The Heir - Part 1 (The Kings & Queens of St Augustus Book 3)

by Gemma Weir

“I’m not sweet,” I tell him quietly. “That’s my sister.”

  “No honey, that’s you too. You’re even more broken than she is, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not broken, I’m just evil,” I breath.

  He shakes his head. “Oh Carrigan, the bruises are just below the surface for you aren’t they,” he whispers quietly.

  A tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek as I stare at this man who I just met, but who sees me in a way that I don’t see myself, he sees something in me that’s not bad and twisted.

  I hear Carson moving behind us and so must Fitzy, because he clears his throat and smiles. “That dress is a no. Unless it wows you and makes you feel beautiful, it’s not for you.”

  Letting him guide me back behind the screen, I wipe the tears from my cheeks as I strip the dress off and try on the next outfit he hands me. An hour later I’ve discovered that I like skirts, the color blue, and blazers, and I have a real smile on my face for the first time in longer than I can remember.

  Back home I have closets full of clothes, and I’ve always endured shopping rather than enjoyed it. But trying on all these outfits with Fitzy has been fun. His enthusiasm for clothes is overwhelming and with his sweet guiding help I think I’m starting to figure out what I like.

  I expected Carson to leave, he’s a guy after all, what guy enjoys clothes. But the entire time I’ve been trying on outfits, he’s stayed in the living room, his feet propped up on the coffee table watching me, smiling as I smile, not giving an opinion until I’d given my own.

  “Thank you,” I say to Fitzy, as he collapses the privacy screen.

  “Pah, this is what I live for,” he says, waving my thanks off. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow with some more choices for you now we’re getting a firmer fix on your style and I have your proper measurements, then going forward I’ll just send things out to you as I find them for you.”

  “I’m not sure where I’m going to be staying, but for the moment I’m at the Haywood Hotel. Do you bill me, or should I give you my credit card details? How does this work?” I ask.

  “Oh it’s already sorted,” Fitzy says, leaning in to press a kiss against my cheek. “And I have your cell number so I’ll just text you and you can let me know where you want me to bring the next batch of things for you to try.”

  “How is it sorted? Are you going to send the bill to the hotel?” I ask, narrowing my eyes a little. The outfits we picked together tonight are thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, I mean I know he knows I’m rich, but I still need to know how to pay him.

  “He’s putting it on my account,” Carson says.

  “What, why?” I gasp, spinning to face him.

  “Because I told him to.”

  “Right my darlings,” Fitzy interrupts, “I’ll leave you to it. Carrigan, it was a pleasure to meet you, I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thank you, man,” Carson says, embracing Fitzy in a man hug, before the older man leaves pulling the rail of clothes behind him.

  I wait for a moment, until Fitzy is out of sight before I turn on Carson. “What are you doing?”

  “Come here Priss.”

  “No,” I snap, crossing my arms across my chest and holding my ground. “You can’t just buy my clothes.”

  “Why not?” he asks calmly, closing the distance between us, ignoring my obvious annoyance.

  “Because you can’t, people don’t just buy other people a whole new wardrobe,” I say, uncrossing then re-crossing my arms, fidgeting beneath his unwavering gaze.

  “I really couldn’t give a fuck what other people do. I wanted to do this, so I did,” he says, his expression intense, but calm.

  “I have money,” I insist.

  “I know, we all have money, more than we’ll ever need.”

  “So I don’t need you to pay for my things.”

  “I know that. But I’m still going to,” he says, reaching for me and pulling me to him. “The customary response to a gift is thank you.”

  “Carson.”

  His sigh is loud. “Priss, just say thank you, then kiss me.”

  Wary, I stare at him for a long moment, trying to understand his motives, what he thinks this gift is going to get him, what game this is.

  “Jesus,” he mutters, a second before he palms the back of my head and pulls my lips up to his.

  Mom always taught me that every interaction with a boy had purpose, that I should use it to my advantage. A shy look here, a soft touch there. She promised me I could make them all fall in love with me, if I just learnt their weak spots. I know how to play with a guy, but always on my terms and it’s never more than a means of getting what I want.

  Only all those things don’t apply to Carson, do they? The money is gone, he knows that, he helped me get out from beneath its burden, so what game is he playing?

  Am I playing with him?

  No.

  How can I be manipulating him, when I literally have no idea what’s going on?

  “Stop thinking,” Carson growls against my lips a second before he reclaims them, teasing me into losing myself to his touch like he does every time he’s near me.

  Allowing myself to just give in, I enjoy him, enjoy the way his huge body makes me feel small and protected. I enjoy how he holds me tight against him, like he doesn’t want me to escape, and how when I’m in his arms I feel like it’s possible to just be me. Be who I am in this moment and not a product of my past, and that maybe, just maybe, I can forge a better future for myself.

  When he pulls back, I reluctantly release my hold on him, not realizing that my fingers were clinging to him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  I feel his smile against my forehead when he presses a soft, barely there, kiss against me. “You’re welcome Priss.”

  “I should go,” I tell him, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to overstay my welcome either.

  “Or you could stay,” he says, pulling away until I’m looking up into his handsome face.

  “I don’t understand? We already had sex,” I say, bewildered. Does he want to do it again? I mean I’m okay with that, but is that what he means.

  “I love fucking you Priss, but that isn’t the only reason I want you to stay with me,” he says, his fingers gripping my chin, holding my face up when all I want to do is look away.

  “Then why?”

  A sadness fills his eyes and I instantly prickle, I don’t want his pity.

  “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

  I shake my head.

  “Ever had a guy friend?”

  I shake my head again.

  “Ever had a friend.”

  Scowling, I rip my chin from his grip and try to turn away, but he grabs me, hauling me roughly back to him. He forces me to walk backwards, crowding me until my spine hits the wall and he cages me in, his body pressed firm against mine, imprisoning me.

  “Don’t fucking turn away from me when I’m talking to you. When we’re having a conversation I want to see your eyes. You get me?” he snarls, eyes angry and daring me to look away.

  I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. What he’s doing, how he’s acting, I should be frightened, but he’s not hurting me. If I really wanted to leave I think he’d let me despite our size difference, because even though he’s huge and has me pinned to a wall, I feel utterly protected by him.

  “Good. Now listen to me carefully, because I’m going to spell it out for you. I like you. I want to figure you out. Yes, I want to fuck you. Yes, I want to kiss and touch you and watch you do what I ask you to, but that’s not all I want.”

  I feel my lips part in shock, but no sound comes out as I watch him swallow, his head tilting to the side a little as he stares at me.

  “I don’t understand it Priss, but I want to take care of you. I want to protect you and look after you. I think I want to fucking keep you, which is confusing the fucking hell out of me, but the truth is that I don’t think you’re evil. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

&nbs
p; I open my mouth to speak but he glares, shaking his head to silence me.

  “I’m not an idiot. I know you’ve done bad shit. I know you’ve used and manipulated and lied. I know you’ve done stuff that has tarnished you. But the things you’ve done don’t have to define you, not if you learn from them.”

  His words are honest and brutal, but his touch is so soft I barely realized that he’s stroking my cheek until he’s stopped speaking and is just watching me.

  “I’ll take you back to the hotel, but I want you to think about what I’ve said. You don’t have to be alone Priss. Your sister wants a relationship with you, she wants to be in your life. I want to be in your life. Hell, after one night I can guarantee that Fitzy wants to be in your life, and all you have to do is let us. I won’t tell you what to do about this Priss, even though I can see from the way you’re looking at me that you want me to. This has to be your decision.”

  “I’m not a good person to be around, I don’t trust who I am,” I admit, closing my eyes so I don’t have to see his face.

  “So choose to be different. Choose to be a sister, choose to be a friend, choose to be mine. But whatever you do, you have to be the one to choose it. You. Not your mom and dad, not some dead guy, not me. You.”

  21

  Carson

  I have no idea what’s happening tonight. Honestly, I have no idea what’s been happening since I woke up to find her in my bedroom asking me to help her break that godforsaken will.

  Everything that’s happened since that day has been like a river full of rapids, never stopping, just bouncing me from one eddy to the next while I frantically try to keep my head above water.

  Carrigan Archibald is the enemy.

  Was the enemy.

  Now, I have no fucking clue what she is.

  No that’s a lie, I know what I want her to be. I want her to be mine, my Priss, mine. But what the hell would I do with her if she was? Can I even tell my friends, my family that I fell for the devil? Only she’s not the devil, she’s just a lonely, mixed up sad girl. When I met Tally, I thought she was the saddest person I’d ever met, but behind the fragile exterior is a backbone of steel. Her twin is the opposite, her exterior is hard, but her inside is soft and delicate. Two sides of the same coin and somehow, I’ve lost myself to them both. Tally as a sister, Priss as my girl.

  My girl.

  I want Carrigan Archibald to be my girl. Only instead of carrying her to my bed, I’m walking her to her hotel room and I’m going to have to leave her here, even though I hate it, even though I want her to sleep naked and curled against me.

  I can’t make her choose to live, to change, to take responsibility for her past and then move forward from it. If I could take that burden for her I would, but I can’t, so instead I’m going to walk away and hope she finds her way back to me, even though it’s going to kill me to do it.

  She hasn’t said a word since I pinned her to the fucking wall of my boat like a god damn caveman. She just silently gathered her cell and the robe she was wearing when I hauled her from her bedroom and then followed me to the car. She’s wearing one of the outfits Fitzy bought over, a soft pink blouse and tight white jeans, that make her look tiny and curvy all at the same time.

  Wedged sandals raise her up so she can almost look me in the eye without tipping her head back. Her hair is still in a braid and her face still bare of makeup. She looks fucking gorgeous, but as much as I want to, I won’t touch her.

  Taking her key card from her hand I open the door and hover in the corridor while she walks past me and into the small room. “Night Priss,” I say quietly, tensing my muscles to stop myself from reaching for her.

  “Goodnight Carson,” she whispers, her hand curling around the door handle.

  “I’ll leave you alone, okay? Think about what I said and then come find me,” I tell her, forcing myself to turn and walk away, even though it’s literally the last thing I want, knowing that she might never talk to me again.

  I can’t do to her what her parents did, I can’t take advantage of her naturally compliant nature. If she comes to me, if she goes to Tally, it has to be her decision, her choice.

  22

  Carrigan

  Four days. That’s how long I sit in my hotel room, trying to figure out what to do; who I am and who I want to be.

  Four days without seeing or hearing from Carson.

  Four days without feeling whole.

  Four days is how long it takes me to stop moping and become irrationally angry. Angry at him for making me think, angry at myself for being so weak that I hadn’t figured this out for myself. But mainly I’m angry at my parents. I’m angry that they were as complicit in everything I did as I was, but that they get to run away and leave me to deal with the consequences alone. I’m angry that they didn’t take me with them and I’m angry that I want to go.

  Four days is how long this anger and fury festers inside of me before I start to do something.

  Snatching up the hotel telephone I dial down to reception.

  “Haywood Hotel, how may I assist you?” the cheerful voice asks.

  “Can I have the biggest ice cream sundae you do and a martini, extra dry please?” I ask, smiling manically as I order things that I would never have been allowed if my mom was here.

  “Of course, I’ll have room service bring that up to your room, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No thank you.”

  “Okay, thank you ma’am.”

  Placing the receiver down, I jump up from the bed, suddenly too agitated to sit still for a moment longer. Glancing down at the robe I’m wearing, I frown. How long was I really planning on hiding in this room, basking in my misery? Ripping the robe off, I throw it to the floor and head for the bathroom, letting the hot shower wash all of my pathetic mopiness down the drain. When I emerge, pink skinned, I pull on the outfit I wore home from Carson’s the other night, turning to assess myself in the mirror.

  The blouse is my signature pink color, but my mom would hate this outfit, which only makes me love it more. Twisting to the side I take in my reflection, I look like me, only different. My eyes are bright but full of sadness and regret. I don’t want to be this person, this pathetic, weak creature that hides from life.

  The time for feeling sorry for myself has passed, my sister forced herself out from the shadows and bloomed in the sunlight, and now she’s happy and in love and free, and I want that too. I broke that will, but I’m still shackled to it by regret, guilt, and loss. I need to move on. Carson was right, he told me I could choose who to be, only he couldn’t make this decision for me, I needed to find my way here on my own.

  A knock at the door heralds the arrival of my food and I throw it open and invite the server in, adding a large tip to the bill before closing the door behind him and diving for my ice cream. The cold vanilla coats my mouth, making each taste bud burst to life as I groan around the spoon. Each mouthful tastes like rebellion and happiness and life. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, and by the time I’m scaping the last bite from the bottom of the glass I know what I need to do.

  It’s time to reclaim my life, forge a new future for myself and stop living in the past. My parents were wrong, I have value and worth beyond that inheritance. If Tally can find happiness, maybe I can find a way to atone for my sins and perhaps seek a little revenge on the way.

  The car service pulls into the St Augustus drive and I pull in a reaffirming breath. Today, for the first time, I want to be here, but that doesn’t make walking the halls of the school any less nerve wracking.

  Squeezing my fingers together into fists I try to stop the trembling in my hands. For years St Augustus has been my domain. When I walk down the halls people stop and stare, it used to be because I was on the verge of inheriting a fortune, but today I plan to make them stop and turn for a different reason.

  Instead of trying to sneak in without anyone noticing, I’ve timed my entrance so everyone will see me. T
oday I won’t hide from their penetrating stares, it’s time to reclaim my identity and this is the first step. When the car pulls to a stop a few feet from the entrance steps I pull in a deep breath, lift my chin, and remind myself who I am.

  I’m Carrigan Prudence Archibald and I gave up billions of dollars to save myself and my twin sister. I’m not perfect and I’ve done truly awful things, but I won’t cower away from my actions.

  The door opens and I only pause for a second before I twist in my seat, dropping my feet to the floor, then I rise to my full height. Lifting my eyes, I smirk at the onlookers whose mouths fall open.

  Gone is my poker straight, honey blonde hair, replaced with platinum blonde, textured waves that frame my face in a sexily disheveled way. Gone is the natural, flawless makeup my mom painstakingly taught me how to perfect, replaced with a nude lip and dark eye liner that makes my blue eyes seem twice as big. Gone is the conservative knee length skirt chosen to remind everyone that my virtue is intact, replaced with the mid-thigh version that Carson flipped up while he fucked me over a couch just a few days ago.

  Each of my steps is purposeful and full of renewed confidence. I’m still me, only this version I like, this version I chose. This isn’t my parents’ image of me, this is who I’m deciding to be and it feels like with each step I take I shed more of the weight of shame and expectation that’s been holding me hostage.

  Today I’m telling the all too familiar eyes on me that I won’t cower, that I’m no longer ashamed. For the first time since I gave up a fortune I feel like me again, and my classmates and everyone else who watches me go knows it too. The other students and their opinions aren’t important anymore. There’s only a handful of people at St Augustus that I want to see and it’s time to find them.

  “Carrigan,” my sister says, her mouth falling open for a second before it curves into a wide smile. “I love the new look.”

  “Thanks,” I say, lifting my hand to flip the hair that’s fallen into my eyes out of the way.