New York Times Society Pages, where else?” Arlo says, smirking.
My grin widens and I can’t help laughing lightly as I shake my head. “My mom is going to lose her mind; she’s been trying to get them to write an article about Carrigan since the news about the inheritance came out.”
“That’s just step one, little ghost. After that we have tickets and invites for every gala, fundraiser, and must-be-seen-at event for the next month, not to mention the ridiculous engagement party I plan to throw. In a matter of weeks, there will only be one Archibald twin everyone is talking about and it won’t be your fucking sister,” Arlo says, a mischievous, seductive gleam in his eyes.
“I need to try to get my class schedule moved around. I want to be in as many of my sister’s classes as possible,” I say.
“Why?” Watson asks.
“Because if I try to out my family as having me cheat for my sister, they’ll deny it. They’ll twist it around and make it seem like it’s me who’s cheating or lying. If we’re in the same class, taking the same tests at the same time, then there’s nothing they can do, and no way Carrigan can fake it. She’ll fail and I’ll be there to witness it,” I say confidently.
“Which classes have you been taking for her?” Olly laughs.
“English, all her math classes, biology, chemistry and physics. Sometimes I’d sit a test or just take her place in others, but I’ve attended probably eighty percent of those classes and sat all of the tests.”
