“Simone? Of all people? Did you get together to coordinate your lies before or after the garden party? Anyone else I should know about?”
“No,” I lied.
Poppy declined to comment further. She refused to acknowledge her silence was crushing my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
After what felt like innumerable hours in the car, we reached the edge of Clarion Abbey. Something was off. The smell of smoke was in the air and there was an oily pit deepening in my stomach.
“Oh my God!” Poppy started clawing at the door handle. She flung it open and sprinted to the garden shed where smoke was curling out of the windows and door.
I shot off after her, swearing. There weren’t any flames yet, but it was only a matter of time before they engulfed the shed. We had to stop it before it moved to the gardens and the wooden bits of the manor.
“The fire extinguisher!” I shouted. “Poppy, where’s the extinguisher!”
Poppy stopped pumping water from the old-fashioned pump and sprinted into the kitchens. She came back out moments later with a large fire extinguisher, her eyes wild and terrified.
“Cover your face!” I took it from her as she pulled the tab, and we sprayed the inside of the shed together.
It was only a few heart-pounding moments before the licking flames subsided. I threw down the extinguisher and ripped off my shirt for Poppy to tie around her face for protection against the smoke. She tied it as I covered my face with the inside of my elbow and poked my head into the shed.
After a quick inspection, I went and sat her down at the steps to the manor. “It’s all ruined inside but it seems like a fairly contained fire. Better call the police to report it, though.”
Poppy blanched. “You don’t think it was done on purpose, do you?”
Of course, I did, and I had my suspicions and suspects already lined up in my head, but I only gave her a quick smile. “Better safe than sorry. I’ll wait with you until they arrive. I’m going to inspect the rest of the house so you don’t have to look at me. Stay here.”
“Finn—”
“Don’t worry. I just hate disappointing you. It’s the worst feeling in the world.” I left Poppy, both of our emotions swirling, and went to make sure Stone hadn’t done anything else idiotic. I knew Poppy was as much a furnace of anger as the fire in her shed, but it remained to be seen if her anger would dissipate into smoke or burn everything to the ground.
Chapter Twenty
Poppy
Ten years earlier
I couldn’t stop fidgeting. The crown of wildflowers poked into my scalp, and I imagined bugs crawling out of the petals and getting stuck in my hair. I shook off the irritating sensations, but there was something dark to them. It was impossible to put my finger on, especially after the night before and the beauty of the day, but something didn’t feel right.
I was probably just nervous. Finn would be there any moment. How would he react after the previous night? Would he smile with his whole face or nod politely as always? Which Finn would he present to the world on this gorgeous May Day?
And it was beautiful. It was a spring day worthy of a celebration with only a few fluffy white clouds lazing across the blue horizon. The world smelled like dew and newly cut grass. A large, white tent with colorful streamers flapped in the breeze. Soon, I would be crowned May Day Queen next to Finn, and we would eat and laugh, enjoying a new season. Now, I thought—well, I hoped—we’d even be together.
I wore a long, white dress my mother had sewn for me. Ten little kids stamped and squirmed in anticipation. The girls held their veils over their necks while the boys tried not to itch in their hot jackets and feathered caps, blowing out their cheeks and chucking fistfuls of grass at each other until Mom scolded them to cut it out.
Finn still wasn’t there. I would have known by the pulsing golden light of my body reacting every time he neared. I itched to look into his eyes and hold his hand. Betrothals didn’t happen anymore, but it was clear we would marry, especially after the night before.
I sighed, remembering the feeling of it all in pleasure. Finn had shown up at Clarion, scaled three stories to my room in the east wing, and tapped on my window. I fell out of my chair when I saw his shadow in the moonlight.
After I tread quietly to the window and squeaked it open, Finn smiled.
“Stone’s room is three over,” I whispered.
Finn cupped my chin in his hand. Being three years older had always made him appear so worldly. His father made him travel with him for business. One day he’d be in Paris and then Hong Kong the next. It gave me chills to be near him. What had he seen in the world, and would I see it too?
“I’m not here for Stone.”
At his deep voice, my stomach dropped and rose, hot and in turmoil. Finn was there for me? My heart tumbled at the thought. Despite growing up near each other and playing when we were younger, Finn had never been so close to me, so raw and here, in my space. I’d never seen his eyes roam my body like that—or anything.
I silently stepped back and let him leap over the windowsill. Crickets sang outside the window while we drank each other in and finally saw each other for the first time, there in the dark of my bedroom.
He stalked closer while I stumbled back, my heart somersaulting, and sat on the bed. He studied my lacy, white bedsheets and gilded framed pictures of my ancestors on the walls. I liked them; they reminded me of my history.
But he didn’t linger to look at the room. In fact, when he turned to face me, he never broke eye contact again. I pressed myself against the oak four-poster bed frame, desperate to feel something solid, something to prop me up when everything in my body was turning to jelly and wet heat blossomed in my underwear. I clenched my thighs, dizzy with possibilities.
“Poppy?”
“Yes?”
With a swoop, he gripped the base of my neck and kissed me, hot and hard. I flung my arms around him, pressing my aching body to his. Within seconds, he lifted up my nightgown and unbuckled his pants. I barely had time to see anything in the dark of the room. My white nightgown rode up to my hips as Finn took my virginity, thrusting tentatively at first until I responded hungrily, pulling him closer and wanting no space between our bodies, even though we were still clothed and I hurt from the break. He moaned my name after only a few minutes inside of me, shaking with one final thrust, and I felt something warm spurting inside.
“Did you have an orgasm?” he asked, lying on top of me.
I debated lying, but something told me to tell the truth around Finn. He always knew if I was lying, so I shook my head.
“Sorry, you felt so damn good,” he responded before kneeling to lick me.
“Don’t—you don’t have to,” I began, but Finn dug his fingers into my thighs and plunged his tongue inside. I could barely speak until the warmth reached a peak and I cried his name, pulling on his hair.
“What was that about?” I asked, lying back on the bed, trying to catch my breath—or, more likely, my senses.
Finn pulled up his pants soberly, slowly. “I—” He raked a hand through his hair, a gesture he’d always done. “I hope you’re not cross with me.”
I shook my head. “No. I just didn’t think you fancied me,” I admitted.
Finn gave me a swift kiss on the forehead before putting a leg over the windowsill. “I better go. See you tomorrow, Seedling.”
Something felt weird, off. He’d never confirmed he liked me. I couldn’t sleep. For the rest of the night, I tossed and turned, alternating between giddy bouts of joy and feeling boiling hot tears pour down my face.
So, the next morning, I fidgeted. What would Finn say? What would he do? Every time my mother looked over at me, I felt her eyes burning into my soul, like she knew just by looking what had happened. The dark circles under my puffy eyes didn’t help. She never said anything, but she had to know. Losing one’s virginity branded you in some way.
Still, Finn didn’t come.
Instead,
everyone stood around, waiting. Finn was supposed to be walking next me with his scepter and traditionally tailored May Day outfit. I vividly remembered my mother wondering where my father was. All the little kids wouldn’t stop moving and shoving each other, bored and ready for food. It wasn’t their big day. It was mine—mine and Finn’s.
May Day was for misdeeds. The ancient, pagan tradition allowed unwed couples to sneak off into the forests and glens to enjoy each other. Perhaps Finn would sneak me off after our duties were done. He would lead me, grinning under a chestnut tree with the twigs of hawthorn and heather still in my hair. I would be breathless from our dance around the May Pole, and he would steal away any oxygen I had left in my lungs. Mourning doves would coo sleepily as he loved me under their nests.
I kept a careful sigh from my mom’s ears when I caught sight of Finn. Out of nowhere, he appeared around the corner of the white tent.
He gave me one look, a finger on his lips.
I was confused.
I cocked my head.
He shouted, “Look out!” and threw open the tent’s flap. My mom gasped, but there had to be others as well—the gasps rang out louder than a cannon.
My father’s pants were around his ankles and, against my will, I pictured Finn the same way. I dragged my eyes from my father to the woman he was screwing. She had long blonde hair, and I kept thinking how remarkably like my mother she looked, how stupid and unfair it was that he was fucking a woman who looked exactly like his wife. What was the point?
My mother had her fingers around my arm. She’d been guiding me to my station. Now, she stood still, her eyes also locked on my father’s, her nails gouging my skin.
“Mom?” I whispered.
Then she swept me away, across the grounds, and into our new life in Denver. I didn’t even remember protesting. It was the shock.
I only wanted to start over and never look back. So I did.
He’d betrayed me many times before. First with the fairy hunts, then with the fairy letters, and so many little times in between—but this was something new. He’d taken my heart. He’d taken my virginity. Then he’d taken my family.
Chapter Twenty-One
Poppy
Present day
I paced through the gardens. There was only a week left to get everything organized, yet all I could think about was Finn. Finn and my father. Finn and his betrayal—again. Finn and Simone.
Our mingled scent had lingered on my fingers and mouth for hours, no matter how hard I scrubbed and scoured my face. Even worse, it wasn’t a bad smell. Dean had smelled vaguely of maple syrup, which hadn’t been something I could wrap my head around when I was wrapping my mouth around him. Finn reminded me over and over again of something earthy and wild, something to be savored.
I wanted to scream, but that might send Boris careening through the daisies. He was starting to get overprotective of me. I briefly considered siccing him on Finn.
I saw some ivy trying to take another foothold on the clerestory of the Norman walls. Finn was like ivy: beautiful, unassuming, but once its roots had a foothold in the very foundations of mortar and stone, it would destroy something solid and sure. It would crumble me to dust. I stomped over and ripped the roots off.
That was the worst part. There hadn’t been some sudden fall: where I saw him, stood up, and announced I was in love. It had been a gradual, insidious thing, which made it all the more impossible to defend against.
Headlines from the past that kept surfacing in my mind, forcing me to remember all the things I’d tried so hard to forget in my attempts to move on with my shiny, new, American life.
Can the 9th Earl of Arun Recover?
Lawyers Already Suppressing Rumors about Infidelity
Caught!
Royals Behaving Badly: The Lords and Ladies Edition
Baby Mama Drama!
The 9th Earl of Arun has been ditched after an incident on May Day. Caught red-buttocked, the Earl’s indecent exposure was bared for all to see, prompting a swift response by his second wife, Lady Perrinton. Sources say she has headed back to her home in Denver, Colorado, along with the Earl’s only daughter, Lady Poppy. In an attempt to win her back, the Earl has in return left his lover. However, it remains to be seen if his plan will work. You will recall the rumors of infidelity between the Earl and his first wife, and mother of his heir, Stone Perrinton, Viscount of Everlight. The divorce was handled quietly and out of sight of the public. Perhaps a third time is the charm?
It was like being caught with your pants down, except it was my father’s pants. They were around his ankles while he stuck his dick where it didn’t belong, namely, in some woman I’d never seen before and never saw again.
In one swoop of the curtain, Finn had humiliated my entire family, broken my trust in my father, and stomped on my heart. How could he ever feel a shred of love for me if he could stoop to doing such a thing after taking my virginity? A real friend would have told me—you know, before he screwed me, or at the very least, after. He would have given my family a chance to deal with it privately, behind the scenes, as was the British way.
I’d sworn never to forgive Finn and never look back, just like my mother had done to my father. We left that day, my flower crown all but forgotten in our rush to leave. I never wore flowers in my hair again.
Not even to Coachella.
Mom had turned out fine. She loved her life in Denver and dated plenty of guys. Although, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered. She’d never settled down again, preferring the single life to commitment. So she said. Her flings could include multiple men, women, couples—anything was fair game, except for one man. Now, I was starting to think she refused to trust the male species with her heart. With good reason. So why should I?
Finn had already proved he wasn’t above lying to shield himself from the wrongs he committed. He’d tried to hide sleeping with Simone, his father’s warnings against me, and a huge media debacle brewing over his firing. To what other lows would he stoop in order to get what he wanted? And what exactly was it that he wanted? What in the world was there left for a man who had everything?
Worst was Simone. Why act buddy-buddy when she was hiding the fact she’d screwed Finn in his fighter jet after their little joyride? It was probably why she’d looked so surprised when Finn announced we were together at the garden party. Did she have feelings for him?
Maybe it hadn’t meant anything and bringing it up would have seemed gauche to her. Maybe she was embarrassed. Her exposed bottom was all over Britain. As her friend, I knew I should comfort her—not accuse her. While she looked shocked I was dating Finn at the garden party, she didn’t seem to bear me any ill will.
I rung up Simone immediately, no clear idea of what I would say and no way to guess what she would do. Simone answered on the first ring, but her voice sounded dull and dried out.
“Poppy…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, it was a bit of a shock.”
“We weren’t thinking, neither of us, but we’re obviously not together.”
I was silent for a beat too long, processing. It felt like Dean was happening all over again. It wasn’t that I cared about him; it was the pain of not knowing something everyone else already knew. It was the pain of these things happening behind my back, knowingly kept from me because they would hurt.
“Oh, please say you’ll forgive me,” she implored.
I heaved a sigh. “Of course, but only if you’ll help me with some wallpaper business. I really don’t want Finn around me right now.”
“But you’re together, aren’t you?” Simone begged. “You’ll work it out, I’m sure. There must be a good piece of Finn buried deep in there.”
I forgot for a moment she didn’t know it was all fake. “Oh, yeah. We’re together. I just need some space. So I’ll see you tomorrow? Make sure you bring some work clothes if you don’t mind getting dirty. You do know what those look like, right?” I teased ha
lf-heartedly. I already missed Finn’s large presence and the buzz of gold in my veins whenever he was near. It was calming in ways I couldn’t quite understand.
“I’ll find something suitable,” she promised.
At least I had Simone coming over to distract me. If I called my mother, she’d take one look at my aura and stage an intervention. I doubted she’d actually fly over herself, but calling the prime minister wasn’t out of the question. She was still suspicious about my Boris comment.
The next day, Simone showed up neither bright nor early. I opened the door to let her fall dramatically through it.
“I see you’re holding up well,” I commented as she put a hand to her forehead.
Simone grimaced, her pretty features twisted. “Oh, it’s been horrible! I mean, I have a good bum, but to have it seen by everyone in the world is quite something else.” She looked at me sideways. “Right?”
“Uh, right,” I answered dutifully, not sure what answer was necessary.
“But it is a good bum,” she persisted.
I gave her a playful eye roll. “Yes, Simone, you have a great ass. Now all of Europe, North America, and the most of the Middle East oil heirs know it, too. Happy?”
“Only if you mean it, darling.”
I gave her a hip bump. “Thanks again for chipping in. It means a lot that you’d risk getting your Givenchy t-shirt dirty for me.”
“I guess I didn’t think you were quite serious about wallpaper,” she admitted, eyeing the mountain of dry magic erasers I’d bought.
I tossed her one. “Start without water. We’re getting the dust off first. I’ll do a patch with water over in the corner to see if it’s damaging.”
“Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?” Simone asked, staring distastefully at the cleaning supplies.
A Manor of Faking It (The Clarion Abbey Series Book 1) Page 15
