by Ivy Fox
The hairs on my nape stand on end when I feel his lips almost touch the lobe of my ear—that same sweet, honey-like scent more apparent with each one of his breaths touching my skin. No longer comfortable with this turn of events, since it’s obvious I lost my momentum and control over the situation, I try to take a step back from him, only for Rome to place his hands on my hips, keeping me in place.
“Word to the wise, Holland. If you don’t want vultures to hover over you, maybe you shouldn’t make it so easy,” he snickers, knowing he’s won this round.
“I hate you,” I sneer back, not being able to think of anything else to say.
“Not yet, you don’t, but you will. I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter 19
Oliver
“This family doesn’t revolve around your time schedule, Holland. I expect you to make a better effort to attend family meals,” Vivienne announces harshly the minute Snow enters the dining room.
This woman doesn’t let anything slide.
“It’s quite alright. Last night was a late one for all of us. Holland probably just overslept, didn’t you, dear?” my father interrupts amicably.
“Don’t encourage bad behavior, Malcolm. She’s not a child,” Vivienne counters, still giving my girl the evil-eye as she takes her seat next to my sister.
“I don’t regard her to be one, either,” my father rebukes back, invoking red tints on both mother and daughter’s cheeks.
While Snow’s blush is caused by utter embarrassment, the scarlet hue on the woman sitting at my father’s side is provoked by fuming rage. Still, the judge is a creature of habit and rules. He’s always made us painfully aware that missing breakfast or dinner would not go unpunished, so showing some leniency toward Snow raises my hackles. He’s never been the tolerant, fatherly type. Not with us at least. However, I have watched Vivienne do everything in her power to try and gain Elle’s good graces, so maybe he’s just doing the same with her daughter. Lord knows they’re shit out of luck regarding the rest of us.
“So, Elle, I heard Trevor and Lacey Manning are having a large gathering at their house tonight to celebrate everyone’s return to Pembroke. Are you thinking of going?” my stepmother asks, obviously wanting to move on to another topic.
“Why would she? Trevor is a preppy dick who likes to roofie his dates, and his sister Lacey enjoys being passed around by the entire football team like a bong. Elle has better things to do than to attend some party at their house,” Ash responds, throwing a grape in the air and catching it with his mouth.
“Asher,” my father cautions, lifting his head away from the tablet at the side of his plate.
“What? Now I have to keep my opinions to myself because the ice queen eats at our table? Screw that and screw you. You married her, not me.”
Vivienne leaks a fake chuckle while my father’s knuckles crack under his tightly curled fists. Both Elle and I school our features to hide our amusement at our brother’s spot-on remark. Not being able to help it, I take another peek over at Snow under half-cast eyes. Her soft blush darkens to a beautiful, crimson color, and I remember a time when I could coax such a gorgeous glow with my tongue alone.
“Not another word, Asher.”
“Oh, come now, Malcolm. Let the boy speak his mind. Such vigor is quite refreshing,” Vivienne coos, and the smoldering look she lays on my twin almost brings my eggs back up.
“Better lock up your new bride, Father. She’s looking at your son like she wants to ride his face,” Rome adds unabashedly, making Holland choke up her orange juice as he pulls out his seat on Elle’s other side.
“Holland, manners! Seriously,” Vivienne chastises, completely ignoring Rome’s comment.
Snow’s eyes bug out, her tongue ready to deliver a lashing, but her mother’s venomous stare weighs her down. I don’t know Vivienne West, and I don’t care to. The way I’ve seen her cut down my Snow at every turn is enough for me to know the woman is as deplorable as they come.
She’s not your Snow anymore. She’s your sister.
I gulp down my latte, hoping the brewed drink can push the bile down my throat. I feel like I’m in the middle of one of those cheap daytime soap operas that Henrietta, our cook, likes to watch every day. Seriously, this family was messed up before, but add the Wicked Witch from the Upper East Side, and the stepsister I can’t keep my eyes off of, and it’s the final ingredients for a nuclear disaster.
“To answer your question, I was actually thinking of going. I’d like to take Holland along with me, too,” Elle replies, sending a little wink over to her new bestie.
“Oh!” my father exclaims in interest, his full attention now on my sister.
“I thought it would be good for her to meet some of the kids who attend Pembroke before starting school next week. That way she won’t feel so much like an outsider.”
“She’s not an outsider. She has us,” I hear myself say defensively.
Snow’s eyes look over to me, and seeing her soft, gray clouds under those long lashes, squeezes my insides. Of course, what really stings is Ash stepping on my foot, halting my impulse to say something. It’s funny; that’s the same tactic I use on him when he blurts out more than he should.
“I was thinking about people that aren’t her brothers,” Elle goads with a light smile to lessen the taunt, but it doesn’t do anything for me.
In fact, if one more person mentions that the girl I gave my heart to is my sister, I swear I’m going to lose it. I’ll throw up right here and now, which is going to leave Lawrence mighty pissed because of the extra cleaning.
“She’s not our sister, Elle. Remember that,” Rome cautions, and I breathe easier knowing he, at least, is going to keep the barrier between the West and Grayson families.
“Are you on your period or something?” I hear Elle whisper over to our big brother, low enough for the parentals to miss it, but loud enough to bring a little smirk to Snow’s lips.
Rome straightens his spine and ignores our baby sister’s provocation by giving her the cold shoulder. It’s a useless endeavor. He should know Elle better by now; when she puts her mind to something, no one stands in her way.
“She’s part of our family. That’s enough. What do you say, Holland? Want to come with me?”
Snow looks over at a pissed-off Rome, then to Ash who continues refusing to acknowledge her presence. She then finally sets her sights on me, and I can’t bring myself to turn away, especially when I read the plea in her eyes. So I give her the only thing I can, considering the circumstances we’ve found ourselves in—my own gentle smile. When her eyes light up, it’s too much for me to take and I bow my head, pretending my bacon and eggs are so fucking interesting.
“Sure. I’d like that.” I hear her answer.
“If you two are going, then Ollie and I are going, too. Someone needs to keep an eye on you,” Ash groans out, and even though it looks like he’s talking to Elle, his glower never waivers from the girl at her side.
“Count me in, too. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a high school party,” Rome interjects nonchalantly.
“I thought you’d tire of teenagers, Roman. Won’t Addison be there?” My father smirks.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
My father’s simper grows wider with Rome’s response. Thankfully, none of the women sitting at the table know just how fucked up his insinuation was by mentioning Rome’s ex. It’s best they don’t find out either. It might not paint the judge in the best light, but the scars from that betrayal and humiliation are something that Rome is still trying to overcome. And who likes to rehash one of the ugliest moments in their life? I doubt anyone sitting at this table, that’s for sure.
“Well, have fun, children. Malcolm and I also have plans for tonight. We’re going to see the opera with the Hendersons, aren’t we, darling?”
“Actually, I’ll have to take a rain check, Vee. I have some urgent business to attend to. I’m
sure you’ll have fun without me.”
“Oh, but it won’t be the same.”
I’m bored already with their marital discourse, but I’m drawn into listening, seeing how attentive Snow has suddenly become of their little discussion. Her mother continues to whine like the trophy wife she wants to be, but it’s the all-too-familiar gleam of disgusted annoyance in my father’s scowl that solidifies my attention. He’s letting a bit of his mask down, and if he’s not careful, he’ll reveal just how cold and heartless the bastard really is. I wonder if Vivienne has ever seen his mean streak.
“What will I tell the Hendersons? They were so excited about tonight.”
“Tell them I’m a busy man with obligations that can’t be discarded so easily.”
“They know that already. But still, it’s Saturday night. How important could the work possibly be that it can’t be delayed until Monday?” She pouts.
“When you married me you knew what it entailed, did you not? I’m sure you’ll do fine without me,” he snaps back more assertively.
“But Malcolm—” she begins to wail, but her burgundy-painted lips are interrupted by the slam of my father’s fist on the table, shaking every piece of tableware.
Vivienne, meet your new husband—the true Malcolm Grayson.
He might be polished to look reputable and charming on the outside, but inside he is nothing but a villain that will end up tormenting you for all of your days. If my mother were alive, she’d attest to how vile the man is. As his children, we could vouch for it, too, but something tells me that Vivienne marrying my father was just her bad karma kicking her in the ass.
I guess the honeymoon period is officially over.
“Of course. How silly of me. You will be missed, darling, but you are absolutely right. Your duty comes first,” Vivienne beams brightly as if my father didn’t just try to crack the dinner table in two with one punch.
The rest of the meal is spent listening to Vivienne’s gossip about her guests from last night’s party. My father seems to take note of one thing or another, but basically, it’s vapid noise made by a vain woman who thinks too highly of herself. The minute we’re excused and I get to my brother’s room, I slump down onto his bed, feeling like I just lost a few brain cells from listening to Vivienne talk.
“Does that bitch ever shut up?” Ash barks, slamming the door behind him. “I mean, I hate the judge, but I’m seriously starting to pity the fucker.” He laughs, walking over to his desk and turning on his laptop.
“If you have to pity someone, pity Snow. She’s the one who Vivienne likes to cause the most grief,” I huff out, picking up the small tennis ball on the corner of the bed, and throwing it to bounce back from the wall.
“So you believe everything she told you last night?” my brother asks, obviously not as convinced by Snow’s explanation as I am.
“I do. Things just never added up for me. But after I gave her a chance to tell me her side of the story last night, it made sense.”
“That’s your heart talking, Ollie. Remember what Rome always tells us—fools are born when they fall prey to love.”
“Our brother is just as dead inside as the judge. I don’t want to live my life like that, Ash. I can’t,” I admit in one hollowed breath.
I understand why Rome is the way he is. I get it. But I’m not Rome. I refuse to close myself off the way he did. He lives for Elle and the two of us, but that’s it. His only focus is on his bitter resentment and a need to rectify all the wrongs we have suffered. The death of our mother affected him deeply, turning him distant and creating a shallow, aloof persona to keep everyone at arm’s length. Only Addison got to see his vulnerability, and she spat that shit right in his face by going behind his back and screwing around with our father. But Snow is not Addison, just as I am not my brother.
“So you’re going to be friends with her, huh? What are you going to do? Braid her hair while watching romcoms in the den? Is that how you picture it?” my twin ventures, amused, swinging his desk chair to face me head-on. “You won’t last a week.”
“At least I’m trying. You think your approach is any better than mine? Ignoring her, denying the fact she’s living with us. You can sit there and tell me all you want, how you hate her for lying to you, that you want nothing to do with her, but I know it’s all bullshit. Remember, Ash, what you feel, I feel. So don’t go acting all high and mighty when I know exactly who you dream of at night,” I snap, throwing the tennis ball in his direction.
He catches it and starts to throw it from one hand to the other, his eyes never meeting mine.
“Don’t worry about me, Ollie. I’ll get my shit dealt with,” he mutters under his breath.
“Whatever,” I snap back, diverting my attention to the ceiling.
Ash has been keeping something from me since our father’s wedding. I know when he’s fucked something up and feels guilty about it. And by the way he’s been carrying on since then, whatever he did to make himself feel like shit, involves Snow. The asshole just hasn’t worked up the courage to tell me yet. It’s not like I can ask her. Last night she told me all I wanted to know. Now we just have to find a way to move past this. The messed up part of it all is, even when she was telling me what my heart knew to be true, it still didn’t change the way I felt inside. It didn’t change the fact that I lost her.
The moment her mother took on the name Grayson, our relationship was condemned. It would be hard enough for her to explain having two boyfriends, but saying that those same boyfriends were also her stepbrothers crosses the line from harmless exploration to outright, gross incest. And after I saw all those pill bottles lying around in her bathroom, I knew Snow had already endured a lot in her life, so having to battle against people’s prejudices is just too much for her to bear. She needs something healthy, and that’s just something we will never be for her.
“Fuck it. Pick a letter from the alphabet,” Ash orders as he takes his phone out of his back pocket.
“Why?”
“Stop giving me shit and just do it already. I have a plan.”
“Fine. K,” I reply, slumping higher onto his bed and grabbing a pillow to place under my head.
“Good choice,” he mocks as he begins to text onto his phone.
Not ten seconds pass when the chorus of “Young God” by Halsey starts blasting from his phone. He throws me a devious wink and answers the call.
“Hey, Kim, what are you up to?” he cajoles with an unusually heavy timbre to his voice. “Yeah. That’s cool,” he replies to Kim, who is completely oblivious to Ash’s boredom. “So, you going to Trevor’s tonight? Yeah, I thought so. You going solo? Yeah? How about we remedy that? Nope, not me, babe. Ollie wanted me to hit you up. No, he’s not celibate. That’s just a stupid rumor little girls say when they can’t get inside a man’s pants. Yeah, he’s up for it. You? Cool. He’ll meet you there,” he responds huskily before hanging up the phone without even a goodbye.
But I couldn’t care less right now about my twin’s poor etiquette. Instead, I pick up the pillow beneath me and hurl it at the fucker.
“The fuck was that, Ash?!” I holler.
“That, dear brother, was insurance for you not to fuck up tonight.”
“Me?! How could I fuck up?”
He tilts his head to the side like I’m a moron, and if I didn’t love him so much, I’d punch that stupid, pompous expression off his face.
“Ollie, let’s be real. You wanna be Snow’s buddy, then be it. But no way are you going to pull that off if we go to a party and you end up trailing behind her like some lost puppy. You want friendship? Then what better way to tell a girl she’s been friend-zoned, than taking a hot piece of ass with you to the same party?”
Ash is no Einstein, but sometimes the things that come out of his mouth surprise me with how genius they are.
“So Kim will be a buffer of sorts?” I ask, thinking this idea of his might have some merit to it. Ash pulls his cha
ir closer to me, and I sit up watching the gears of his devilish intent run rampant in his mind.
“Think of her as your own chastity belt. Or better yet, as one of those alcoholics-anonymous sponsors that a drunk needs to lean on so he doesn’t fall off the wagon. Think of this party as an alcoholic would a bar. You can look around and have a few laughs, as long as you’re careful not to slip up and order anything from the bartender to get your fix. Any time you feel tempted, just hit up your sponsor to give you a bucket full of ice water.” He wiggles his brows conspiringly, proud of his far-fetched analogy.
I can’t help but laugh at his idiotic, yet ingenious plan.
“Okay, but what about you? Are you calling anyone?”
“Pff. Ollie, please. Look at me. I’m covered,” he gloats, going back to his phone. “Now for the second part of my plan,” he grinds out, not looking half as pleased with himself as he was a minute ago.
“There’s a second part?”
“Oh, my naive, innocent brother. There is always a second part to a plan. We gotta let everyone know our new sister is going to be at Trevor’s tonight and make it clear she’s a persona non grata. If that doesn’t work, then sending out a few choice texts—informing all assholes that might have an inkling of talking to her, will have one hell of a shitty school year—should do the trick.”
“So, you hate her, and you want everyone else to hate her too. Is that it?” I huff out, not exactly pleased with the second half of his plan.
“Whatever gets the job done, Ollie. And anyway, they don’t have to despise her. They just have to know she’s off-limits,” he sneers as he presses on his phone screen forcefully.
I’m about to rip the phone from his hand, so he doesn’t condemn Snow to a year of being our school’s newest pariah, but selfishly, I don’t. Living with Snow is going to be hell. If I have to watch those Pembroke dipshits try to get in her pants, I’ll lose my shit. Although Ash is acting like none of this affects him, I know better. I might lose my mind, but Ash will go ballistic.