I’m detached. As if living in a world that’s not real. I feel like water, never truly solid, constantly falling and slipping away.
“Grandpa,” I say, even though I’m not sure how I’m going to get up and put on a smile. There is no mask thick enough to cover what’s inside me.
“Screw etiquette, Rose. Screw it all. Some things are more important than pleasing people.”
I laugh, and it’s such a strange thing to do, but if I don’t, I might start sobbing again. My mother has done nothing but kiss my grandpa’s arse since we’ve arrived back in New York City, and for her to cancel our dinner plans shows just how far I’ve fallen. It’s not funny; it’s heartbreaking, yet I laugh anyway.
My mother puts me in a hot bath and orders pizza. Apparently, nervous breakdowns require fat and grease. She finishes the night with ice cream and a movie, and as I fall asleep that night, my mother tucking the duvet around me, I vaguely think how I should have breakdowns more often. It seems to be the only way to get her attention.
Chapter 17
“Hey, Rose.” Ash’s breath whispers across my skin before he presses his lips to the curve of my neck, his body enveloping me from behind.
Sighing, I melt into him. Everything inside me stills, and for just a second, the turmoil under my skin calms.
“Don’t do that,” I snap, ripping myself away from him. It’s not fair. There’s enough loss in my life already, and being reminded of what he does to me and then have it taken away is a cruelty I don’t have the strength for today.
“Hey.” Ash releases me, hands up as he steps back. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The sorrow that lives just below the surface of my skin threatens to overwhelm me as I meet his gaze. He’s confused, hurt even, but did he really think we’d touch and kiss during art to then walk away as strangers when it was finished? Is that really what he expected of me?
“Are you all right?” he asks.
My mother asked me the same question at least ten times before I left the house this morning, and as I did with her, I lie. “I’m fine.”
“No, you are not.”
I glance behind Ash into the classroom from the supply cupboard. A few students have arrived, but Miss Spice isn’t here yet. I skipped lunch to come here early because I didn’t have it in me to face Sophia on the day my father is receiving his judgment. It could have already been decided or be happening this second; he could be staring at the judge waiting to hear his fate. A fate that won’t just affect him but me. I should have asked for the time; all I know is there aren’t many more daytime hours left in the UK, and I wish I could be there. I wish I could look the judge in the eye and beg him not to take my father away from me.
“Have I done something wrong?” Ash asks quietly. There’s a wariness to his tone; he’s afraid of the answer. He’s afraid I’ll push him away, and we’ll be strangers in art too. The only time we are free to be who we wish.
“No. Just ignore me. I’m in a mood.”
Frowning, he closes the space between us again, his hand finding my chin and lifting my face to meet his. His gentleness breaks me and liquid sorrow spills from my eyes.
“Please, don’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, Ash, but I don’t have it in me today. I can’t bear to have your comfort when I know it will be taken away.”
Stepping away, his hand drops from my chin, and the absence of his touch hurts more than I thought possible. “Talk to me. I thought you were okay with this.”
I laugh bitterly. “I was never okay with this, Ash, but I understood it. This isn’t about you; my dad’s sentencing is today.”
“Rose.” He pulls me into his arms, and though I know it will inevitably cause me more suffering in the long run, I fall into his embrace anyway. Stealing a few more minutes out of time. “I’m so sorry.”
“Everyone’s sorry. My mum’s sorry, my dad’s sorry, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“You should have stayed at home.”
“What, and wallow around the apartment all day thinking about it? Besides, I didn’t want Sophia thinking I was staying away from school because of her.”
“You make Sophia sound like a monster, you know.”
I laugh. “You said it, not me.”
Chuckling, he holds me tighter as if he knows our minutes are coming to an end. Chatter filters in through the door from the classroom, and any minute, Miss Spice’s voice is bound to call us to attention. “I’ve been thinking of you.” He sighs.
I lean back and grin. “How her crown would look much better on me?”
Shaking his head in return, he replies, “You do realize it’s Grayson who rules this school, right? He’s in the shadows, pulling our strings.”
“Are you telling me to take Grayson down?” I ask.
“He’s my stepbrother.”
Miss Spice’s voice whispers through the air; our time is up.
“That’s not an answer,” I point out as we pull apart.
“My stepfather takes family image very seriously,” he adds.
“My mother says he’s a womanizing pig,” I mutter as we head for the door.
“He’s my mother’s husband. This is my life now; my hands are tied.”
We head for the door, the heaviness of our realities in the air around us.
“Is she happy, Ash?” I ask quietly as he steps ahead of me.
Looking back, the light from the classroom casting his features in shadow, Ash answers, his haunting sorrow calling to mine. “Is anyone really happy in today’s world.”
Art is over far too soon, even with the five minutes Ash and I stay behind to discuss the after-school project we are doing as punishment for talking. As far as punishments go, it’s not really severe. I like painting, and it gives me extra time alone with Ash; in fact, it’s more a reward. But I’m not going to tell Miss Spice that.
Ash, on the other hand, is trying to fit it around his football training, which takes up more of his time than I realized. I wonder what it must be like for him playing and training for a sport that isn’t a passion but an obligation. Does he still scribble comic book sketches on an evening, making up superhero stories? Or is his free time spent meeting the standards set by his new family?
“Can we can meet after lunch on Saturday?” he asks as we leave class. “Practice is from ten till twelve.”
“Do you have practice every weekend?”
“Pretty much, unless there’s a game on.”
“Do you still draw?” I ask.
“We just spent an hour drawing in art.” He smirks.
“You know what I mean.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a smartarse.”
“I love the way you say arse,” he replies, overexaggerating the r.
“I don’t say it like that.” I giggle.
“Do too.” He pokes out his tongue.
“Do not.” I stick out my tongue in retaliation, trying not to laugh.
“Ashton, there you are, baby. I was looking for you,” Sophia purrs, slinking up beside him and pressing her body along his. I throw up a little in my mouth. “Are you helping the less fortunate?” she asks, looking me up and down as if I’m a bug.
Ash stiffens, but he doesn’t push her away like I wish. “I was just discussing when Rose and I would be meeting Saturday to do this mural Miss Spice is making us do.”
“I already told you to speak to Arthur about it. You’re already so busy with football; it’s unreasonable to expect you to do more for this school.”
So he hasn’t told her he was punished for talking to me. I suppress my inner glee.
“Well, this is fun and all, but I fear skank is infectious.” It’s my turn to look her up and down. “Bye, Sophia,” I drawl. “Ashton.”
“Did she just call me a skank?” Sophia hisses as I walk away.
I laugh to myself.
“Leave it, Soph,” Ash groans.
“She’s a crazy bitch,” Sophia continues. “I swear I have a bald patch from where she
attacked me.”
“Your hair is fine,” Ash grumbles before they become too far away to hear.
And though I’d started art dreading the moment I’d see and then leave Ash, it helps to know it’s me who sees the real Ashton Cole. He’s my little secret, a treasure only I have had the pleasure to know.
Leaving school, I pull my phone from my pocket as it vibrates.
Mum - Six years. I’m sorry, Rose.
Six years without a father. It could be worse; Ash’s father died, yet as I walk through the decorative gates of Albany Nightingale, the regal building towering above me, the knowledge doesn’t help at all. Getting into a cab, I hurry home, the storm inside me building. It peaks, my rage and sorrow whirling together as I collapse on my bed defeated. And eventually, when the clouds begin to clear, a voice whispers through my head, giving me life.
He’s in the shadows pulling our strings.
Grayson Bishop is the puppet master. Cut his strings, and his toys crumble.
Chapter 18
The next couple of weeks are a blur. The only bright spots being the time I spend with Ash, though the resentment I feel toward him grows. It’s harder than I ever imagined having him laughing and touching me one moment to blanking me the next. I’m drawn to him whenever he’s close, but he never looks my way, and if he does, it’s with a coldness that freezes me to the core.
I’ve made no headway on the social front. Sophia reclaimed any ground I had by plastering my family’s secrets all over the school, and I didn’t help myself by attacking her. Isla is my only friend, and I’m grateful for her company through the stuffy overprivileged walls of Albany Nightingale High School.
The fall gala is only a few days away and while my presence in the events committee has enraged Sophia, it hasn’t helped me find anything to use against her. Grayson is even harder to read. Any gossip I did find online about him seems to be public knowledge and part of his persona. It’s accepted he’s a man whore; in fact, it’s what the girls like about him. Grayson Bishop is the dark knight of the Upper East Side. The rite of passage for every girl’s dip into sin. He’s one night of fun, the trip to the dark side, and seemingly impossible to take down.
In a last-ditch effort to find some dirt on Grayson, I’ve convinced Ash to meet up at his family’s penthouse suite before we finish the last touches to the mural we’ve been working on.
Walking into his building, I smile at the concierge behind the front desk. “I’m here to see Ashton Cole.”
He studies me. I look every bit the Upper East Side socialite. I purposely packed a change of clothes, so I’d have a better chance of getting past the ground floor and into the elevator.
“He said to come straight up,” I add politely, batting my eyelashes. A look that worked every time on my father growing up, but not so well on doormen who want to keep their jobs.
“I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re here, Miss…?”
“Devenport. Rose Devenport.” I smile.
He recognizes the surname, but I still don’t make it past him. Inside my head, I’m praying Ash isn’t ready. I arrived ten minutes early to make sure, but when he puts the phone down, my chances of gaining knowledge are hopeless.
“Ashton will be down in a moment, miss. If you’d like to take a seat.”
With a frustrated sigh, I wander away and wait. Getting to my feet the second Ash steps off the elevator, a frizzle of nerves run through me. He’s never seen me this way; the image of the perfect wealthy socialite. He’s dressed in faded ripped jeans and a dark blue shirt, the same outfit he’s worn every time we’ve gone to work on the mural, so it’s splattered with paint. He couldn’t look more out of place, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Ash walks with an air of confidence and a smile, which draws all eyes to him.
He acknowledges the concierge, stopping a moment to talk as if they are old pals, before the man points to where I stand, and Ash’s gaze travels to me.
He’s surprised; his cinnamon brown eyes widen just a fraction, but as he walks my way, a slow, sly smile pulls up his lips.
“Rose,” he all but purrs, studying me from head to toe. I fidget under his scrutiny and he laughs darkly. “Come on. Let’s get you outside before you give poor Harry a heart attack.”
Harry?
His hand lands on the middle of my back, guiding me out as I look longingly at the elevator I so desperately wanted access to.
“Who’s Harry?” I mumble when we’re out on the street.
“The doorman.”
“Oh.”
Eyeing me, Ash shakes his head. “Is there a reason you’re dressed to kill?”
I roll my eyes. “I was hoping to get upstairs. Paint splattered clothes don’t exactly help me blend in.”
“If you were hoping to blend in, Rose, it didn’t work. Everyone in the foyer noticed your presence, and now they’re all jealous I was the guy to walk you out.”
Heat crawls over my face. I’ve never doubted I was beautiful, but hearing it from Ash means so much more. “Don’t suppose you want to take me back and give me access to the kingdom?” I ask, smiling seductively.
“Nah.” His hand slips lower down my back, grazing the top of my arse. “I think I’d rather take you back to Albany’s and watch your ass as you bend over and paint in a dress.”
I elbow him. “I brought a change of clothes, you pervert.”
Chuckling, Ash rubs his side as he puts a few inches distance between us. It’s not a secret we’re spending this time together, but when we’re in public, Ash doesn’t normally touch me in more than in a friendly way. Note to self: Wear short dresses more often.
“So you hoped to gain passage into the penthouse, huh? That’s why you turned up early and looking like a princess of the Upper East Side.”
I don’t answer, just smile innocently.
“It’s not like there’s a big folder sitting on display labeled Family Secrets.” He laughs.
I shrug. “You can learn a lot from a person’s space. And maybe I wanted to see your mum again too.”
“She’s not in. Arthur was there anyway, so even if I wanted to bring you up, I couldn’t.”
“I hate the guy,” I mutter.
“He’s a big fan of Sophia. Always inviting her to family dinners. I swear he wants me to marry her.”
My stomach lurches. “Are you?” I splutter.
His eyes widen as he stares at me. “Hell, Rose, I can’t see past high school. I just do my best to keep my head down and off his radar; it’s easier for Mom if I do.”
I nod, but I don’t really understand. I can’t even picture his mother married to such a guy; she was so nice and down-to-earth when I met her as a kid, and now, she’s sold her soul to the Upper East Side. Or maybe her soul died with Ash’s father, but either way, I can’t imagine her in this world.
The second we get to school and off the streets, Ash takes my hand and pulls me to the side and out of view. I freeze, confusion and need smashing together as he grips my waist, gazing down at me. We haven’t kissed since the day he dragged me off Sophia. Not on the lips anyway. It’s been fleeting touches, a whisper of lips across bare skin, but nothing solid. Only ever enough to make me crave him and never feel satisfied.
“I just need to kiss you,” he whispers, staring at my lips. “Just once, just enough to see me through.”
See you through… His words cut. As if one kiss would be enough for a lifetime, when a thousand wouldn’t see me through, yet I don’t resist. I watch his mouth lower to mine and gasp as my heart tries to leap from my chest into his.
He groans into my mouth as if he’s been keeping his need locked inside him for weeks. His gentle lips quickly becoming desperate. Ash pulls away, taking a full step backward, he shakes his head as he heaves air into his lungs.
“You can’t dress like that,” he responds. “I can’t… I have no control.”
Licking my lips, I smile, gaze traveling to the bulge straining to escape his jeans. Since arriving ho
me that morning in London to find my parents arguing, I’ve had my power stripped from me over and over. Everything I was certain of became unclear, until I began to doubt the very essence of myself. Until I looked in the mirror and saw flaws not strengths, but as Ash fights for control, as he pants with a need that is consuming, I feel like a queen again. I’m powerful. Able to bring him to his knees, and for a split second, it’s enough.
“There you are,” Miss Spice calls, popping her head out the double doors, which lead into school.
“Your excitement is showing, Ash.” I giggle, sauntering past him.
“You’re wicked.” He half laughs, half growls, readjusting himself.
“You look very nice, Rose,” Miss Spice notes as I walk up the stone steps to meet her.
“Thank you. I’ve been out for breakfast with my mother, I brought a change of clothes.” Miss Spice smiles, walking ahead to open her classroom, so we can get our supplies. Ash falls into step beside me. “Hear that, Ash,” I whisper. “I look nice.”
Our gazes meet, his hunger going directly to my core. I know we can’t be together. I know if I keep pushing him, I’m going to get hurt, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m hurtling forward out of control, unable to look away. Hooked on the electricity and excitement he sparks in my blood, addicted enough, I’d convinced myself the snippets of him I was getting were enough.
“You know where everything is,” Miss Spice says, opening her door for us. “I’ve a few errands to run, but I’ll be back in a few hours to see the finished piece. “You really have done a wonderful job.”
“Thank you, miss,” Ash replies. “It’s been an enjoyable project.”
Her lips purse. “I’m not sure punishments are supposed to be enjoyable, Mr. Cole, but I am pleased you like art. See you in a few hours.”
She leaves us alone, but I ignore Ash’s heated stares and collect our supplies, handing them over to him. He follows me out in silence, but I hear him loud and clear. Anticipation builds in my gut, swirling through my veins. I can already feel him on my lips, imagine his hands gripping my body. We shouldn’t be doing this, yet it makes it all the more thrilling.
The Destruction of Rose: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 1) Page 12