by Ivy Fox
All of Manhattan rallied behind my father with sympathy and support when our mother died. Because of it, he was able to get his chair on the Supreme Court. But that support must have dwindled down, especially when he couldn’t contain the hushed gossip about the young trollops who shared his bed. Fuck enough twenty-year-old airheads with loose lips and word is bound to spread. What better way to do damage control than to be the shining knight who marries a widowed, single mother that faced her own hardships early this year? Vivienne West is either despised or worshiped in our circles, but most importantly, she is respected and feared by all. Two attributes that suit my father’s needs just fine.
“So let me get this straight. Because of his ambition, we’re the ones who get screwed?” Ollie growls, fisting his hands at his side.
“Hasn’t it always been that way?” I raise my brow, unsurprised with anything our father does anymore.
“Whatever. I need a drink,” my brother states, turning to head back to the party.
“Yeah, I could do with one, too. I just need to check on Ash first. I want to make sure he’s not holed up someplace looking for the answers to life at the end of a bottle. I caught him hurling his guts out all day yesterday, so I want to make sure he doesn’t go off the deep end again tonight. Did he pass by you at all?”
Ollie turns his head away from me, his eyes scanning the black horizon and landing on the dark beach below.
“Nah, but I think I may know where he is,” Ollie hushes somberly. “I’ll take care of Ash, Rome.”
He gives me a stiff nod before heading to God knows where in search of his twin. If anyone can calm Ash down, it’s Ollie. Their brotherly connection rivals all others—even mine. Knowing I can’t do anything about their suffering at the moment, I walk back to the party in search of a warm body to distract me. Unfortunately, the one I find is far from warm and has my father’s ring on her finger.
“Oh, Roman, so glad I caught you. Do you have a minute for me?” she cajoles, her eyelids fluttering away sweetly, looping her arm through mine.
“What do you want, Vivienne?” I snap back, unimpressed with her flattering ways.
There is a hint of annoyance in her eyes, but it quickly dissipates to a softer, blue hue.
“We haven’t had much opportunity to talk today, and I thought, what better time than the present for us to get to know each other?” She grins pleasantly, but I don’t miss her wandering eye taking stock of all my attributes.
I know I look good. I took my tie and jacket off eons ago, and rolled my shirt sleeves up to my elbows, just high enough to make the smartest of women go silly. My jet-black hair is on point, as are my designer pants, revealing my biggest assets—a firm, fit ass and the not-so-subtle outlining of a cock most men here would sell their grandmothers to have. I’m not as peacock-ish as my father, and I hope not as narcissistic as him either, but I won’t hide my best features to make others feel more comfortable. They can either take me all in and have their fill, or just look elsewhere. I couldn’t care less either way.
When the tip of Vivienne’s tongue licks her lower lip, a small sense of triumph resonates inside me. I should be disgusted that she is eye-fucking me so obviously, but knowing my father’s bride would rather ride my cock tonight than his, gives me a sick sense of satisfaction. Before I’m able to test my theory and suggest we talk someplace privately—and when I say talk, I mean hear her moan out my name while I’m ten-inches deep inside her—my hot, vindictive state freezes over with the words that come out of her mouth.
“I’m not sure if your father told you or not, but I was a close and dear friend of your mother’s. We were actually in the same sorority together in college. It was such a dark day in all our lives when she passed,” she coos, running her blood-red nails on my bare arm. “You know, I’m just positive that wherever she is right now, she’s looking down on us this very minute, pleased we can now call ourselves a family. I don’t want you to think my intention is to replace her in any way, but I do hope we can be friends.”
The smug look on her face paired with the lust-filled gaze in her eyes, while talking about my mother, makes me loathe the woman even more. I would have had no qualms in hate-fucking the bitch to teach my father a lesson, but hearing her talk about my mother… the only way I see myself touching her is by strapping my hands over her throat.
I lean into her ear, her breath hitching in anticipation, and hush, “Trust me, Vivienne. You could never replace my mother. And before you get any ideas in that little pea brain of yours, just because my father likes to fuck trash, doesn’t mean that I do.” I then pull back so she can see my devious glower.
The anger that flashes across her face makes me happier than any revenge fuck ever could. Watching her strut away, still fuming from my rejection, makes this night more bearable.
I walk over to the open bar to grab something harder than the obnoxious champagne flutes going around when I see in my peripheral the devil’s spawn sitting alone at a table licking her wounds. Not one to pass up the opportunity, I walk over to Holland, only stopping when I’m hovering over her frame.
“What do you want?” she questions sourly, craning her neck back to stare me in the eye. Again, I find myself enjoying looking down at her, and the twitch coming from my crotch seems to be in agreement.
“It’s a wedding. What could the best man want from the maid of honor? A dance, of course.” I goad, my arrogant smirk beaming proudly.
“Ask someone else. I’m not in the mood, Roman,” she snips back, looking around to make sure no one hears her defiance.
“So, you know my name now? Good. One less pleasantry I’ll have to fake. But unfortunately, if we’re not seen dancing together at least once, tongues will waggle. You don’t want to be the topic of idle gossip, do you? Better with me than with the twins. We both know you burnt that bridge.”
Those clear, gray eyes of hers throw daggers at me, and I can’t help but chuckle at her inability to hide her malice.
“Tsk, tsk, little sister. You look like you’d rather chop my balls off than have an innocent dance with your big brother,” I provoke, taking her hands in mine and leading us both to the dance floor. Resentfully, she abides my request and places one dainty hand on my forearm and the other inside my gentle grip.
“You’re nothing to me, Roman. I know you’re the one who poisoned Ollie and Ash against me. You knew what my mother was up to all long. That’s why you accosted me that night. And now you’re punishing me for something I had no control over.”
“Oh, please, don’t play innocent with me. We both know you had been lying to the twins long before the judge popped the question to your mother. I didn’t tarnish their view of you in any way. I simply told them the truth,” I explain, not buying into her puppy-dog eyes or her sharp tongue. She casts her gaze to the dancing couples at our side, not giving me any more of her attention. Her blank, indifferent persona is back in full force, and it’ll be all too easy to peel back those fabricated layers of hers.
“If the twins hate you, you have only yourself to blame. You gave them enough reason to merit their animosity. Don’t go playing the victim card now, when your traitorous ways didn’t pan out.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” she sneers at me with such passion that it surprises me somewhat.
I knew she was hiding claws; I just didn’t think it would be this easy to coax them out. Apparently, the twins are as much of a soft spot for her as she is for them. Unfortunately, my stunned expression doesn’t go unnoticed by her as I see a gleam of victory dancing in her eyes, clearly thinking she was successful in knocking me down a peg.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did no one ever tell you that? I really thought you knew,” she adds with a triumphant smile.
Yeah, that shit’s not gonna fly.
“I’d rather be an honest asshole than a two-faced liar, like you. However, I must say, it’s extremely disappointing to see that name-calling is all you�
�ve got. I was counting on a battle of wits. So disappointed to see you’ve come unarmed,” I lament with an exaggerated sigh.
Our song finishes at that precise moment, and too quickly does she pull away from my grasp. My arms feel uncharacteristically empty without her, and I reason with myself that it must be a reflex from the desire of wanting to prolong my enjoyment of her torment, up close and personal.
“Well, I’m sorry to have disappointed you, Roman. I’ll try harder next time,” she replies with a fake grin, put on for the benefit of the other guests dancing nearby. “Enjoy the rest of the party. I know I’ll try to do the same the minute I get enough distance from you.”
She begins to turn her back to me, but I can’t let her walk away, thinking she’s had the last word. I pull on her elbow, her back hitting my chest and becoming rigidly stiff with our new proximity. I keep my grip on her arm as my other hand travels to find its place on her hip. While her own mother quivered in anticipation of my words just moments before, Holland’s flesh prickles with dread.
I lean in, releasing her elbow and grabbing the nape of her neck possessively, and hiss in her ear, “Enjoy tonight because once you step foot in our house, you’re ours to play with. Maybe next time you’ll consider the consequences of your actions beforehand.” Having made my intentions clear, I release my hold on her.
She slowly turns her head over her shoulder, looking me dead in the eye, trying hard to conceal her fear with burning loathing.
“Go to hell, Roman.”
“Been there, done that, little liar. I’m more interested in seeing how well you’ll handle the flames.”
Chapter 15
Holland
“How are you holding up, hun?” Candy delicately asks on the other end of the line.
“As well as can be expected, I guess,” I reply pensively, staring at the suitcases already packed up to take with me to my new home this afternoon.
The last two weeks passed in an utter blur. Probably because I spent most of the time in bed, feeling sorry for myself. As much as my grandmother tried to coerce me into getting out of the house and enjoying what was left of my summer, wallowing in self-pity felt more appropriate.
“If it makes you feel any better, everyone misses you,” she says in a way to try and soothe me.
“Not everybody,” I mumble.
“Oh, hun, I’m sorry you’re going through this. But trust me, all this shit will soon be just a blip on your radar. Like I always say, if Jenifer Aniston was able to move on from Brad fucking Pitt, then you’ll be able to forget those dicks in a heartbeat. The fact is, some people were born to be assholes. You just have to make sure not to end up being someone’s toilet paper.”
“Classy, babe,” I hear Xavier say from somewhere near her.
“She doesn’t need me to be classy. She’s got that in spades. What she needs is to grow a pair, so when she gets to Manhattan, she’s brave enough to tell those grade-A douches to suck it.”
A feeble tug of the lip emerges, but the unshed tears continue to sting the back of my eyes, making even a little smile too much of an effort.
“I don’t think Holland has the necessary equipment for them to do that, babe,” Xavier teases.
“Shhh! I’m talking to my girl here. Geez, men, am I right?” my best friend rebukes, and I hear a big, wet kiss being planted on her, making her giggle and forgetting that I’m listening in on their make-out session. I pretend to cough, and this gets Candy’s attention.
“So, where was I? Oh, yeah! You know what you need to do? You need to pull a Taylor Swift on their ass. Write that heartbreak into a kick-ass song and use the pain to your advantage. Make those tears count for something. Although in my book, they don’t deserve even one. But if you have to cry for those idiots, use those suckers as your inspiration. Get a pen and paper and write that shit down. I promise you’ll have a whole laundry list of songs that will impress the crap out of Berklee,” she states proudly.
“Sure, I’ll think about it.” I try to laugh at my beautiful, crazy friend.
“No thinking! Just do it! You are still coming to Boston next year, right? Or have you changed your mind?”
“Honestly, college is the last thing on my mind right now. First I need to survive living under the same roof as Ollie and Ash, as well as that arrogant jerk they have for an older brother,” I huff out, already dreading swapping Brookhaven’s safety for the cruel indifference of Grayson Manor.
“Girl, that will be a piece of cake. What I’m worried about is you living with Vivienne. She’s the one you have to watch out for,” Candy warns, genuinely concerned.
“You don’t need to remind me. Maybe it won’t be so bad. I bet we’re just making a mountain out of a molehill and she won’t even acknowledge my presence. She sure has had enough practice,” I reason. “She’ll have her parties and friends to entertain her, and let’s not forget her rich, new husband. I’m hoping she’ll be more attentive to his black AMEX card than she ever will with me.”
“Still, have your guard up and be careful. I trust that woman as far as I can throw her,” Candy cautions. Even though Vivienne is my mother, I know my best friend is just stating a well-known fact.
Aside from Candy and my grandmother, trust is something I don’t give freely, thanks to my parents. I thought that maybe there were two other names I could add to my list of confidantes, but apparently, I was mistaken. I shake the ill-thought away, knowing it will only depress me further.
Candy is right in regards to one thing though—I can’t show them how much I’m hurting. Something tells me Roman Grayson will enjoy seeing me suffer and will persuade the twins to inflict as much pain on me as possible. After the way I behaved at my mother’s wedding—groveling for Ollie’s attention and understanding, and in turn being completely ostracized—I know I’m on my own now. Ollie and Ash are done with me. They didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself or to justify my actions. All they saw was my betrayal. And I guess, at the end of the day, if they were able to dismiss me so callously then maybe what I thought they felt for me was a lie, too. I gave them my heart, and they split it wide open.
“It sucks that I’m not there with you.” Candy sighs apologetically.
“It’s not your fault. Brown doesn’t start until the fall, while Pembroke starts next week,” I reply bitterly. “You’ll be sunbathing while I’ll have to be the new kid at some fancy private school for the elite.”
“I’m sure you’ll knock them dead. Ohhh!! I just thought of something! You know how to get over a hottie? Get under a new one! I’m sure there will be tons of eye-candy you can choose from at your new school.” She giggles.
“Babe!” I hear Xavier holler.
“What?! I’m not wrong.”
There is a light knock on my door, so I tell Candy I have to go with the promise to call her the minute I get settled in at my new home. My grandmother walks into my room, her eyes instantly locking on the pile of cardboard boxes and suitcases ready to be hauled out by the men my mother hired.
“I didn’t think you’d take so much,” she says with a sorrowful look on her face.
“I’m only taking the essentials, Nana. I promise you, most of those boxes are full of textbooks I want to review before I start school. Who knows what they teach up at Pembroke. What if I’m way behind their curriculum? I need to make sure I can keep up.”
My grandmother—in her traditional jeans and T-shirt, and a tight gray bun—lets out a small, disapproving sound, while sitting beside me on the bed and patting my knee.
“Don’t be silly, Holland. They’ll be the ones having a hard time keeping up with you,” she states proudly.
“If that’s the case, it’s only because I’ve had the world’s greatest teacher,” I reply, kissing her cheek affectionately and hoping she doesn’t see how upset I am about leaving her here all alone. Unfortunately, I must be doing a piss-poor job at keeping a brave face, as she lets out a pent-up sigh, sl
umping her frail shoulders in sadness.
“You don’t have to do this, you know? You have options, Holland,” my grandmother hushes while brushing the fallen hair out of my eyes.
Like a child in search of comfort, I lie down, placing my head on the lap of the only person that has ever provided it for me. My grandmother has been my true parental figure, and the one that raised me over the years, remaining steady at my side through all the mayhem and heartbreak.
“Do I, Nana? Please tell me how, because right now I can’t see it,” I murmur, closing my eyes shut to keep the burning tears at bay.
It’s been only Nana and me since I can remember. As much as I pleaded with my father, wanting us all to be a family, my wishes always went unheard. Sure, in the last two years of his life, he tried to be a better father to me, but I never fully trusted his change of heart. Not completely anyway. Maybe if I had, he’d still be here, and I wouldn’t be forced to move away. I wanted to have a family so badly, and now that my mother is giving me one, I just want to crawl into a corner and die. How cruel is my fate to have fallen in love with two boys who were destined to be my siblings? It’s so messed up.
“Now, child, you sound like a defeatist. I raised you better than that. You’re a fighter, and don’t you ever forget it. Of course there are options. You just have to be willing to take them.”
I sit upright and slowly shake my head, knowing exactly what my grandmother is hinting at. It’s been a conversation we’ve had on nearly a daily basis since the reading of my father’s will. If my mother despised me before, then after that day, she has truly hated me—going out of her way to punish me in any manner she could think of. Maybe my father thought Vivienne would treat me better if I were holding the keys to the kingdom. He was dead wrong. No pun intended.
Her rage and resentment of me, though, is unjustified. I have no itch to touch a dime of that money, and I remind my grandmother as much.