Heartless: A High School Bully Romance (The Privileged of Pembroke High Book 1)

by Ivy Fox

  I never thought I’d be so relieved to return to the Grayson Manor, but my reprieve is short-lived when Elle locks her arm with mine, taking me up to her room for yet another makeover. After I get dressed, Elle fixes my hair and makeup while I laugh at her silly banter of how she always wanted a live doll to play with. At least I’m relaxed and in good spirits when we finally go to the roof to join my mother’s impromptu party.

  Just like my room, the rooftop holds my mother’s personal touches. It’s felt in each decoration, every hors d’oeuvre and champagne flute served by the immaculately dressed catering staff, down to the songs being played by the hired band. It’s glamorous without being ostentatious. The white lilies and the twinkling lights surrounding us resemble the ones from her wedding last month, giving the ambiance a dreamy, romantic vibe.

  “Your mom really likes a party, huh?” Elle hushes beside me. “She sure went all out.”

  I shrug instead of answering.

  In reality, I don’t know what my mother likes. I hardly know the woman. Throughout my childhood, I only ever saw her a few times a year, and every time I did, she had no qualms in letting me know she would have preferred to be doing anything other than spending time with me. It was only after my diagnosis that my father started visiting me more often, and he would drag her—kicking and screaming—with him, increasing our awkward and distasteful time together.

  It was also around that time that we started to spend our summers together after he had bought me the house in the Hamptons. Surprisingly, he remembered something I had said to him as a child. I had once told him that when I grew up, I wanted to wake up early every day just to watch the sunrise above the sea. I wanted my little house to have a beach for me to swim in until my skin turned pruny, and a bike with a basket in front to ride all over town and feel the wind in my hair.

  It was a wish I had made when I was maybe six or seven years old, and I never once considered he would grant it on my fifteenth birthday. In my young mind, I had imagined a small cottage by the ocean, nothing fancy or over the top. Just something that resembled a home—a place for a real family to live in. It was my father’s guilt of being an absentee parent that made him buy the cold mansion instead.

  Vivienne, of course, was furious he gave me such a gift since she had yet to have any property in her name. A fact I had only been made aware of after a cursing match between the two. I could have stopped their fight and told her I never wanted it. She could keep it for all I care. What I had always dreamt of was living in a home where I was loved by my parents. But Vivienne’s green-eyed monster caused me to hold back all my words. Her being jealous of her own daughter was a new low point in our relationship. Though she did make sure I had many more of those to endure in the years to come.

  “Didn’t we do one of these just a couple of weeks ago?” I hear a resentful voice ask behind me.

  I don’t turn around, and instead, keep my wandering eye on the partying crowd. My heart, however, isn’t as discreet and begins beating a mile a minute just from hearing Ash’s voice. Since I’m not brave enough to face his scruffy, beautiful face yet, I stand frozen in place, praying he doesn’t realize I’m standing just a few feet away. But even if he does, I doubt he’ll make any attempt in talking to me. Ever since that night at the beach, he’s avoided me like the plague. At the wedding, the only time I laid eyes on him was when he stood side by side with his brothers, wearing a scowl so deep, it changed his stunning, bad-boy features into something alarmingly spine-chilling. After that, he just disappeared. His treatment of me, that ugly night at the beach, still hurts. If I want to be strong, I need to remember what he did to me, not the love he showed me before.

  Ash never gave me the opportunity to explain. He simply retaliated, leaving me confused and heartbroken. With him, I can’t be the one who makes the first move. He’ll have to come to me with a heartfelt apology on his lips. Although, after this morning’s revelation of my illness, I saw a trace of the boy I love. I saw how the news tore away at him. How he wanted my mother to take it all back and say it was just a mean joke or another one of her lies. At that moment, I wanted to comfort him so badly, but my self-preservation held me back. I can’t show weakness of any kind. Ash will pounce on me like the ravenous predator he is and eat me alive. I won’t let him humiliate and taunt me a second time.

  How does that old saying go?

  Fool me once, shame on you.

  Fool me twice, and I’m the damn idiot that let him break me apart again.

  “We did. It was our father’s wedding.” I hear Ollie joke beside him, causing another pang to my heart.

  “So, why the hell do we have to endure another party?”

  “Because the bride wasn’t happy about the number of people who couldn’t make it to the first one, due to the short notice. This is her giving them another chance to celebrate the nuptials. She’s very altruistic, don’t you think?” Ollie goads, making fun of my mother’s need to broadcast to the whole world that she is the new Mrs. Grayson.

  “Wonderful. Now we have to suffer her whims, too. Fuck this. I’ll be at the bar,” Ash grunts in frustration, and I relax when I hear him leave.

  Even though I should be grateful they paid me no mind, I still feel conflicted. Was it because they didn’t notice me in this get-up Elle put me in? Or was it because they just didn’t care enough to say anything?

  But when the smell of sandalwood and folded laundry invades my senses, and without me having to look back, I know Ollie is right behind me. He’s so close I can almost feel his body heat increase my own. I feel his eyes travel my bare back, and the small flames that kiss my skin make it impossible for me to stand still a moment longer.

  “I’m going to see if I can find something substantial to eat instead of these miniature hors d’oeuvres,” I explain to Elle at my side, preparing to rush away in case her brother is no longer satisfied with just watching me and attempts to engage in conversation with us. As much as I’m working to school my features to show how unaffected I am, he’ll be able to see right through me.

  “Fat chance you’ll find anything. These people like to drink their misery away, not stuff their face.” She giggles. “But if you find something, come and get me. I’m starving.”

  I give her a little wave over my shoulder, not once turning my head around, in case I come face to face with those hazel eyes that hold such depth in them—so deep I risk falling in and drowning in his perfect river of green and bronze. I walk amongst the crowd, trying to get as much distance as I can between the twins and me.

  I know I’m being a coward, but it is what it is.

  Before my mother opened her big mouth, I was going to give it another try and explain this sordid misunderstanding. I’d try Ollie first, and then maybe Ash. Ollie might be angry at me, but I know, sooner or later, he’ll listen to reason. Ash, on the other hand, showed his cards when he went out of his way to hurt me. He’ll need more patience on my part.

  I’m not sure how they will ever believe a word I say now. I withheld too much. They were making plans for our lives together while I was keeping the one I was living a secret. I understand their pain. I do. And as much as I want to blame my mother for putting me in this situation, I could have come clean long before.

  My one moment of selfishness, of wanting our perfect, last summer, destroyed the happiness I had aspired to build. That’s on me, and I’ll have to make amends somehow. If they’ll ever let me, that is. But right now, I know any attempt on my part will be in vain, so keeping my distance is the only ally I have to keep the broken pieces of my heart from shattering completely.

  From the corner of my eye, I see wavy brown hair and immediately recognize its owner. I ran my fingers too many times through Ollie’s soft locks not to have them memorized by heart. Of course, in my haste to hide amongst the party guests, I smack into a woman in an elegant, silver dress and make her spill her drink all over the man in front of her.

  “Oh, no. I
’m so sorry,” I cry out, looking at the man’s pristine, white shirt turning red from the woman’s wine.

  The grimace on his lips is as deep as the creases on his forehead; which is saying a lot since his thick, black beard makes it hard to see his mouth. Though, is displeasure is clearly evident. Thankfully, one waiter comes up to his aid, prompting to assist him with a new shirt, while another pops up, bringing a new glass of wine for his partner.

  My mother really has the staff on their toes.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was walking,” I try to explain.

  “Next time, pay more attention,” he seethes bitterly.

  “Now, Charles, don’t be like that. The poor girl is noticeably sorry. She didn’t mean anything by it.” The woman laughs off lightheartedly.

  He sends me another disgusted look before following the waiter, his bushy brows obviously not in agreement with his partner.

  “I apologize on behalf of my husband. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes well. I’m Claire, by the way,” the raven-haired beauty explains, offering her hand for a little shake.

  “Holland,” I reply.

  “I’m sorry, but have we met before?” she asks with a genuine smile and a sparkle in her bright eyes.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Actually, I know so. I’ve never met most of the people here tonight. Only a few faces stand out as familiar from having attended my mother’s wedding, obviously important enough to be invited twice, but that’s about it. Claire doesn’t look as uptight as the rest of them, so I’m sure I’d have made a mental note of it and remembered if we had met before.

  “Really? Because I could swear we have,” she says, delighted, taking stock of my face, trying hard to place where she may have seen me before.

  “Oh, Claire. You always were slow to pick up on things. This is my daughter,” my mother singsongs, appearing beside me out of nowhere.

  She looks flawless in her red, skintight dress and new diamond necklace that emphasizes the swell of her voluptuous breasts. It seems Vivienne didn’t just go all out with her party, but also with her attire. On any other woman her age, the dress would look like a desperate attempt to get people to notice her. On my mother, though, it makes her look regal, elegant, and most importantly, unattainable.

  “Your daughter?” Claire croaks, her face beginning to pale.

  “Yes. Mine and Craig’s. The resemblance is uncanny, is it not? Holland has so few of my traits, yet so many of her father’s. Pity really. I’ll always have a reminder of the man I lost. It’s so painful to live with the constant reminder, isn’t it?” Vivienne says with a slick tongue, not looking at all bereft.

  As much as I want to bow my head in shame over my mother’s poor choice of words, I keep my chin up and pretend I wasn’t slighted by the comment. Vivienne loves and feeds off the reactions her snide comments cause, so I try not to react. Claire, though, coughs into her closed fist, obviously perturbed by my mother’s remark and trying her best not to let it show.

  “So, I guess congratulations are in order,” Claire replies evenly, deflecting my mother’s question altogether. “I have to say, this is a lovely party, but I shouldn’t be surprised. You always plan ahead and get exactly what you want, don’t you, Vee?”

  “You mean who I want, don’t you? And you’re right. I do,” my mother answers smugly.

  The animosity between the two women is clear as day, but the thing that sticks in my head is the intimate nickname Claire called my mother. It’s the same one I used to hear my father call her from time to time.

  “I always knew you two were made for each other,” Claire adds cryptically, interrupting my wayward thoughts, and I note how her tone sounds more censorious than congratulatory.

  My mother offers her trademark shark-like smile, and the tension between the two women starts to make me uncomfortable. However, the sensation doesn’t compare to my increasing curiosity of what their backstory is to hold such open hostility for each other. It doesn’t seem like either woman likes the other very much, so why did my mother invite Claire to tonight’s party? And for that matter, why did Claire accept?

  “I should find Charles and see how he’s doing. It was a pleasure to meet you, Holland. You seem like a sweet girl,” she says, and the little slant of her eyes clearly hints that she was about to end that sentence with ‘despite who you have for a mother’. “Congrats again, Vee. I wish you and Malcolm all that you deserve.”

  Claire begins to walk away, but my mother stops her by holding onto her elbow. My eyes begin to pop out when I see her nails sink into Claire’s skin, and she doesn’t retaliate in any way. Vivienne then leans into Claire’s ear and whispers two cryptic words that leave me even more baffled.

  “I win.”

  Claire’s thin smile is still in place, as she nods to her husband, who is waving on the other side of the spacious roof, clearly in a better mood now with a fresh, clean shirt. Claire looks over her shoulder, eyes locked in disdain with my mother’s, and throws her own brand of a fake smile. But as much as she tries, her eyes don’t lie, and the myriad of emotions she’s trying hard to hide are too familiar for me not to recognize—hate, grief, and self-loathing live within Claire, too.

  “Of course you would see this as a game. But tell me, Vee. How many people had to lose so you could finally get what you wanted?”

  “They were all expendable. I can assure you,” my mother counters haughtily.

  Claire’s hatred wins out above all other sentiments, and this time, she doesn’t keep up pretenses and shows my mother exactly how she regards her.

  “Pray that you don’t become as expendable,” Claire rebukes menacingly, jerking her elbow away from my mother’s grasp and finally walking away to her waiting husband.

  The urge to ask my mother who Claire is—and why they hate each other so much—is strong, but I know not to poke the dragon when it looks like she’s about to burn everything to cinders. It takes her a minute to gather her composure, but when she turns to face me, she is once again her usual, arctic form.

  “Don’t just stand there, you foolish child. Look at Elle. Mingling and making her father proud, while you’re just standing there, adding absolutely nothing to this gathering. At least try to learn from her on how to behave. Seriously, spilling wine on Senator Hurst, of all people. Wild boars have more grace than you. Don’t embarrass me again, Holland. You know I don’t take disrespect lightly. Is that understood?” she castigates and leaves before I even have time to defend myself.

  I curl my hands into fists, hoping the pinch of my nails breaking skin can erase the sting of my mother’s words. But it’s useless. The night has hardly begun, but I already want nothing to do with it. Still, I take a deep breath and saunter over to Elle.

  I become a shadow amongst the crowd; I smile when appropriate, nod, and laugh on cue. I become all the attributes of a soulless vessel—mimicking my mother’s wishes to perfection. By the time the party starts to wind down, I’m exhausted of all the pretenses, and call it a night, blaming a headache for my early retirement.

  It’s not a lie. My head does feel like it’s about to burst, but it’s because I’m not sure how I’ll be able to stomach living in the same house as my mother. Officially, it’s only twenty-four hours since I got here, but it feels like every encounter I’ve had with her has drained years away from me.

  I need to call Candy so she can liven up my spirits. If anyone can bring me out of this funk, it’s her.

  I open my bedroom door and stand frozen under its threshold. Ollie is at the foot of my bed, and in his hold is a frame with the last picture I took of us together, back at our little secluded beach. I had hidden it inside one of the drawers of my bedside table, so for him to have it in his hands means he went through my stuff.

  “Ollie? What are you doing inside my room?” I ask, closing the door behind me, so no one passing by can hear us.

  “Why do you have this?” he asks
, turning the picture toward me.

  His shaggy, brown hair falls down onto his forehead, covering the top of his black-rimmed glasses. My fingers itch to touch those locks and clear his view, but when I take a step closer to him, he takes one back, putting a stop to that foolish instinct.

  “Why, Snow?” he repeats, and my heart summersaults when hearing my nickname again on his lips.

  Why do I have that picture? Isn’t it obvious?

  Because we were all happy there. We were in love and had no worries or concerns. We were free.

  “Because it means something to me,” I hush out instead, venturing another small step closer to him, this time afraid he’ll take the last proof of our happiness away from me.

  “But why? Is it some sick trophy or something? Do you like looking at the proof of how well you played us? Is that it?” he retorts, upset, gripping the frame tighter.

  “I never played you, Ollie. Or Ash.”

  “Oh, no? Then what would you call it?” he mumbles, crestfallen this time.

  “A misunderstanding. And if you had let me explain like I wanted to, you would see that that’s all it ever was. One huge misinterpretation that got out of hand,” I reason softly, hoping this disastrous night might have its silver lining after all.

  If Ollie came into my room, perhaps he’s looking for answers. Hopefully, something inside of him knows that I could never hurt him or Ash intentionally. He’s always been the rational one, so he could be finally realizing that none of this adds up. Maybe all he needs is to hear my version of what happened so he can make sense of it all, and begin to forgive me.

  “A misunderstanding? You actually have the nerve to tell me that you broke me, and it was all a misunderstanding? You really are a cold-hearted bitch, aren’t you?” he spits out, turning my small hopes to dust.

  He doesn’t want answers after all. He wants the same thing Ash did—to hurt me in any way he can. Not wanting to give him the opportunity I unknowingly served up to Ash on a silver platter, I walk over to him, my head held high, my nerves pure resolve, and take the photograph away from his grip.