Love the One You Hate

by Grey, R. S.

  I know it’d be impossible to explain to Ariana the nuances of my position here at Rosethorn—it’s not exactly black and white—but my silence gives her the wrong impression.

  “You remind me of that little white dog she carries around,” she says with a laugh of disgust. “You think these rich people give a fuck about you? You’re a pet to them.”

  “You’re being rude,” I bite out harshly.

  “No, I’m being honest. Wake up, Maren. What are you really doing here? Playing dress-up? Pretending to be one of them? It’s pathetic.”

  Ariana has always had the uncanny ability to beat me back into a corner so that my voice and my opinions become too small to give life to. I know she’s wrong. I know it, and yet I stay silent as she walks toward me and forces me into a hug.

  “I know that sounds harsh, but I just don’t want you to get hurt when they’re done with you, okay? That’s why I’m here, actually. It’s perfect.”

  “What is?”

  “We can leave here together. Go back to Providence, find an apartment.”

  I frown and pull away so she’s forced to hold me at arm’s length. “Do you have a job?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How are we going to afford an apartment then?” I prod her, reminded of all the reasons we used to butt heads in the past. Ariana lives for impulse decisions and wild rides. It doesn’t matter to her what the aftershocks entail.

  “We’ll figure it out. Aren’t they paying you pretty nice here? Hell, we can probably sell that stupid blue dress they want me to wear tonight and make two months’ rent right there.”

  I bristle at the idea, but she doesn’t notice.

  She steps back and sighs. “Think about it. Okay?”

  * * *

  Later that evening, after Rita’s finished curling my hair and applying my makeup, I sneak down to the kitchen in my robe so I can get some water and a quick break from Ariana. She’s being so bossy with Rita, telling her exactly how she’s supposed to be applying eyeshadow and mascara, as if Rita isn’t an absolute genius at this sort of thing.

  I take my time walking back up to my room, strolling through the upstairs corridor at a snail’s pace, taking a moment to admire paintings I might have glanced over quickly in the past. Footsteps sound down the hall behind me and I turn in time to see Nicholas arriving with his leather bag in tow. He must have just come in from the city, still wearing black pants and a white button-down. His brows are pinched together as if he’s still carrying the weight of his work on his shoulders.

  He looks up and catches sight of me, and I freeze on the spot. His hard expression lessens as he continues toward me, dropping his bag when he’s only a few feet away.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling shyly up at him.

  “Hi,” he says, reaching out to wrap a hand around my arm so he can tug me close. My question of how he and I would act when we saw each other again is answered for me. Our foreheads touch and my eyes flutter closed.

  I inhale a deep breath—maybe the first I’ve taken all day—surprised to find it’s Nicholas’ scent that calms the nerves I’ve had ever since Ariana first arrived.

  “I missed you this week,” I admit, giving him the gift of honesty.

  “I missed you too,” he says, picking his hand up off my arm to cradle my neck. His thumb brushes my skin and I shiver on impulse. “Normally, I visit Newport once or twice a month in the summer. Recently, I can’t seem to stay away.”

  “Why have you been coming so often?”

  “Because of you.”

  His confession, said so quietly, sends butterflies rushing to my stomach.

  I open my eyes and lean back so I can see him. He’s so handsome, rough and dark and severe. He’s the same Nicholas he’s always been, only now, I think I understand him. And yet…I want to understand him more.

  I want to kiss him. My eyes even fall to his lips longingly, but I hold off, unsure of where we should take this reunion.

  “Are you still going to the gala with Barrett?” he asks, rubbing my arm.

  “I wish I weren’t.”

  He doesn’t let go of me, though I brace for his departure and his anger. If the roles were reversed, I’d be upset if he were going with someone else.

  Instead of leaving, he presses a kiss to my cheek and whispers against my ear. “If he hadn’t beat me to it, I would have asked you. I would have had you on my arm the whole night. I would have snuck you away to a private corner and taken full advantage of you.”

  His thumb drags slowly down my neck, accompanied by his words.

  “And now?” I ask, voice breathy.

  He moves his head so he can look down at me.

  “Now, I suppose I’ll respect Barrett enough not to steal you away, though I’m not sure how I’ll feel once I see you in your dress. What color is it?”

  “Dark red,” I tell him as warmth spreads through me.

  “Is it modest?”

  “It might have been if I were less…”

  Endowed.

  “Maren…” He sounds like he’s in pain.

  I smile and press a kiss to the edge of his mouth before slinking away from him. “I have a feeling we’ll both be suffering tonight.”

  “I don’t intend on suffering long,” he promises, and then I turn and rush back to my room.

  24

  Maren

  Cornelia claps her hands excitedly as Ariana and I join her in the foyer. “Oh, this is perfect. Look how our group has rounded out. Now that Nicholas has arrived, he can accompany Ariana. That way you won’t have to walk in alone, dear. Here, I called over to my florist and had them send over a corsage to match your dress. You both look so lovely.”

  Ariana takes the corsage and slips it on her wrist, but she forgets to say thank you, so I do it for her, appreciating the lengths Cornelia has gone to ensure she feels welcome and included.

  Barrett arrives then, strolling in through the front door past Collins, wearing a black tuxedo with a dark red bow tie that compliments my dress.

  He looks handsome—and a tad too cocky—and I can tell Ariana agrees. Her brows shoot up in shock as he walks in and kisses me on the cheek before turning to her.

  “Barrett, this is my good friend, Ariana.”

  He grins and reaches over to shake her hand. “Ariana. Awesome. Nice to meet you. You’re coming with us tonight as well, I assume? Either that or you’re extremely dressed up to stay in and watch Netflix.”

  She laughs and sidles closer, adopting a flirty tone when she replies, “Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  If I were interested in Barrett, her overly enthusiastic greeting would likely bother me, but instead, I’m relieved to see she and Barrett become friendly so quickly. I don’t want her to feel lonely tonight.

  Nicholas is the last to come downstairs, concentrating on fixing the cuff-link on his sleeve so that he doesn’t register the crowd waiting for him until he’s upon us. I drink him in slowly, appreciating his midnight black tuxedo and the way it seems to intensify his good looks. His dark hair is princely perfect. His tan jaw is smooth and clean-shaven. He’s never looked more handsome or more out of reach.

  “Barrett, good to see you,” he says, not bothering to offer his hand before he turns to me, sliding his gaze up my dress slowly so that I have to fight to stand still. Our eyes lock, and longing spreads low in my belly. I force a swallow before I speak.

  “Nicholas, this is Ariana. My friend.”

  Nicholas frowns in confusion, flicking his gaze to her as if only now noticing there’s another person standing beside me.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says with a nod. “How do you know Maren?”

  “We go way back,” she says, knocking her hip against mine. “We’re like sisters.”

  “Ariana arrived in town just today,” Cornelia volunteers. “Surprising us all.”

  “You should have seen the shock on Maren’s face when she saw me.” Ariana laughs. “It’s like she almost forgot wher
e she came from living in a fancy place like this.”

  Nicholas hums in response, and I can tell he isn’t happy with the turn of events. Fortunately, Barrett is there as a buffer. It’s like he doesn’t even notice the tension in the room as he leans in to talk to Ariana.

  I walk over to Cornelia to thank her again for including Ariana and for going to the trouble to order her corsage, and I feel Nicholas’ presence behind me even before his hand hits my lower back.

  “Nicky, would you be kind enough to escort Ariana to the gala?” Cornelia asks him with a pleading look in her eyes. “I think she’d feel so much better walking in on your arm, especially since Maren has Barrett to escort her.”

  “That’s fine. Maren, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Later,” Cornelia admonishes. “We’re going to be late. Come, let’s go. Ariana, you can ride with Nicholas and me. Barrett and Maren, we’ll see you there.”

  * * *

  I’ve almost grown accustomed to the glitz and glamour of Newport—the houses commissioned by rich families and constructed by world-renowned architects; the sprawling gardens and accompanying greenhouses featuring rare and exquisite varieties of flowers; the Italian-constructed marble sculptures and paintings, direct replicas of Renaissance favorites—but when we pull up to the mansion where tonight’s event is being held, I find I’m once again awestruck by the sight in front of me.

  It’s the largest mansion I’ve seen here.

  “This home used to be owned by the Vanderbilts,” Barrett tells me as he opens his door and hands off his keys to a waiting valet.

  Of course the Vanderbilts lived here. Why wouldn’t they?

  I step out of the car and take in the marble porte cochère stretched above us. It has to be three stories high, at least. A tiled mosaic covers the ceiling, and I’m spinning in a circle, trying to take in the mythological scene depicted there when Barrett comes around to lead me toward the front door. There’s a sign on either side of the entryway, announcing tonight’s cause. All of the money raised will fund scholarships and grants for students at the School of American Ballet. I’m sure it might seem frivolous to some, but as a child who used music as an escape from a life riddled with difficult situations, I’m happy that tonight will help aspiring dancers who need it the most.

  I stroll in on Barrett’s arm, through the massive doors manned by suited attendants holding trays of champagne. Barrett takes a glass and hands it to me before retrieving one for himself as well.

  We’re ushered through the beautiful house (if you can call it a house) toward a rectangular ballroom, and I’m struck by how similar it looks to the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Along one of the long walls, large floor-to-ceiling French doors open out to a lush garden. Across the room, mirrored panels reflect a stage where young dancers twirl while nearby onlookers watch entranced. Against the back wall, a silent auction is underway, and that’s where Barrett leads me.

  “What should we bid on? A weekend getaway to the Caymans? A trip to the Italian Alps?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. What guy wouldn’t want to whisk you away for a weekend? Especially after seeing you in that bikini on the beach. Forget the Alps—let’s go to the Caymans.”

  My hand tightens on his arm, trying to slow him down.

  “Barrett, you know I only think of you as a friend, right? I like you, I do. It’s just…”

  He groans. “Oh, c’mon. You don’t have to do that. I can tell, you know? I mean you haven’t exactly seemed overly enthusiastic about my advances. I’ve been taking it slow, trying to get you to warm up to me, but I can see there’s no use.”

  “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not. I’m…surprised.” He releases a dejected laugh. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve felt this feeling.”

  “Sadness?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “Rejection.”

  I roll my eyes teasingly. “Good. It’ll probably do wonders for all the women who come after me. Maybe it’ll knock your ego down a peg or two.”

  He winks. “Not likely.” I can’t help but chuckle, and he tugs me toward the auction tables. “Well, still, come help me pick what to bid on. I trust your opinion.”

  There are a lot to choose from: private dining experiences at the best restaurants, one-on-one sessions with celebrity trainers, dozens of vacation rentals spanning every inch of the globe from Dubai to South Africa. We’ve only just started browsing the various auction packages when Ariana finds us in a huff.

  “Jesus, I hate that guy.”

  “Who?”

  “Nicholas. Who does he fucking think he is? The entire ride over here he grilled me. He’s such a rich snob, you can tell. No offense,” she says, aware that Barrett is listening to her.

  “None taken.” He smirks, continuing to browse through the items up for bid.

  I reach out for Ariana’s arm, trying to calm her down. “It’s not like that. He’s just protective of his family.”

  “So why was he so preoccupied with my relationship with you then? Whatever.” She looks around, in search of something. “I’m getting a drink. This place better have an open bar. Are you coming?”

  I don’t really want to, but I also don’t want to leave her alone. I tell Barrett I’ll be back and then I accompany Ariana over to one of the bars nearest to us. The line moves quickly, and when we get to the front, Ariana’s quick with her order.

  “Can I get a shot?”

  The bartender laughs, clearly surprised by her question. “Sure thing.”

  “Tequila? With lime?”

  He prepares it for her and she downs it immediately before asking for another one.

  “Ariana,” I hiss under my breath.

  “What?”

  “Pace yourself. We just got here.”

  She rolls her eyes and asks for a Seven and Seven after taking the second shot.

  “You expect me to deal with all these stuffy people stone-cold sober? Yeah right.”

  The “stuffy people” can hear her loud and clear considering she’s not trying to muffle her voice at all.

  I look around the room in search of Nicholas as if he’ll somehow be able to help the situation, but a commotion near the door catches my attention first.

  Tori is here, and she’s not alone.

  She’s standing at the entrance of the ballroom wearing an iridescent gold gown that cascades down her lithe figure. On her arm is a woman I can only assume to be Mary Anne, and I’m not the only one whose attention is on them. It seems like half the ballroom has turned in their direction, curious about their arrival.

  Tori, aware of all the eyes on her, turns to Mary Anne and whispers something in her ear then kisses her on the lips before boldly strolling into the room. She might as well have just shouted about her relationship from the rooftops, and I’m thrilled.

  I’m wearing a grin so big my cheeks hurt. I want to thrust my hand into the air and shout, About damn time!

  The crowd parts for them, and for half a moment, I wonder if no one will stop to talk to them, as if they’re possibly ashamed by what Tori just did. Immediately, I start toward them. To do what? I’m not sure. Offer my support? Hook arms with them? Issue congratulations?

  All I know is I want to be by their side right now, but Nicholas beats me to it.

  His dark figure slices through the crowd so that right as Tori and Mary Anne reach the center of the ballroom, he’s there to intercept them.

  He hugs Tori then extends his hand to Mary Anne. She laughs and ignores it, pressing up on her toes to hug him instead. Cornelia is on his heels, joining the group so she can chat with the pair as well. Pride swells inside me.

  I know how influential the Cromwells are in Newport, how much their opinion matters. It’s old fashioned and ridiculous that one family should have so much sway over society here, but in this instance, I’m glad for it.

  It’s as if a magic wand
is waved and everyone returns to minding their own business, not all that shocked to find that a woman brought another woman as a date tonight. It’s like HELLO, we’re living in 2020, not 1620.

  Ariana and I reach them, and Nicholas steps over to make room for us. Tori grins when she sees me.

  “Maren! You have to meet Mary Anne.”

  “I’d love to,” I say, extending my hand to her.

  She’s stunning, like punch-you-in-the-gut, can’t-look-away beautiful. Her long blonde hair is tugged back into a low chignon, and her designer tuxedo with its feminine cut looks like something a celebrity would wear to the Oscars. I tell her so, and she laughs.

  “It’s custom Chanel, but don’t tell anyone,” she says with a wink.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but I see a few guests I need to say hello to,” Cornelia says. “Mary Anne, it was a pleasure to meet you. Tori will have to bring you to Rosethorn next week for dinner. Maybe on Friday? Let me know!”

  Tori shoots Mary Anne a winning smile as Cornelia leaves us.

  Then the circle shifts, and Tori finally notices Ariana in our ranks.

  “Oh, hi. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  I want to kick myself for being rude.

  “I’m sorry. Tori, this is my friend, Ariana. Ariana, this is Tori and Mary Anne.”

  Ariana waves and then cuts in before anyone can say a word.

  “Since I know you’re about to ask, Maren and I know each other because we were in the same foster home when we were in high school.”

  Tori’s dark brows shoot up in recognition. “Of course. Maren’s mentioned you to me before.”

  Once, over lunch at the club after tennis had wrapped up, Tori managed to get me to talk a little bit about my past. She asked about my friends, and I was embarrassed to admit I only really ever had one. Ariana.

  “Has she? I’m surprised.”

  I frown, not quite catching her meaning. Does she think I’m ashamed of her? I’m not.

  “What was Maren like back then?” Tori asks curiously.

  Ariana chuckles and shakes her head. “A quiet goody-goody. She never spoke up at first, but we shared a bunk and eventually I forced some conversation out of her.”