by Ivy Fox
“You think we can trust him? This Xavier guy? I don’t like how the fucker is always smiling at Snow every ten seconds,” Ash growls, throwing the wet towel on the chaise lounge chair.
“He might give her a smile from time to time, but it’s Candy he’s eye-fucking. And from what we’ve seen, it doesn’t end there, so just cool it with the jealousy.”
Ash huffs out, not entirely convinced, and drops trou right there on our back lawn. He puts on a pair of clean, mesh basketball shorts folded on the chair, along with an ‘Eat Shit and Die’ T-shirt, fitting his current mood to a T.
“Really? Couldn’t you walk the short distance to the pool house to get dressed? Or, God forbid, any one of the five bathrooms inside our house?” I reprimand.
“Stop busting my balls and let’s just get this show on the road,” he replies, still in a foul mood, pushing past me so he can head inside.
Good thing I know it’ll disappear the minute Snow is at our side. She has a way of taming my belligerent twin with just a flutter of her long eyelashes. On this, I can’t fault him since I’m not immune to it either.
Snow brings us a peace we’ve been deprived of. She settles the chaos in my brother’s turbulent mind and fills the hollow hole in my heart, one that I’ve carried since I was a child. The unconditional love she’s capable of offering, with no strings attached, is something Ash and I never had. We’ve become like two crazed junkies needing our next fix when it comes to her gentle smiles and intense gray skies. We’re addicted to her musical voice and tender word as much as we are to every soft curve of her body.
Ash and I have lived our whole lives amongst people who hide their true selves behind forged masks to get what they want. Snow’s authenticity is a breath of fresh air in a life polluted with lies. For us, falling in love with her was always inevitable, even if the logical part of my mind tells me differently. My heart already knows I’ll never find someone like Snow again. Even if I scavenged the whole planet to do it, no one would ever come close to the way she makes me feel inside. It becomes a burning annoyance to keep lodged in my throat those three little words that my soul yearns to scream out. But as my girl is fond of saying—our actions will always speak louder than any pretty word we can give her. I just hope she hears my worshiping heart.
“You coming or what?” Ash bellows toward me, interrupting my lovesick thoughts. I follow behind him, all too eager to get dinner over with so we can get moving.
Of course, my blood turns cold the minute I see my father sitting at the head of the dinner table.
“Well, look at what we have here. You decided to slum it up with us, Pop? Isn’t there some fancy dinner you’re missing by being here tonight? Please don’t stay on our account. You know how much we enjoy seeing your back as you leave,” Ash mocks, pulling out his chair and slumping in his seat with a thud.
“Asher,” Elle reprimands with a scowl, sending dirty looks my way to keep Ash from saying something that will start a fight with our father.
I just shrug and take my own seat next to my twin, knowing that, if Dad wants to spend the next half hour belittling us, it won’t be because Ash picked a fight, it’ll be because the schmuck enjoys it.
“Don’t waste your breath, Eleanor. I’m quite used to your brother’s childlike antics and lack of sophistication. Word to the wise, Asher, your tantrums grow tedious as the years pass by. I’m so looking forward to the day I will no longer have to endure them.”
“That makes two of us. But why wait? The door is that way. Don’t let it hit you on the ass on your way out.” Ash grins profusely.
“Doesn’t it get tiring, son? Going up against someone way out of your league? Such a pity you are found lacking in your argumentative skills, too. But I guess everyone has their limits. Some more than others,” our father proclaims unimpressed, placing the linen napkin on his lap.
“Limit this, asshole,” Ash rebukes, flipping him the finger.
“Charming,” our father replies, unaffected by my brother’s disrespect.
I guess he’s used to that by now. Respect is a two-way street—it needs to be earned to be given. Although Judge Grayson may be an esteemed, powerful man back in New York, in our house, he doesn’t merit an ounce of our consideration.
“What’s for dinner?” Rome hollers as he steps into the dining room. I watch as my older brother’s carefree stance morphs into a stern expression and a ramrod straightening of his spine the minute he sees tonight’s company.
“I made macadamia pesto pappardelle,” Elle replies whimsically, trying hard to counteract the negative energy in the room.
Rome’s murderous stare softens for just a second, as he looks at our sister and takes the seat next to her, but his arctic demeanor returns the minute our father opens his mouth.
“We do have a cook to do these things, Eleanor. I don’t see why you should waste your time on such demeaning endeavors when you can be putting your talents to far better use.”
I watch Rome open his mouth, about to slam our father into the ground in defense of our sister, but Elle places her hand on his knee, stopping his heated tongue from lashing out.
“I enjoy cooking, Father. It relaxes me. I feel it’s an overlooked art form and a perfectly suitable one for my brand of talents. I don’t find it a waste of time at all. I’m sure you feel the same way about your hobbies. Or do you feel that perfecting your backswing is demeaning as well?” she singsongs, taking a sip of her ice water.
The gleam in my father’s eye is the nearest he gets in showing his approval. Elle is the only one who ever came close in receiving his praise. Our younger sister’s eloquent verbal skills make her his perfect sparring partner. She’s fluent in taking a man down a notch, knowing how to insult the best of them, while always sounding and looking dignified in her delivery.
Neither my brothers nor I have been able to master back talk in such an elegant, impassive tone. But Elle excels at it. It’s probably the main reason why she receives less scrutiny from our father. In his deluded mind, he must think her strong, graceful backbone is a result of his influence. But nothing could be further from the truth. Our mother has been dead for five years now, but every time I look at Elle, I feel her presence in the room. My sister has the same grit and composed strength our mother wielded so beautifully. Our father believes Rome to be his true nemesis and Elle his mirror image. It will be a kick in the chin when he realizes that the roles in his head should be reversed.
We eat our meal quickly in awkward silence, not wanting to endure our father’s presence longer than we have to. When Elle announces she made profiteroles for dessert, both Ash and I begin to get up from our seats, asking her to save us some for when we get back.
“Not so fast. Sit back down,” our father orders without missing a beat.
“What now?” Ash huffs out, slamming his open palms on the table.
“I said sit, Asher. I have news that impacts our family, and I need you all here to listen to what I have to say.”
My twin pulls back his chair once again, making it screech on the tile floor, announcing his irritation at having to spend even one more minute in this room.
“Is this about your appointment?” Elle asks, her eyes fixed on my father’s smug demeanor.
“In a way. Let’s just say it’s about having all the resources I need to make it possible,” he explains ominously.
“What appointment?” I ask. Obviously I’ve been left out of the loop.
I’m not offended in any way since I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what’s happening in my father’s life. Only when it affects my siblings do I take notice.
“Judge Grayson here is on the shortlist to become chief justice of the Supreme Court,” Rome explains, disdain and loathing coating every word.
“You have got to be shitting me!” Ash cries out in outrage.
“Exactly what I said when I heard the news,” Rome adds, with a mocking slant to his lip.
“Y
ou! You are going to have the highest seat in the US judicial system?! Are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse about to raid New York, too? Because that is some serious end-of-the-world shit right there. You should be locked up behind fucking bars, not being someone’s last hope.”
My twin’s accusing words strike a chord with my own beliefs. My mother’s sudden death was a shock to us all, but I never saw surprise or grief in my father’s eyes. Rome puts it down to them being in a loveless marriage too long for him to care, but, even though we could never prove it, I always wondered if he didn’t have a hand in her death. The man is ruthless and savvy enough to pull off something as gruesome as the murder of his own wife. For me, these are just musings of an orphaned child, but to Ash, they are certainties.
“Are you done?” our father asks, completely immune to Ash’s accusations and revulsion.
Asher sneers at my side, and I feel his rage bubbling up to the very surface of his skin.
“What do you need to tell us, Father?” Elle interrupts before Asher or Rome utter another word.
“Before your brother’s exhausting meltdown, I was about to announce to you all that there will be a new addition to our family. I still have to dot some I’s and cross some T’s, but by the end of the day, I plan to be engaged to your new stepmother, and officially married by the end of the month,” he explains, as if he’s in some boardroom meeting discussing his next acquisition.
“Married?” Elle hushes out, confused, mimicking our own astonishment.
“Who the fuck would ever say yes to marrying you?” Ash adds, disgusted.
“Vivienne West.”
“Oh, fuck!” My twin begins to laugh from his gut. “Yep, seems fitting the devil marries the biggest bitch New York has to offer. Mazel tov to you both. You deserve each other.”
“Why her?” Rome interrupts somberly before our father has the chance to come up with a witty comeback to Ash’s insults.
“Let’s just say, Vivienne brings to the table expertise and qualities which will benefit me greatly. That’s all you need to know. Regardless of what transpires inside our home, the outside world must see that my children are delighted with this news and appear to welcome her with open arms into the fold.”
“You mean you want us to lie? Nothing new there,” I murmur under my breath.
My father tilt’s his head my way, with a sadistic smirk planted dead center in his handsome face.
“Why stop when you’re so good at it, Oliver? Keeping up appearances is all I’ve ever required from each one of you. Your thoughts, feelings, and concerns are not my priority, nor have they ever been.”
Having had enough, I stand up from my seat and look down at the vile man sitting proudly at the head of the table.
“Always a pleasure spending time with you, Father. I wish you and Vivienne get all that you deserve and then some. Preferably in a way we all can sit back and enjoy. You know what they say—what goes around comes around.”
“A foolish notion spoken by a foolish child. We make our own destiny, Oliver. Only a simple mind believes in such drivel.”
“I guess I’m a simple kind of guy,” I rebuke back, throwing him my best fuck-you smile before turning my back on the asshole himself.
“Oh, and here’s my advice to you, Pops, since I know how fond you are of dishing out your own. Get a fucking prenup. That bitch isn’t touching anything of ours. Capiche, dickwad?” I hear Asher spit out before following me out of the room. He then nudges me on the shoulder to get my attention, and says, “Hey, let me just grab a quick shower, and I’ll be ready to leave in fifteen.”
“Make it ten, Ash. I need to get out of this house,” I grunt, running my fingers through my hair.
“You and me both, brother, you and me both,” he replies, taking two stairs at a time and dashing off to his room.
I go into my own room to change clothes and rid myself of the stink my father’s little upcoming nuptials news left on me. Never in a million years did I ever consider my father remarrying, and that’s mostly because he isn’t the type to repeat a mistake twice.
Memories of my parents arguing, things being thrown at walls, and my mother crying in our beds while she held us tight to her bosom still haunt me. I know she was miserable being attached to my father; I always wondered why she never left him. Guilt weighs on my chest every time I consider the only plausible reason she never kicked his ass to the curb—because she knew he’d fight tooth and nail for custody of us. And who could refuse the prestigious Judge Grayson his parental rights?
Despite being worth billions—left by her oil-tycoon grandfather—Mom was just another trust-fund baby and compared to her husband, she was nothing but a pretty piece of expensive jewelry wrapped around his arm to make him look good. No one respected her mind or her heart; they only saw her as the wife of one of New York’s finest, upstanding citizens and someone who could write a fat check that wouldn’t bounce.
Still, Mom was smart, maybe even smarter than the old man himself. She made sure a prenup was signed before walking down the aisle and, in the event of her death, her whole fortune fell upon her children only—not her spouse. The only penny he sees is the monthly allowance she created to upkeep our various homes, personnel, schooling, and living expenses. The rest is distributed into trusts that only us, her legitimate heirs, can touch. Ollie and I had access to the first one when we turned eighteen. Just like Rome did when he reached the same age. It was how we were able to make an offer on our Soho loft. But compared to the trust we get when we turn twenty-one, it makes this one look like pocket change.
Something our father never quite got over. I guess he was under the impression my mother had a different will set up.
Oops.
I guess if she couldn’t beat him in life, she sure as shit beat his ass to a pulp in death.
A knock on my door interrupts my wayward thoughts. When Rome steps inside, I breathe easy in knowing it’s not my father wanting to have the last word.
“Where’s Asher?” Rome asks, his scowl deeper than usual.
“In his room, getting dressed. Why? What’s up?”
“Just come with me,” he instructs, turning around and heading to my twin’s room down the hall.
Ash still has a towel wrapped around his waist when Rome orders me to take a seat on the bed.
“We’ve got places to be, Rome. Ain’t in the mood to hash out whatever fuckery our father is up to now,” Ash remarks, as he puts on his ripped-up jeans.
“Jesus, Ash. Can’t you even put on some boxers for crying out loud?” I reprimand, pushing my glasses up to the bridge of my nose.
“I like going commando so just suck it up, princess,” he teases with a sly smirk, gaining a small chuckle out of me.
“Just sit your ass down, Asher! We have to talk, and we have to do it now. I should have said something weeks ago, but the timing never felt right. Guess I’m all out of options now though,” Rome laments, tugging at the leather bracelet on his wrist.
Asher throws himself on the bed next to me, crossing his arms at the back of his head, ready to hear whatever Rome has on his mind.
“You wanted to talk, so talk.”
“Fuck, how do I start this?” Rome mumbles under his breath, his brows pulled tightly together in concern.
“How about from the beginning, big brother? Or will this be one of your rants that is bound to put me to sleep?” Ash jokes, nudging my back with his bare foot.
“Shut it, Ash. This looks serious. What’s going on Rome?” I ask, knowing there is a storm brewing whenever that nasty vein pops up on Rome’s forehead.
“How well do you know Vivienne West?” He starts, and the question takes me a little by surprise.
“You mean, Dad’s fiancé? Not much. Just that she’s some heavy-hitter socialite whose bite is worse than her bark. Heard some nasty rumors once, at one of those lame-ass parties we had to go to. Apparently, Vivienne has the dirt on most of the elit
e in New York. That’s why no one even mentioned her name in the papers, or anywhere else, when her husband killed himself and had all that bad publicity surrounding him,” I remark, telling Rome all the info I remember of Vivienne West.
“Yeah. Real piece of work, that one. The woman has ice in her veins,” Asher remarks in agreement. “Why? You worried her and the old man are up to something?”
“I have no doubt in my mind that our father has his sights on that seat and he’ll play dirty to get it. I think maybe Vivienne has some intel he wants, but won’t give it to him without having something in it for her. I’d guess having a ring on her finger and the last name Grayson was Dad’s bargaining chip.”
I huff out in astonishment. Of course those two would take a sacred thing like the institution of marriage and turn it into a business deal.
“Yeah, that sounds like something he would do. But why do you look worried? Is it because the fucker will end up being appointed chief justice?” Asher asks casually. “If it is, let it go, brother. Don’t beat a dead horse in the head. Our father is too ambitious to let anyone get in the way of whatever he puts his mind to, even us. Hell, he’d bulldoze right over us if we tried, and laugh while doing it.”
“I’ll deal with Judge Grayson. He’s not who I’m worried about at the moment,” he answers, aggravated.
“Then who?”
“How much do you know about your girl Snow?” Rome says with a thunderous look in his eye.
Asher immediately straightens up, no longer liking where this conversation is heading.
“What does Snow have to do with Vivienne West?”
“Everything, Asher. Your girl isn’t the innocent townie she pretends to be. She’s Vivienne’s daughter, and by the end of the month, our new stepsister. You both got played, boys.”
Chapter 11
Holland
“Your boys are late,” Candy declares at my side, looking up and down the street for any sign of Ollie’s black SUV.