by Susan Stoker
"You call him Richard?"
"He adopted me, so we have the same last name." Bitterness edges his tone. "He had an affair with my mom when she was married to my dad. Mom got pregnant. My real dad divorced her, and Richard married her." He stares out the window, the afternoon light illuminating his irises, wistful and angry. "I refuse to call him Dad because he's never been a father to me."
"So, basically, Richard is a cheating bastard." My voice cracks from all the emotions this day has stirred. I'm fascinated by the constantly shifting narrative of my past, distracted by someone else's drama, and relieved to know my attraction to Thane isn't incestuous. "Is this real?" I whisper because it's all too much to comprehend.
"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his pockets and gives me a rueful grin. "Welcome to our shitshow."
4
I spend the rest of the day sulking in front of the television. Mom stays away, only venturing into the living room to bring a tray filled with potato chips, a sandwich, and lemonade. She sets the tray on the small table near the picture window, wipes her hands on her jeans, and gives me a small smile. "I know you're angry with me, baby, and you have every right to be, but don't take it out on Richard. He deserves a chance."
I ignore her. My feelings are too raw by her betrayal. At this point, I'm not sure we'll ever get past this.
"Okay. Well, I'm going to finish going over the accounts with Richard. Call me if you need anything." Her voice holds a world of pain, but I can't feel sorry for her. This is her fault. She squeezes my shoulder. "Try to get some rest."
My mind and body ache for a break from the trauma of the day. I hobble up the stairs, climb into my unfamiliar bed, pull the covers up to my chin, and stare out the French door at the blue sky.
The next day, I'm feeling much better, so I limp up to the big house to start my new job; making beds, dusting furniture, mopping floors, and cleaning the four bathrooms. The work is easy, allowing my mind to wander. Through the open windows of the second floor, I catch sight of Thane in the garden. As usual, he's shirtless, the ripples of his abdomen gleaming with sweat. I watch until he senses my stare and looks up. He lifts a hand. I wave back.
"Who are you waving at?" The Ice Queen housekeeper's voice makes me flinch.
"No one." I turn my attention back to smoothing the sheets on the bed.
"Hmm." She walks to the window, glares at Thane, then narrows her eyes at me. "Stay away from that boy. Thane is part of the family. You're an employee. Mr. Margaux won't approve."
I bite my lip to keep from telling her I'm a Margaux, too. When she finds out the truth, she'll be shocked. The thought makes me smile. However, as the week progresses, it becomes obvious that Richard has no intention of telling anyone about his relationship with me. I'm forced to use the servants' entrance at the back of the house, wear a stupid black polo shirt uniform, and take orders from the Ice Queen. Mom and I eat our meals alone in our house. By Friday, I'm tired and angry and frustrated about this nightmare situation.
"Goodnight, baby. Sleep tight." Mom tucks the covers around my body before placing a kiss on my forehead. I ignore her because I'm still mad about her betrayal. She pauses at the bedroom door to sigh. "You're going to have to talk to me eventually, Frannie."
I pull the covers over my head until I hear the click of the door. Then I lie awake and stare at the creepy shadows of the trees on the ceiling. Finally, I close all the curtains and force all the thoughts from my mind. Finally, exhaustion wins, and my eyelids close.
A tapping sound on the French door wakes me. I hold my breath, wondering if it's my imagination, but the only thing I hear is the erratic pounding of my heart against my rib cage. It's probably a tree branch hitting the window. With a tired sigh, I close my eyes.
Tap, tap, tap.
This time, I sit straight up in bed.
Tap, tap, tap.
My pulse races as I throw back the curtains of the French door. A face appears through the glass, unexpectedly. Geneva smiles and waves and points a finger toward the handle. I unlock it and race back to the bed. She slides open the door and walks through like she's done it a million times before.
"Hey. What're you doing?" She bounces onto the bed beside me, acting like this is a regular occurrence for her.
"Sleeping. Like normal people."
"Do you want to go to a party?" She rolls onto her stomach, kicking her feet in the air behind her, and fans through the paperback of Wuthering Heights on my nightstand.
"Now? What time is it?" I rub my eyes then blink at the alarm clock on my nightstand.
"Eleven. A friend of mine is having a bonfire. There's going to be lots of other kids there. It would be a great chance for you to meet the gang." She frowns and snaps the book closed. "Are you seriously reading this?"
"I've read it before, but yes. It's one of my favorites. You haven't read it yet?"
"I hate reading." She tosses the book back to the nightstand and climbs to her knees. "Daddy says you're some kind of genius. Is that true?"
"He talked to you about me?" My ears perk. I climb onto my knees to face her.
"Not much. Just a little."
"Not so loud. My mom is downstairs."
"No, she's not. I checked before I climbed up here." She waves a hand through the air, showing off her long slender fingers and pink polished fingernails. "So what do you think? Do you want to go or not?" She lowers her gaze to adjust the buttons on her pink halter top and tight leather pants. The outfit shows off her tiny waist and small, perky tits—the body of an adult woman. Unlike me, with my flat chest and straight figure.
"Is it formal or something?" My wardrobe consists of black T-shirts and ripped jeans. Nothing to match her designer labels.
"No, silly, it's a bonfire. Wear whatever you want. No one is going to care how you're dressed."
I weigh my options. I've sneaked out of the house dozens of times before and never been caught. It's not the danger that worries me. It's meeting new kids. Making new friends has never been easy for me. "I don't know."
"Unless you're scared."
"I'm not scared." But I'm angry enough at Richard and Mom to be defiant. "Give me a minute to get dressed."
Geneva claps her hands together and first pumps the air. "Yes! Hurry up. I'll meet you downstairs on the porch."
I splash water on my face here, comb my hair, and pull on my favorite pair of jeans. I run a kohl pencil around my eyes that makes their color pop and apply red lipstick to my mouth, knowing how much my mom hates it. The thought of meeting new people is exciting and a little bit scary, but I can't wait. Outside, Geneva hovers in the shadows near the corner of the house. She's dragging on a cigarette. When she sees me, she tosses it to the ground and grinds the butt into the dirt with the heel of her boot.
We tiptoe across the lawn to the garage. She taps a code into the number pad next to the back door before swinging it open. Inside are four beautiful cars; a pickup truck, a sport utility vehicle, an enormous sedan, and a sleek sports cars. She takes a fob from a hook on the wall and presses the buttons. The headlights flash on the sports car. She hands the fob to me. "Here. You drive."
"What?" I push the key back into her hand. "Are you crazy? That's a Porsche." I've never driven anything besides Mom's Bronco.
She pushes the fob back to me. "You said you know how to drive, right? Come on, Frannie. It's too far to walk."
"Are you sure this is okay?" I don't mind a tiny act of rebellion now and then, but grand theft auto is not on my bucket list.
"It's fine. This is my car. They all belong to me. I can do whatever I want with them. Daddy said so."
Daddy. Her use of the word reminds me that her daddy is also my daddy. We're sisters. The full impact of my parentage punches me in the gut. As an only child, I envied classmates with large families, protective older brothers, and caring fathers. I longed for a sister to share secrets and trade beauty tips, someone to confide in. The urge to belong is so strong that I throw away caution, wrapping my fi
ngers around the key. "Okay, but I've never driven a car like this."
"It's easy. I've watched Daddy do it a thousand times." Geneva climbs into the passenger seat. I slide behind the steering wheel. She points at the dash. "Put your foot on the brake and push this button."
The car purrs to life. We creep down the driveway with the headlights off until we are out of sight from the house. I flip on the headlights and press my foot to the accelerator. The car growls and leaps forward, making both of us squeal with laughter. Geneva cranks the stereo to full blast. An illicit thrill runs through me.
"I've always wanted a sister," Geneva says wistfully between songs. "It's so lonely out here, and I never get to hang out with girls my own age. Most girls don't like me anyway." The sadness in her tone makes my heart twist for her. We're more alike than I imagined. The Big Lie burns on my tongue, itching to be told. I want to tell her that we're related, that we're sisters, that I'm lonely, too. On impulse, I reach over and squeeze her hand. Her answering smile is radiant. "We're going to have so much fun, Frannie. I'm so glad you came to stay with us."
I smile back at her. "Me too." It's the truth. Although Mom betrayed me and Richard the Dick is my father, I'm thrilled to have a friend—even if it's only for the night.
We laugh, singing along to the radio, dancing in our seats. For a few tiny moments, I forget about The Big Lie. Our destination isn't far, and there are no other cars on the road, making the drive painless. A few miles down the road, she points toward a narrow gravel lane leading into a dark woods. We follow the old road for what seems forever until we reach the end. A bright bonfire illuminates the center of a clearing. People swarm around the flames, dancing, sitting in lawn chairs, or gathered around kegs of beer.
"Isn't it exciting?" Geneva squeals and claps her hands together. She turns her perfect face to mine. "Do I look okay?"
"Beautiful."
"Great." She squeezes my arm. Before I can speak, she's out of her seat and skipping over to the party.
I get out of the car and follow her across the dewy grass, trying to ignore the butterflies swarming in my belly. Music streams through portable speakers. I hug my waist, wishing I'd brought a sweater. Something brushes my neck. I glance up to see Thane draping his hoodie around my shoulders. Shadows from the dancing firelight sharpen his high cheekbones and square jaw.
"Thanks." I shiver at the brush of his fingertips along my skin. The soft lining of the hoodie is still warm from his body heat, and it smells clean like soap and shower gel.
"What are you doing here, Gen?" Thane stares down at his stepsister.
"I've been working so hard. I need a break." Geneva juts her chin in defiance. "Don't ruin it for me."
He chews on his lower lip, a frown furrowing his forehead. "Fine, but I've got my eye on you. And don't stay too late. Richard would have a cow if he knew you were here."
Geneva hugs his neck while he stares down at her with a combination of affection and irritation. "Don't be a dick, Thane." She releases him and tosses her long, silky hair over one shoulder. "There's Peyton. I need to go say hello. You'll be okay on your own, won't you, Frannie? Thane will watch out for you."
"Sure." I nod and watch her trot across the clearing to flirt with a smiling blond guy.
"Come closer to the fire." Thane draws me toward the flames and away from the crowd of kids. My stomach flips at his touch. He runs his hand through his hair, ruffling the curls. We stand in silence, staring at the glowing embers.
I was never popular at my previous schools. I was always the outcast, the one who was never invited to parties. The one who was whispered about in the hallways. The one who always seemed to be the butt of an inside joke. Being smarter than most kids didn't help my cause. The only person who ever showed any interest in me was Amir. We met on the walk home from school. The best part about him was his ability to annoy my mom.
"Did you tell Geneva?" His voice is deep with a bit of a growl. I shiver as the sound tickles my eardrums and settles into my chest.
"No."
"But you're going to?" He inches closer until the tips of his Adidas touch the tips of my Converse.
"It's not my place." The last thing I want to do is hurt an innocent bystander. "But someone needs to tell her, don't you think?" I tilt my head back to return his stare, feeling small next to his height.
He shrugs, shoves his hands into his pockets, and stares at the fire. "I don't know. Geneva doesn't feel things the way most people do. She's very fragile, and I'm not sure she could handle it."
"Aren't you angry?" Instead of having a calming effect, his apathy stirs my temper. I cross my arms over my chest. "Richard, my mom, your mom, us, Geneva." I draw a circle in the air between us. "They're forcing us to live a lie."
"Yeah." A smile twitches his lips before sliding into a frown. "But, to be honest, nothing surprises me anymore." The gravity in his tone makes him look a lot older than his age. I want to ask questions about Richard and Geneva, but I don't want to break the fragile trust between us.
"What are you protecting her from? She's almost an adult. If we don't tell her, aren't we just as bad as Richard?"
His gaze flits to Geneva. Across the clearing, she's smiling up at Peyton. He exhales and turns to face me. "Not here." The darkness in his eyes sends a shiver down my back.
Grass and twigs crunch between beneath our feet as we cross the clearing toward the edge of the woods. He pulls me into the shadows, out of view from the others, "Geneva made a ton of money from her movies when she was little. Mom and Richard spent every dime of it on fancy dinner parties, expensive clothes, crazy vacations, and gambling. Now, they're out of money. The bank is going to foreclose on the mansion and cars. They're trying to get Geneva a record deal to bring in more cash. Richard makes her practice seven days a week. No breaks. She's nothing but a paycheck to him."
I break from his gaze to watch Geneva. At first glance, she's the epitome of everything I ever wanted to be; pretty, fun, rich, and talented. Her world is falling apart, and she doesn't even know it. "I had no idea."
"No one does. The only way I found out was by going through his desk when everyone was asleep. I knew something was up, so I did some investigating." Judging by the darkness of his eyes, he's boiling with anger. "If you and your mom were smart, you'd pack up and leave."
I shrug. "We never stay anywhere for very long." However, the thought of leaving makes my chest tighten. I've finally found my family.
"If you were smart, you'd leave, but I hope you don't." In the darkness, his fingers thread through mine. "I know this is wrong." He lifts our clasped hands to his chest and cradles them above his heart. "I should stay away from you, but I'm so alone here. You're the first person I've been able to talk to about this mess."
My pulse accelerates until I hear the rush of blood in my ears. "No one has to know." I swallow past the lump in the throat. "About us. This. It can be our secret."
He backs me up to the nearest tree and leans his body against mine. His belt buckle bites into my belly. I can feel the expansion and contraction of his ribs with each breath, the frantic thud of his heart, and the pressure of his ribs flattening my breasts. Thank goodness I'm wearing a padded bra to hide my hard nipples. He lowers his head, sliding his nose along the length of mine. "I can keep a secret if you can."
A relationship with Thane will complicate my life, but I don’t care. Everything about my past has been a lie, but I can change my future. I deserve to grab happiness where I can find it. I lift my lips to Thane’s. Before I kiss him, I whisper, “This is going to be the best summer ever.”
I hope you enjoyed this short story. Look for the complete Tragic Splendor trilogy to release in Summer 2021. Available for preorder at all major retailers.
When Jameson Met Chloe
Joslyn Westbrook
Copyright © 2021 by Joslyn Westbrook
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechani
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About When Jameson Met Chloe
Jameson
Most happily-ever-after tales end with the couple at their wedding.
An embellished shindig in front of family and friends who collectively ooh and aah—eyes stuck on a too-gorgeous-for-words bride as she sashays down the aisle.
Yet that, my friends, is precisely where this story begins.
It’s worth mentioning—those close to me understand my propensity to do things backward.
I read magazines and newspapers from back to front.
Eat dessert before dinner.
Hell, the fact I was born feet first should have been a telltale sign.
So in true Jameson Wright form, it only makes sense I begin this story at the end…
I’m about to marry the woman of my dreams.
Chloe York.
My snarky, smart, and hot-as-fuck fiancée who almost got away.
I say almost because it was a classic case of loathe at first sight when we met.
God, how she irked the hell out of me, made my blood boil over—as my traitorous cock jumped in excitement whenever she came near.
Never did I imagine I’d be here, gaze pinned to her—my flawless, exquisite bride—as she floats down the aisle toward me, the guy eager to promise her a forever after.
So how did two enemies hop on the And They Lived Happily Ever After express train to bliss?
Well, since you know how our story ends, let’s go back to the beginning.
To how we became an us.
The flirty, steamy, short, and romantic tale of…
When Jameson Met Chloe.