The Spare - Part Two (The Kings & Queens of St Augustus Book 2)

by Gemma Weir

  “What about when it was a pop quiz?” Arlo asks, leaning forward, his elbows rested on his knees.

  “She’d text me and then she’d ask to use the bathroom or find some other excuse to leave the room and I’d go back in her place,” I say with a shrug.

  “But how did you know the material? Do you take all the same classes?” Carson asks, his nose scrunched up as he obviously tries to figure out how we managed it for so long.

  “All the English, math and science classes yeah. Mom and Dad’s donations made sure we were never in the same class and they’ve made me have private tutors for the subjects I don’t take so I can step in if she needed me to,” I say, lifting the last bite of my grilled cheese to my lips and humming appreciatively.

  “Why not just get Carrigan the tutors?” Watson asks, his shrewd eyes watching me.

  “Because they had her parading in front of all of the potential husbands every night,” Arlo answers before I have a chance.

  “Basically, yeah. She did have tutors to start off with, but even with their help she still struggled and I didn’t. The Archibald name can’t be sullied with anything less than an A,” I sneer sardonically. “Ironically, I still have a perfect 4.0 despite the fact that I only go to class about half the time.”

  “So without you taking her tests she’s going to fail?” Carson clarifies.

  “Yep,” I say smiling as I pop the P. “There’s less than six months until graduation. If she gets one B grade she could pull it back with extra credit, but two B’s and she’s fucked. Bye bye 4.0 GPA and bye bye billion-pound inheritance.”

  Olly starts to laugh, and the sound makes my smile spread even wider.

  “The terms of the will say she has to be a success, and my great-grandfather judged success by results. To inherit she has to graduate St Augustus with a perfect 4.0. Before this weekend I probably would have helped my family make that happen,” I tell them, looking them each in the eye, finishing with Arlo. “Now I want to sit back and watch while it’s all taken away from them.”

  Six

  Arlo

  Being around Tally is an insane rollercoaster ride of fucking epic proportions. Everything I thought about her was completely wrong. She hasn’t been hiding, she’s been caged. She’s not shy, she was bound. Now she’s free.

  When she opened that hotel room door and I saw her face, I expected to be picking her up off the floor, consoling her, doing whatever I could to assuage this guilt I feel, because I caused this. I still feel guiltier than I ever have, but she’s proved beyond all reasonable doubt that she’s the strongest, most badass girl I’ve ever met.

  After what her parents did, she could have run. They certainly haven’t chased her. Not a single fucking phone call or text message from any of them in three days. They left her beaten and bloody to go out to dinner and none of them, not even Carrigan, has bothered to check she’s all right.

  We haven’t left the house. The guys haven’t even been home, so although her family might assume she’s here with me, they don’t know for sure and apparently they don’t care. Watson has had to talk me out of paying Freddie Archibald a visit more than once and if it wasn’t for Tally’s plan to destroy her family, I’d have gone and beaten the shit out of him already.

  I barely know her, but I can already see how special she is and it baffles me—hell, it baffles all of us—how her parents can have just disregarded her as a person, as anything more than just a lookalike, to step in for Carrigan as and when needed.

  Tallulah is everything her sister isn’t. She’s sweet and kind, even though we’ve done nothing to deserve her being nice to any of us. She’s strong willed, but even in her revenge she’s not cruel, she’s not causing their destruction; she’s just sitting back and watching. Her plan is simple but brilliant, she steps out of the shadows and into the limelight with me and the guys behind her, then she watches as her sister fails without her to pick up the slack and the Archibalds lose it all.

  I mean they’ll still be rich, but according to Tally, if Carrigan fails to adhere to every single one of her great-grandfather’s stipulations, she loses the money, the business, and everything else. It’s sort of poetic justice when you think about it.

  My eyes follow Tally as she talks and laughs with Olly. Her face is still a mess, but the bruises are fading to an ugly yellow color and the cuts on her lip and cheek have scabbed over. The interview with The New York Times is scheduled for the end of the week and should appear in this week’s edition, and even though our engagement is all fake, I’m still strangely excited to tell the world she’s mine.

  If this were real, if I was actually getting engaged, I’d want it to be to a woman like her. Someone strong and resilient, but still pure enough not to let this cruel world we inhabit harden her. She should hate me, she should hate all of us, but apart from a few digs here and there, she really seems to have forgiven us, to have forgiven me for this shitshow I started.

  My eyes stay glued to her, and for a moment, just a tiny second, I wonder how I’d feel if all the lies were true. How it would feel to really call Tallulah Archibald mine. My dick twitches excitably just at the thought, because even though I shouldn’t, even though all I’ve done is brought her misery, lies and pain, I can’t help the fact that I look forward to seeing her, to being around her, and I’m really looking forward to pretending that I have the right to touch her while she wears my ring.

  Seven

  Tallulah

  Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I turn my head from side to side, searching for the bruises I know are beneath the layers of makeup that have made me looking flawless and perfect. “Cathy, you are a genius, you can’t see a thing,” I say, smiling at the woman standing behind me in the mirror.

  She shrugs and brushes her fingers across her shoulder, smirking knowingly. “That’s why I’m the best, baby,” she cries.

  “Yes, you are,” I agree, standing up and pulling the hair and makeup artist in for a quick hug. “And thank you for signing the NDA.” I point at my face.

  “You’re not the first. Just assure me it wasn’t any of those fine ass boy’s downstairs,” Cathy says, the smirk falling from her face, being replaced with a firm line.

  “No, it wasn’t,” I assure her. “I have a lot of events coming up. Can I send you a list and have you come and work your magic on me again?” I ask.

  “I’m yours for the next two months. Mr. Lexington already arranged it,” she says, fiddling with my hair, smoothing a wave into place.

  Smiling widely at her, I turn and look at myself in the mirror again. My white blonde hair is pulled up, a mass of loose flowing waves artfully pinned in a way that looks both sleek and messy. My makeup is flawless, my eyes smoky, and my lips a red that complements my hair color and skin tone. But it’s the dress that makes me wish the mirror was a camera, so I could capture the way I look right now and keep it forever.

  It’s a waterfall of red silk, the strapless bodice clinging to every curve, then pooling into an extravagant skirt that billows out behind me, making me look like a fairy-tale princess in the sexiest dress of all time. I’m bare of all jewelry apart from the huge Lexington diamond playing center stage on my ring finger.

  My fingers and toes are painted red to match my dress and I’ll be barefoot as per Arlo’s request for the photoshoot. I can’t help but smile as I stare at myself. This is like playing dress up, yet I’m as enamored with it now as I was when I was a child trying on my mom’s dresses in her closet.

  A sharp stab of pain hits me when I think about my family. We weren’t always as broken as we are now, we had happier times, though I struggle to think of any happy memories in recent years.

  A knock on the door interrupts me and I move to open it, a smile on my lips.

  “Miss Archibald, we’re ready for you,” the slim photographer’s assistant tells me.

  “Okay, I’ll be there in just a second,” I tell him, closing the door and taking a moment to drag in lungful’s of air
, before I go and take part in a photoshoot that will tell the entire world that Arlo and I are engaged.

  Butterflies burst to life in my stomach, some of them fearfully fluttering around warning me that this is a stupid idea, others excitedly bouncing from side to side giggling over the idea of spending the afternoon cozied up to Arlo and the rest of the guys. Because although I should hate him and all of the lies he’s told, and the role he played in my parents finally losing their shit. I don’t.

  I don’t hate Arlo at all. In fact, when he’s not being a manipulative asshole, he’s kind of pretty to look at and sometimes even kind of sweet in a brooding way.

  When I get downstairs, I find the guys all stood together chatting. Olly spots me first, elbowing Arlo who turns to watch me descend the stairs like this is some teen romance movie and it’s the big reveal where the girl turns from a duckling into a swan.

  A wide smile spreads across his face and he moves forward to meet me at the bottom, holding out his hand for me to take. I place my fingers against his and he pulls me forward and into his body, his arm wrapping around the base of my spine to keep me pressed against him.

  His lips touch my ear and he whispers, “You look fucking stunning.” His hot breath sends goose bumps running along my neck.

  Gripping my hand, he steps back, keeping hold of me at arms-length. He twirls me, my skirt billowing out behind me as I slowly spin.

  “Perfection,” he says, biting his lip as his eyes scan over me from my face to the tips of my bare feet. When his gaze rests on my feet he smiles and pulls me close again, pressing a hot kiss to the corner of my mouth.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, blushing slightly beneath his praise.

  “Tally, you look gorgeous, babe,” Watson says, as Olly just stares at me, his lips parted, and Carson nods suggestively, laughing when Arlo mock growls and pulls me close again.

  I smile a little as I take in the four, big, muscled guys in their impeccably tailored suits. While Watson’s is a rich navy-blue, Carson’s in charcoal, Olly is in a paler gray, and Arlo in head to toe midnight black. They look like sex personified, so masculine, all of their boyish features hidden by the classic looks and styled hair.

  Arlo’s inky black hair is artfully ruffled, his dark eyes appearing depthless, when he’s dressed all in black. The tip of the bird wing tattoo hints at the bad boy that’s hidden beneath his refined surface. He looks strong, capable, and powerful and I feel my legs go a little weak at the knees. Until this moment, I’ve subjectively appreciated his good looks. When he thought I was my sister, his dark, cruel demeanor both scared and thrilled me, but now I know him a little better he’s so much more complex and layered than I’d thought.

  The photographer’s assistant calls our attention, letting us know they’re ready for us and they spend the next several hours taking picture after picture. I pose on my own—whimsical images of me with the Lexington mansion in the background, the diamond glittering on my finger always on display. They take hundreds of frames of us as a group: standing side by side with me in the middle, lounging over ornate velvet couches that they place on the lawn, and then in serious power poses, with me pressed close to Arlo while the others crowd around us.

  The guys all do their individual shoots, while I pick at the food Susan delivers. Then it’s time for Arlo and me to do our shots together. Butterflies burst to life in my stomach as I follow him to the first set. For photo after photo they have us pressed together, holding hands, always touching. After an hour his touch feels familiar and I smile up at him when he rolls his eyes as the photographer argues with his assistant over the positioning of the lighting.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers to me, his large hand cupping the back of my neck possessively.

  “Okay,” I say breathily, pushing up onto my tiptoes, my bare feet pressing into the cool grass beneath us as I meet him halfway, my head tipped back, daring him to take my lips.

  When his mouth meets mine, his lips glide against me, his tongue teasing me until I part my lips and allow him entry. The hand on the back of my neck tightens, his free hand finding the base of my spine and pulling me into him, so my back arches, my body meeting his as he pulls me as close as we can get with our clothes on.

  This kiss doesn’t feel fake, it doesn’t feel like pretense, yet even as I lose myself to him, I’m reminding myself over and over that none of this is real. My hands are gripping the lapels of his jacket tightly, holding him to me, just as much as he’s holding me in place.

  Heat rises in my stomach and I feel my nipples tighten as I strain to get closer, so close that all of the lies fade away and just for a brief second this becomes real.

  Then the photographer shouts and reality interrupts this moment of madness. We don’t pull away like we’ve been caught doing something wrong. Instead he cups my cheek, only moving until his forehead is resting against mine, his breath ragged.

  “Mr. Lexington, Miss Archibald, we’d like you over here next,” the harried assistant says, crushing the remnants of this lost moment in time.

  I step away first. I need to be the one to break the illusion that for a second had felt so real. I can’t get carried away. I can’t let this dress and the fairy tale photoshoot fool me into thinking this thing between him and I is anything more than a fantasy, a beautiful lie forged in mischief, but prolonged through guilt. He isn’t mine and I’m not his, and no matter how talented we are at weaving a believable tale and pretending, it still won’t make this anything more than a very pretty lie.

  The photoshoot takes all day and by the time the photographers have left and all of their equipment is loaded back into the trucks it came in, it’s early evening. After they finished taking pictures of Arlo and I, we all changed into different outfits and started all over again. This gown is a Grecian style in white silk and the guys are all in tuxedos, their bow ties hanging around their necks.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling so much as the guys chased me around the edge of the fountain until Arlo scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder, jumping into the fountain and lowering me into the water as he kissed me again, while the guys kicked and splashed water at us.

  Now I’m wet and slightly bedraggled after a strange but kind of wonderful day. Arlo, Watson, Carson, and Olly have known each other their entire lives and it’s easy to see how comfortable they are with each other, but weirdly today they started to treat me the way they treat each other and I almost feel like a part of the group.

  “Tally, what movie do you want to watch?” Watson calls, his wet shoes dangling from his fingers as he walks toward me.

  “I might just go to bed, I’m exhausted,” I say, not wanting to force my company on the guys after we’ve already spent the entire day together.

  “No, you can’t, we’re watching a movie,” he whines.

  “No excuses, Tally. We’ve worked, now we play, with pizza, beer, and a movie,” Olly says, as he, Watson, and Arlo all appear at my side.

  A pang of longing sweeps through me. These boys are true friends. They have each other’s backs, they grew up together, and together they’ll be a force to be reckoned with once they’re older. I don’t have that. I don’t have that bond, that friendship with anyone. It should be there with my sister, but we’re more like master and slave than twins.

  I’ve never really had friends I realize, and I didn’t ever consider that I was missing out until the last few days, as I’ve watched how the guys all pull together.

  “No excuses,” Arlo says dropping his arm over my shoulder and pulling me into his side. “This is tradition.”

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “What are you talking about? How are you intruding? You’re one of us now. We work, then we play, this is what we always do,” Carson says, pulling off his wet jacket and haphazardly hanging it over his shoulder, water dripping onto the floor below.

  “Everyone go get changed and I’ll ask Susan to order the pizzas for us,” Olly says, turning. “Anything
you don’t eat, Tally?” he asks over his shoulder.

  I shake my head and he flashes me a dazzling smile before he’s gone and Carson and Watson quickly follow suit. Pulling out from under Arlo’s arm, I turn to face him, feeling ridiculous just standing here in this beautiful, soaking-wet ballgown. “Look, I appreciate you all trying to make me feel welcome, and I know that you feel guilty and responsible, but I don’t need pity invites and I don’t want to force myself on you guys just because you feel bad.”

  Arlo’s eyes glitter and he smirks at me, his eyebrows lifting in amusement as he listens. “Tally.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “What?” I cry indignantly.

  “Just listen for a minute, okay?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I look up at him and nod for him to continue.

  His smirk morphs into a megawatt smile that makes his usually serious face look even more perfect than ever. “We’re not inviting you to join us because we feel guilty, or because we feel sorry for you. We’re inviting you because we like you. You’re one of us now and we want to get to know you.”

  “But I’m not one of you,” I argue, abruptly stopping speaking when his finger presses to my lips shushing me.

  “Tally, you’re my fiancée; you couldn’t be any more one of us if you tried,” he says, removing his finger from my lips and sliding it along my jaw.

  “But it’s not real,” I whisper, my eyes widening a little as I look up at him and find his eyes watching me, his gaze soft.

  “That’s not true. It’s very real. We’re engaged. In fact, we just did a photoshoot to prove it. Tomorrow when the woman from the Times comes to interview us, we’re going to tell even more people that we’re in love and plan to get married. So stop assuming we’re assholes like your family and just accept that we like you, we want you around, and we’re engaged,” he says with a wink.