The Spare - Part One (The Kings & Queens of St Augustus Book 1)

by Gemma Weir

  Now that I think about it, tonight is probably the first time she would have been in a situation for her to be one on one with Arlo Lexington. No wonder my parents weren’t prepared to tell them she was sick.

  Allowing my gaze to wander, I take in the awful living room again. Everything is white; only now when I look a little closer, it’s actual several shades of white that weirdly complement each other while still being stark and impersonal.

  Biting my bottom lip, I narrow my eyes slightly as I stare at a painting on the wall that appears to be made up of thousands of differing shades of white. Expecting it to be like a magic eye picture, I focus on it, allowing my eyes to relax and expecting another image to appear.

  Before I can figure out if I’m supposed to see anything beyond the dots, the door flies open and a suit clad Arlo bursts into the room. His hair is still a little damp at the ends and his skin is flushed like he just climbed out of the shower a moment before he burst into the room.

  “I apologize for my lateness,” he says, addressing the room, before striding toward my dad. “Mr. Archibald, so lovely to see you again.”

  Dad rises from his chair and reaches for Arlo’s hand, shaking it. “Not to worry, Arlo, and please call me Freddie.”

  Arlo smiles a polished, but obviously fake smile at my father. “Freddie,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows as he nods slightly, then pulls back and turns to my mother who’s beaming at him.

  Just like his father did to me, Arlo lifts my mother’s hand into the air and presses a kiss to her skin. Mom pinks, averting her eyes like a blushing teen and lifts her free hand to rest against her chest as she preens. “Arlo, darling.”

  Arlo releases her, then strides to his father, shaking his hand. “Dad,” he says in greeting and I don’t miss the pointed look his dad flashes him.

  Then all attention turns to me.

  I feel my eyes widen slightly as both my parents and Mr. Lexington watch Arlo cross the room. He studies me, all of the cordiality disappearing from his eyes as he approaches, then he’s in front of me, his cool hand taking mine and lifting it to his lips just like he did for my mother. Only instead of smiling, his lips are in a flat, hard line and he leans down and presses a barely-there kiss to my hand.

  “Carrigan,” he murmurs politely against my skin. “A pleasure as always.”

  An instant later, he drops my hand and turns, engaging my father in conversation, but I can hardly make sense of what just happened. My heart’s racing, my breath barely filling my lungs. When he’d looked at me there had been dislike, maybe even hatred in his eyes.

  I’ve seen Arlo at a distance before, but never close up and I’m shocked by how intimidating he is. With high cheekbones and a square jaw, he’d be pretty if it wasn’t for his inky black hair and intense glower; combined with eyes so dark they almost look black, depthless and silently judging me.

  Do my sister and Arlo have a relationship beyond this bizarre game our families are playing, where people are just pawns on a huge complicated chess board?

  I don’t know anything about Carrigan’s personal life. I don’t know her friends, or if she’s ever had a real boyfriend. She and Arlo could have been fucking like rabbits for the last year and I wouldn’t have a clue, because the only time my sister speaks to me is when she’s ordering me to attend a class or take a test or write an assignment for her.

  She treats me like an employee, someone at her disposal to live her life when she doesn’t want to.

  Tension fills my muscles, and I fight not to let it reflect in my outward appearance. I sit in my seat, not engaging with a conversation about people I’ve never met and I just hope to God that this night isn’t going to go to shit.

  Susan appears silently at my side and hands me a glass of champagne. “Thank you,” I whisper as she silently moves away, distributing drinks to everyone else before melting from the room without making a sound. I sip at my champagne, hating the taste of the crisp, dry liquid, but grateful that the glass gives me something to do with my hands.

  No one bothers to speak to me and I’m glad, but more than once I catch Arlo’s assessing eyes on me and instinctively roll my shoulders back, fighting my natural instinct to cower away from anyone who might look at me and see my sister.

  It feels like hours later when Susan reappears and announces that dinner is ready. Mr. Lexington moves to my mother’s side, offering her his arm, which she happily accepts. I wait, assuming my father will offer to escort me, but instead, he moves to my mother’s other side, and she curves her free arm through his and the three of them walk as one to the door Susan is holding open for us.

  Panic fills me as I spot Arlo moving toward me, his expression bored and disinterested. When he reaches me, he takes my half-full champagne glass from my hand and deposits it on a side table, before wrapping his fingers around my elbow and urging me to my feet. “Miss Archibald,” he purrs, seamlessly feeding my arm through his until we’re mimicking our parents and he’s leading me out of the room.

  I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t, and my heart beats faster and faster as I try to guess what he might be thinking. Surely if he knew I wasn’t Carrigan he would have said something, done something, to let me or his father know that I wasn’t my sister? But instead, he guides me to my seat, pulling it out for me to sit, then moves to the seat immediately to my right and slides into it with a polished air that speaks of hundreds of dinners just like this.

  This isn’t my first fancy dinner. As children, Carrigan and I were dressed in pretty matching clothes and dragged to plenty of stuffy restaurants and business events when my father wanted to remind his associates that he had the perfect wife and family. I sometimes wonder how it is that all of the people I’ve met over the years can just forget that I exist; that they can so easily overlook the other daughter that for fourteen years was the fourth member of our family.

  Out of sight, out of mind. I suppose if you don’t mention someone for four years, people forget. I’ve been forgotten, not completely erased. Just purposely omitted.

  Susan and a second person move around the room, draping crisp white napkins in our laps as food is presented before us. This is probably the fanciest meal I’ve had in years, but I don’t enjoy it. I toy with the food on my plate as my stomach threatens to revolt, my nerves completely dissolving my appetite as I wait for someone to call me out for my subterfuge, but no one does. Each course is delivered, then removed and replaced with the next, and the conversation goes on around me.

  “How’s school, Carrigan?” Mr. Lexington asks me, shocking me enough that my head snaps up and I feel my eyes go wide.

  Mom’s pointed stare jolts me further and I inhale sharply before I feel capable of replying. “It’s going great, thank you, Mr. Lexington, I’m still on target to graduate Summa cum laude.”

  “Carrigan, really, I think it’s about time you started calling me Richard. I mean, we’re practically family after all,” he says smoothly. “Where are you planning to attend next year? With grades like yours you’ll have your pick of schools.”

  I flick my gaze to my mom because I have no idea what college Carrigan plans to attend, and honestly, I don’t care, because it won’t be the same one as me. Her and my parents reign of tyranny over me ends come summer, because it will be impossible to hide my existence at any of the Ivy League schools. That’s why I plan to flee to England where I don’t know anyone, and more importantly, no one knows me.

  “I haven’t made any firm decisions yet,” I say noncommittally.

  “Arlo will be attending Cornell, won’t you, son?” Mr. Lexington says, turning his head to look proudly at his son.

  “Yes, sir,” Arlo replies.

  “Cornell is on Carrigan’s shortlist,” my mom says, smiling brightly as she reaches over and pats Arlo’s arm lightly.

  Holy crap, did Carrigan and Arlo get engaged and no one told me? Surely if they had I’d know, wouldn’t I?

  My eyes lock with Arlo’s and I swear his narr
ow slightly. If he and my sister are engaged, he doesn’t look particularly pleased about it. Maybe he has a girlfriend, someone he loves, and this forced alliance is ruining it.

  “You’re a Cornell man, aren’t you, Freddie?” Mr. Lexington asks my father, diverting the conversation away.

  I don’t bother to listen to his reply. All of my attention is focused on Arlo and the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are trying to look through me, or see inside of me, but I’m not sure which.

  What the hell is going on between him and my sister?

  The emotion I’m getting from him feels like either hatred or intense sexual tension, or maybe I’m reading this all wrong and it’s just complete and total disinterest. Whatever it is, I shouldn’t be here, Carrigan should.

  My mind reels with a thousand thoughts. If my sister and this boy get engaged, my parents will have to tell him and his dad about me, won’t they? I mean they can’t keep me a secret forever, right?

  Three more courses are delivered as my parents chat easily with Mr. Lexington about Carrigan and Arlo’s futures. As they speak my eyes keep finding Arlo’s, but he just appears resigned and disinterested, like his future is none of his concern.

  Zoning out, I’m glad that no one expects me to engage with the conversation. All I want is for time to go quickly so I can get this dinner over and done with and go home. This isn’t my world and for the first time, I’m truly grateful to be the spare that doesn’t exist, because I’d rather be invisible than have to deal with a future full of obligation without choice or emotion.

  When the dessert plates have been removed, I exhale a silent breath of relief. It’s almost over, there’s only coffee left, then this charade will be done with and this farce of a life can go back to being Carrigan’s problem. I don’t care what my parents want, I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again.

  I am not my sister and it’s time everyone remembered that. I might be the spare but I’m still a human being.

  “Shall we have coffee in the living room?” Mr. Lexington suggests, leaning back in his chair and patting at his stomach, a wide smile on his face.

  “Lovely,” Mom gushes, pushing her chair back a little from the table.

  All of the men rise from their chairs and Mom saunters up to Mr. Lexington, swinging her hips as she makes her way toward him. Once again, she ends up with Dad on her one arm and Mr. Lexington on the other and I’m left alone with Arlo.

  Somehow his eyes seem to get even narrower as he steps toward me, his head tilting to the side slightly as he assesses me. “Shall we?” he says coldly, offering me his arm.

  I want to look away, but the hostility in his gaze keeps me hostage, forcing me to hold his eye and let him look his fill. He’s pissed, but I don’t know why, and I can’t ask. Because my sister knows him and I don’t. But he doesn’t know who I am, or at least I don’t think he does.

  Without thought, I hook my hand through his proffered arm and gracefully rise from my seat. Those years of private elocution and etiquette tuition have paid off, because even though my heart is racing and my mind reeling, I can still at least behave like a lady.

  My fingers are resting against the smooth, soft fabric of his suit jacket, and I’m loathed to admit that he looks stunning in the slim fit, navy-blue suit. His hair looks even darker, an inky black against the crisp white shirt he has on beneath the jacket. He’d look like the perfect rich boy if it wasn’t for the hint of a tattoo, curling up the side of his neck from beneath his collar.

  That ink, that hint that he’s more than just a typical prep school boy, intrigues me. He has a neck tattoo and maybe even more tattoos beneath his clothes. It’s so far removed from his polished appearance that I open my mouth to ask him what his tattoo is, before I realize that Carrigan wouldn’t ask. She’d be horrified by the idea of her future husband blemishing his skin with something so low class.

  It’s like he can hear my thoughts because he scoffs lightly beneath his breath and sneers down at me, his eyes becoming heavy with condemnation. We follow a few paces behind our parents until we reach the awful white room. I expect Arlo to release me and head to the furthest corner away from me, but instead, our parents turn to look at us with enthusiastic, conspiratorial smiles on their faces. I can see their thoughts so clearly. Mom and Dad want Arlo Lexington as a son-in-law, and Mr. Lexington wants Carrigan and all of her money as a daughter-in-law.

  Arlo’s dad flashes a look at Arlo, and I feel him tense beneath me, my arm still hooked around his. “Perhaps Carrigan would enjoy a little evening stroll around the estate. It must be awful for you young people to be cooped up with us stuffy adults.”

  Mom’s smile is so wide I think she’s actually on the verge of hopping up and down and clapping with excitement. “Oh what a lovely idea. Carrigan would love that, wouldn’t you?”

  I want to say no, but how can I without revealing my secret. So instead I smile, hoping that no one can see the fear and trepidation in my eyes.

  Arlo doesn’t speak, he just guides me forward toward the large French doors that lead out onto a terrace. He doesn’t release me as he turns the handle and pushes the door open, gesturing for me to step out first, then immediately following me. His hand slides from my arm and instead I feel the heat of his palm as it lands on the base of my spine.

  I stiffen beneath his touch. Is this personal, is this a lover’s touch?

  All I can think as we walk along the perfect path is that he knows, then we turn a corner out of sight of the ugly white room and our parents, and his entire demeanor changes. His hand leaves my back and he steps away from me as if he can’t stand to touch me.

  “Longest fucking dinner ever,” he rasps, turning away and unbuttoning his jacket.

  I stare at his back, not sure what the hell is going on, as he dips his hand inside his jacket and pulls out a silver case. With his back to me, I hear the click of the lighter, then his soft exhale as a plume of smoke appears in front of him.

  The smell of the tobacco tickles my nose, but I don’t say anything because I have no idea if Carrigan knows that Arlo is a smoker; maybe my sister is too. It wouldn’t be too surprising to find out that I don’t even know these basic facts about my own flesh and blood.

  I wait for him to turn around. If he offers me a cigarette at least I’ll actually learn something about her tonight and more than just the fact that her life is going to suck if she ends up marrying Arlo Lexington.

  The darkness seems to creep in around us as I just stand there, my arms crossed across my chest, waiting for him to speak or do something other than smoke and pretend I’m not even here. If my mother had allowed me to wear a watch with this godawful dress at least I’d be able to keep track of how long we’ve been standing here. Instead, it just feels like forever.

  The evening feels quiet, except for the sound of him drawing in the pungent smoke and exhaling again a second later. Eventually, he drops the glowing cigarette to the floor and stubs it out with his foot, flicking the end into the flower bed beside the path.

  He walks on without even glancing back to check I’m still here. One thing’s for sure, if my sister and Arlo do end up getting married, it won’t be a love match if his behavior tonight is an indication of how he feels.

  Glancing back in the direction we just came from, I consider making my way back to the living room and our parents, but how would I explain Arlo’s absence or why I returned early from our walk? No, I’d rather deal with his cold, dismissive silence than the inquisition I’ll get from my parents later when they force me to explain why I’m trying to ruin my sister’s future.

  I follow a few paces behind him, watching his imposing frame move effortlessly. Each of his steps is confident and self-assured. He knows exactly who he is, and I feel intimidated. At five feet eight inches, I’m not a small girl, but he towers over me even in the tall heels my mom insisted I wear.

  His stride is long and he just keeps walking even though I’ve no doubt that he knows I’m struggling
to keep up with his pace. His shoulders are tense, and I get another peek at the tattoo on his neck where his hair is too short to cover it.

  Arlo Lexington is hot, and maybe in another life I’d be lusting over him, but in this life he’s just another rich boy doing what his daddy tells him so his rich family can become even richer.

  In the dark of the night I don’t see the white fretwork bench sitting beside the path until Arlo pauses and sits down on it, spreading his long legs out ahead of him and pulling another cigarette from his case.

  Scanning the path, I search for something, anything recognizable, but I’m in the unfamiliar gardens of an unfamiliar house in the dark. I can’t carry on walking, or go back without him, so without another choice I sit down on the bench next to him.

  What a shitty fucking night. Clicking my lighter, I bring it up to the cigarette I have between my lips and inhale, the taste of the tobacco hitting my throat as the nicotine soothes some of my ragged anger.

  I don’t want to be here. My dad knows I have no intention of marrying this girl, yet both him and her family are determined that it’s going to happen. For the last three years, Carrigan has been paraded out at every single fucking party, like a whore whose life you can buy just by having the right fucking bloodline.

  Her family think they’re in control, but all they have is the show pony with the pretty dowry. Whoever she marries will be the one in control of the businesses, holdings, and ultimately the purse strings. All Carrigan is, is a pretty virgin to showboat the whole fucking spectacle.

  I hate everything about this. I hate that she shows up and smiles and bats her eyelashes like she’s a prize to be won. How the fuck can she live with herself knowing that her parents are happy to pimp her out to the most eligible old money family? It makes me sick.