by Ivy Fox
When the elevator doors open, I catch a glimpse of Elle’s older brother Roman talking to a doctor at the end of the hall. I do a quick scan of the place without alerting him to my presence, and verify that Elle is nowhere in sight.
Maybe she’s home.
Shit.
Unfortunately for me, I can’t exactly walk up to Rome and ask him where she is, especially since the last time he saw me with Elle, I had my tongue down her throat. I doubt he’d like me sniffing around his baby sister. Ash sure as hell made it clear that her brothers are extremely protective when it comes to Elle. If it were Ollie, I might have gotten away with asking him about Elle’s whereabouts, but not Rome.
When a nurse leaves the room that Rome is guarding, I wait for her to walk down the hall and step in her way before she passes me by.
“Do you know where I can find Judge Grayson’s daughter by any chance?”
“Hmm, I think I heard her say she was going to get some coffee in the cafeteria.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I rush downstairs to the cafeteria, and sure enough, little Elle is sitting at an empty table, looking out a window with a blank expression on her face. There is a strange sensation that happens in my chest as I slowly walk over to her, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears.
When I pull out the chair next to her, Elle sluggishly sways her head to me, her eyes swollen and red. She doesn’t say a word and goes back to staring out the window. I put my arm around the back of her chair, and without any coaxing on my part, she leans into me, nestling her head on my shoulder. The knot in my chest loosens as I run my fingers through her hair, placing a chaste kiss on her temple. I’m not sure how long we stay like this, but I have no will to move. This is precisely where I need to be. Where I should have been all along.
“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asks after a while.
“Define bad.”
She lets out a sigh, tilting her head up to look me in the eye.
“I’m serious. Do you think I’m a bad person?”
“We’re all bad people. Being good is overrated anyway.”
When her disappointed gaze falls to the table, I lift her chin back up with my knuckles, needing to have her golden eyes on mine again.
“You’re not bad, Princess. Just flawed.”
Like me.
“He’s my father. I should want him to get better. I should want him to wake up and be alright.”
“But you don’t.”
She shakes her head.
“What kind of person does that make me? Someone who wishes that her own father never wakes up?”
“The kind of person who has been hurt.”
“Don’t do that.” She scoffs, pulling away from my touch.
“Don’t do what?”
“Lie to me. You’ve never done it before, so don’t do it now.”
“I’m not lying, Princess. Just because you wish for something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. You shouldn’t feel guilty about what you’re feeling right now. It doesn’t make you a monster. It just makes you human.”
“He’s not a good man.”
There is so much pain in her whiskey eyes that I suddenly wish her father would just die already, too. He must have fucked with her mind too many times to count to have her feeling this way. Worst thing is, she honestly believes she’s just like him. I can see the malefic thought playing on repeat in her mind, telling her his sins are hers to bear. I pull her to my chest and wrap my arms around her, knowing it won’t be enough to soothe her tortured soul.
“Even if that’s true, that doesn’t mean you’re anything like him.”
“I’m not so sure,” she replies in a whisper, her voice cracking at the end.
There is a painful pang in my chest that makes it hard for me to breathe. Witnessing how vulnerable she is right now in my arms is fucking with something far more dangerous than my head.
It’s messing with my heart.
This side of Elle calls out to my own insecurities—the ones who whisper in the dead of night that I’ll never amount to anything more than just another East River thug. And beneath the Grayson Oil heiress persona—that Elle plays so well—hides a girl fighting to break free from her own shackles. We might come from opposite sides of the social spectrum, but we are both fighting the same demons. Neither one of us wants to end up like our fathers.
“Come on. Get up,” I order, needing to get Elle as far away from her tormentor as I possibly can.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ve been cooped up in this place for too long. You need some fresh air. And some fucking real food, too. Not this cafeteria crap.”
“I can’t go with you. There are too many reporters outside,” she replies anxiously.
She’s right. It’s fucking mayhem outside. A sea of journalists and paparazzi with wide lens cameras are all waiting on bated breath at Liberty General’s entrance just to catch a pic of the down-on-their-luck Grayson family.
“Just trust me, okay?” I ask, pulling her up to her feet.
The way she doesn’t fight me on this, splits my heart in two.
Elle is a fighter. Always has been. But right now, she’s second-guessing herself. Even in a fucking coma, Judge Grayson has managed to corrupt his daughter’s mind, making her believe that she’s just as bad as he is.
Yep. We definitely need to get out of here.
I pull my hoodie off me and put it on her. It’s huge on her tiny frame, coming almost to her knees, but the hood is big enough to hide Elle’s face. As I predicted, when we pass through the hospital’s doors, no one even looks twice at us.
And why would they?
No one would ever expect to see the great Judge Grayson’s daughter walking hand in hand with a guy who looks like a hoodlum from the East River projects.
Not wanting to tempt fate, I order Elle to keep her head down during the whole subway ride to Queens, keeping a protective arm over her shoulders. It’s only when we reach the diner my mom works at that I pull the hood off her head.
“We’re here.”
“And where’s here exactly?” Elle’s brows pinch together in confusion.
“You’ll see.”
When the bell on top of the diner door rings out announcing a new customer, my mom waves me over to the end of the large steel counter.
“Santo, I didn’t expect to see you here today,” she says after I’ve kissed her cheek. “Who is your friend?”
“This is Elle. Elle, this is my mom.”
“Oh, so this is the famous Elenora I’ve heard so much about. Glad to finally put a face to the name. And what a pretty face it is,” my mother singsongs, brushing her hand under Elle’s chin.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. García,” Elle replies shyly, her pale cheeks gaining some color to them.
“Please call me Lucía. Are you two hungry? How about I bring you a menu?”
“Nah, ma. Just bring us whatever you cooked for today’s special.”
“Claro, cariño. You two grab a seat. I’ll check if I can have my dinner break now and join you.”
“That would be great, Mom.”
For the next half hour, the three of us dig into our bowls of sancocho while Mom gently draws Elle into a light conversation, which successfully takes her mind off her troubles. I even see Elle smile a time or two.
“I’m afraid I have to get back to work,” my mother interjects, getting up from her seat. “Elenora, it was so nice to finally meet you. I truly hope to see you again soon,” Mom adds, cupping Elle’s face in her hands and placing a kiss on each cheek.
She then turns her sights on me, placing a kiss on my cheek.
“Ella es adorable, cariño,” she whispers in my ear, throwing me a conspiring wink before going back to her shift.
“What did your mom just say?” Elle questions curiously.
“She thinks you’re lovely.”
&nb
sp; “Hmm. If only she knew the truth,” Elle mumbles under her breath.
She places her hand on the table, and I grab it, caressing the inside of her wrist with my thumb.
“It is the truth, Princess. Anyone who spends even five minutes with you would say the same thing.”
Elle’s forehead wrinkles.
“Why are you being nice to me, Saint?”
“When have I ever been nice?” I laugh.
“You’re doing it now. You have been since you came to the hospital. Tell me why.”
“Believe me. It’s purely for selfish reasons.”
She mauls her lower lip, her golden gaze tightening my chest.
“And what reasons are those?”
To see for myself that you’re okay so I don’t fucking lose it.
To have you looking at me the way you are now.
To hold your hand.
Take your pick, Princess.
They’re all selfish, and they’re all true.
But I don’t say any of those things.
Instead, I keep caressing her hand, entwining her fingers with mine.
“I would have come to you sooner, but Boy Scout had me on babysitting duty. Your stepsister, London, started quite a stir on her first day at school.”
“Her name is Holland, not London, but that’s beside the point. You’re deflecting my question. Tell me why, Santiago? Why did you come and see me today? Why are you being so nice?”
“I thought you might need a friend.”
“But we’re not friends,” she whispers despondently, her gaze falling to our clasped hands.
I lean in and kiss the inside of her wrist, her expression softening at the gentle touch.
“We are today, Princess. We are today.”
Chapter 29
Elle
Everyone around me is lying.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something is definitely up.
It’s the only explanation I can come up with for everyone acting so goddamn mercurial and cagey all of a sudden. The twins hardly say a word to each other anymore—Asher going as far as moving out of the manor to stay over at Chad’s of all places. Rome seems more on guard than usual. Secretive, too. And even sweet Holland appears to be always on edge, jumping out of her skin whenever anyone so much as calls out her name.
I want to blame my father’s comatose state or even Vivienne’s presence in our home for the sudden change in dynamics, but my gut tells me that’s not it. It might have something to do with the fact that Holland is actually Ollie and Asher’s Snow—the girl they fell in love with a few summers ago up in the Hamptons. I mean, it would explain Ollie’s taciturn attitude toward everything and Asher’s recent self-destructive behavior. But it wouldn’t explain why Rome is hiding something from me, though. My big brother loves to brag he can spot a liar from a mile away, but he forgets that so can I.
They’re all lying about something.
I just don’t know what.
With my world so upturned, I long for any sliver of normalcy that I can get. And, as usual, I turn to the only person who has always been there for me to give it. But lately, even Chad seems to be walking on eggshells around me, worried about how I’m handling my father’s hospitalization. He knows there’s no love lost when it comes to my father and me, but he also knows that monster is still the only living parent I have left. If he dies, I’ll officially become an orphan.
Chad believes I’m conflicted with how I should feel about that.
And he’s right. I am.
Just not for the reason he thinks.
It’s not that I’m saddened by the idea that I’ll no longer have a parent to call my own. It’s that I long for the days when that’s my reality.
And that stark truth is something I’ll never admit to Chad. Not if I want him to continue to be oblivious to how deep my darkness goes.
To my utter surprise, the only person who still acts like himself around me is none other than Santiago, the boy I swore would be my enemy till my last breath.
Isn’t that just a kick in the butt?
These are the thoughts running through my mind as I walk down the busy school hallway to my locker. However, with just the mention of his name in my head, the devil himself appears and nudges me on the shoulder.
“What do you want, Saint? I’m busy.”
“Too busy to thank me for yet again being on Holland duty? You know, if this is going to be a full-time gig, I should really start getting paid to be your stepsister’s bodyguard. On second thought, maybe I can persuade her to pay me,” he jokes, wiggling his brows suggestively.
The asshole has been a pain in my backside for years, but I have to admit that ever since Holland came to Pembroke, he’s been more than willing to be her shadow whenever Chad and I can’t.
“If you think escorting my friend to her classes will get you in her pants, you are dead wrong. She has higher standards than that.”
“Do I detect a little jealousy in your voice?”
“More like annoyance.”
He lets out a chuckle as I open my locker and switch books.
With his back flush against the locker next to mine, I try not to focus on the fact that Saint looks every bit the dangerous bad boy he wants people to believe he is. With his tie barely fastened, two very visible forearms covered in ink, and the huge-ass cross tattoo on his neck, he is the epitome of every father’s worst nightmare when they drop their precious daughters off at school.
“So, you think I couldn’t get a girl like Holland, huh?”
“I know you can’t. Not everyone likes to slum it.”
“That mouth of yours will get you into a lot of trouble one of these days. Play your cards right, and I’ll bring you down into the dirt with me.”
I should take his remark as a threat, but in his smooth velvet voice, his words sound more seductive than menacing.
I’m stuck thinking of a witty comeback when something else grabs his attention away from me.
“Raincheck on that mouth, Princess. I have shit to do,” he announces before rapidly walking down the hall.
I follow his retreating form and immediately see what the problem is.
Lace and her cronies are all caging Maya by her locker.
I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying to her, but by the way her cheeks are flaming red, it can’t be good. When Saint finally reaches them, whatever he says has the mean girls scattering away like the vile cockroaches they are. I stand rooted to my spot, my nails digging into my palms, watching Saint cup Maya’s face in his hands in concern. I can’t tell if Maya is crying or not, but my breath catches in my throat when Saint lowers his head to press a chaste kiss on her temple and hug her to his chest.
Much in the same way he did to me at Liberty General.
A loud slam of a locker behind me snaps me awake from that memory. I turn around to see Reid fuming, his enraged gaze fixed on Saint and Maya.
“Everything okay there, Reid?” I ask curiously, bridging the gap between us.
“Fine. Everything is just fucking dandy,” he growls through gritted teeth.
“If that bothers you,” I say, pointing at the faraway East River duo, “then maybe you should have a word with your girlfriend to prevent scenes like that from happening again.”
“What?” He gulps, his face turning from a furious red to pale white.
“You’re dating Lace Manning, right? At least that’s what she’s been telling everyone. If that’s the case, then I’d suggest you have a little one-on-one with Lace and tell her to leave Maya alone. Saint doesn’t like people messing with what’s his.”
“Maya isn’t his!” Reid growls louder, back to his pissed-off state.
“Oh, no? Then whose is she?” I arch a brow. “She’s certainly no one else’s if Saint is the only one out here protecting her from bullies like Lace.”
When his face falls, my suspicions are answered.
“You know what, Elle? You can be a real bitch when you want to be.”
“Tsk, tsk. This coming from a boy whose sister is none other than two-faced Addison, and whose girlfriend’s favorite pastime is humiliating defenseless girls. I thought bitch was the only kind of woman you liked, Reid.”
I throw him another scathing look before slamming the locker shut and walking away.
‘That’s my girl,’ my father’s voice whispers in my ear, sending a cold shiver down my spine.
Once I’ve turned the corner, I lean against the wall, my hands covering my ears to push that evil voice away from my mind.
I should feel guilty about the way I treated Reid, but I can’t find it in me to be. If his feelings for Maya were real, then he wouldn’t let her be subjected to Lace’s bullying. He just wouldn’t. That’s not how love works.
That’s not why you called Reid out on his bullshit.
You just used him as a punching bag because you couldn’t handle the way Saint was doting on Maya either.
“No. That’s not true,” I say out loud, shaking my head.
Isn’t it?
Hmm.
Was I jealous of Saint and Maya?
No.
No way.
I couldn’t have been.
Could I?
I mean, am I?
No. I can’t be.
Just like you aren’t jealous of him and Chad, you mean?
The thought rams into me like a pile of bricks, making me bite my inner cheek with fury.
I need to get my head straight, and luckily for me, I know exactly the place where I can do that. Since I have a free period right now, I might as well work on my designs for the winter fashion show rather than going to the library to study as I intended. That’s exactly what I should be focusing on, not all this teenage drama and angst.
I walk over to Pembroke House and rush up the two flights of stairs where the school has given us a space to work on our designs.
When I walk into the room, another nasty surprise is waiting for me there.