by Cassie James
Everything that’s left of what I own is in my backpack in the bathroom closet upstairs. I only got a ten measly minutes to pack what I wanted, and now I’m thinking about all the other things I would have grabbed if I’d had more time. Like my baby pictures. I wonder if Pearl’s the kind of lady that wants to see baby pictures. She must have Sherry’s number, maybe we could see about getting them. Nobody said anything about what would happen to our house now that both of my parents are stuck in jail for the foreseeable future.
I hope jail’s made them get sober. I know some people deal on the inside, but my parents don’t have anything worth trading. There’s no money. I’m the only one that might have been around to send them anything for commissary, but I’m not there and now I know that it was never my job in the first place. They robbed me from the life I should have been living all along. But it’s hard to find it in me to get mad, not now that I’ve seen how the other half lives.
Ace stands up, the floor of the gazebo creaking under his weight. “See ya,” he says, and then he’s gone faster than I would expect from someone his size. I’m actually a little sad to see him go. I needed silence, but the quiet companionship was nice, too.
I sit alone for a little while longer before I feel capable of facing the party again. I slowly make my way down the stone steps and back around the wall to the kitchen door. When I go inside, I’m surprised to find it eerily quiet. There are no caterers left, and I’m not sure how I missed them leaving considering I’m pretty sure they had to use the same door I just came in. No one’s in the ballroom, either. I pause in the middle of the big, empty room.
Now that I can get a good look, I’m awed by the architecture of it. All the giant arches built into the walls make it look larger than life. I feel like I’ve stepped onto the set of Gone With the Wind or something. Except, set in dreary New England instead of the antebellum south.
“Your mother always hated this room.” I flinch, startled by Pearl’s sudden entrance. “She said it was stuffy.” She says this like it’s the ultimate affront. And I hate that I’m identifying with some silly rich person point-of-view, but I find myself actually agreeing. This space is gorgeous, more so than the updated marble bathroom I admired upstairs. It feels like you could turn a circle in here and go back in time. Hell, maybe I should try that.
There’s a big piano in the corner, and Pearl runs her hand over it. “Your father was my brother’s pride and joy, a real Lexington through and through. Your mother though—” I’m a little amused to watch Pearl cringe, which seems wholly unlike what I’ve seen of her so far. “That woman was a miserable wench. She came from new money. She didn’t understand the responsibilities of being in a family like ours.” I’m firmly back to not understanding rich people again. “Your grandfather would roll in his grave if he thought for one second I wouldn’t try to save you from the same fate. The party this evening, it’s the kind of thing that’s expected of us.”
“This is all a little much,” I tell her, ending on a yawn. It’s been a long freaking day, made longer by all the insults I’ve been forced to endure. Expected or not, this was a bullshit way to kick off my new life.
Pearl straightens, the moment of slight softness passing. “Yes, well, I’ll show you to your room. You’ll need plenty of rest for tomorrow.” I’m tired enough that I don’t even bother to ask what tomorrow will bring.
Chapter 5
“Juliet?” A knock on the bedroom door wakes me and I groan as I push myself up on my elbows. “There’s a courier here for you.” What the hell is a courier? And why is it here for me early enough that I can see out the window that the sun has barely risen over the crest of the horizon?
“Coming,” I mumble as I stumble out of bed. The most downy comforter I’ve ever slept under falls out of bed with me, tangling around my feet until I trip in a puddle on the plush rug in the center of the floor. I catch my breath as I land, but lucky for me rich people stuff is actually pretty well cushioned.
I slept in shorts and a t-shirt, so I figure I’m decent enough to join the living. I’m expecting Pearl to be waiting when I open the bedroom door, but she’s not there. I take a leisurely stroll down the hall towards the front staircase. When I get there, I peer over the side to see Pearl waiting next to a man in a polo shirt and khakis. So, in other words, definitely not from around here.
“Juliet Lexington?” he asks as I descend. I nod, and he thrusts his clipboard towards me. I’m completely confused, but there’s a line for me to sign and Pearl is tapping her foot impatiently so I sign and hand it back. The guy reaches into a bag slung over his shoulder and hands me a small box. “Have a nice day.”
I furrow my brows, wondering who on earth would be sending me anything here. Jake doesn’t have my address. “I imagine you’d get more answers opening it than staring at it,” Pearl interrupts my wordless confusion.
I carefully peel the tape away on one side of the package “Did you buy this?” I ask. Pearl shakes her head. I’m dumbfounded, I don’t remember mentioning my broken phone to anyone but Jake. But then I remember there is one other person that knew about my broken phone. It seems like a pretty major overstep though for him to send me a phone without my input.
“I think this is from Smith.” I say the words aloud, testing them. I can’t think of who else it could have been, but he wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of kindness last night. Pearl makes a face that only makes me more curious about what the problem is with the Harringtons. Smith I could do without—thoughtfully inappropriate gift aside—but Sadie seems fine as far as I can tell.
“Well, go get dressed then.” Pearl sees my confusion and clarifies, “So you can go tell him thank you. I’m not pleased about that boy sending you gifts but it wouldn’t be proper not to thank him.”
“Do I have to?” I would rather do literally anything else. Sign me up for a root canal, but please don’t make me go face the bastard responsible for my broken phone and also a few choice bruises I discovered around my waist last night.
Pearl frowns at me, and her words from last night echo in the back of my mind. The one thing she really wants from me is for me to belong, which is one thing I’m not sure I’m capable of. “Of course you have to. Don’t be rude, Juliet. That boy is your neighbor.” I’m honestly a little baffled considering the pinched way she interacted with the Harringtons just yesterday. But I also want to do more than create a parade of disappointment my first twenty-four hours after arriving.
“I’ll go right over.” But I won’t like it.
I’m halfway up the stairs when Pearl calls after me. “I had a few things delivered for you. Try the door across the hall from yours.” Even before I open I get there, I know it’s going to be clothes. It drives me wild that people seem to think it’s cool to buy me things with absolutely zero input from me.
I brace myself in front of the door across from my new bedroom. I know I’m overreacting but everything feels so over-the-top here that it’s hard for me to process it all. Gently, I turn the handle and push the door open, peeking inside like I’m expecting a bomb to go off. Actually, it sort of looks like one did. A clothing bomb. With clothes covering every surface in the room.
I step inside the glorified closet, staring around me slack-jawed as I try to take it all in. This is what I imagine Paris Hilton’s closet looks like. The walls are lined with cabinets, all opened to display mass quantities of clothes. Seriously, I’ve seen department stores with less product than this. I’m certain there has to be some kind of mistake until I start checking tags to find everything is in my size.
The clothes are nice, but it feels like way too much. I’m pretty sure the clothes in here are actually worth more than the house I grew up in. And the car my parents drove when they managed to keep it running. I discover a wall of designer purses in one corner. Okay, this room might actually be worth more than the entire block I grew up on.
I blindly grab for something that looks reasonable. Jeans and a striped black-and-white shi
rt. Those seem basic enough. Until I retreat to my bedroom to change and realize I’ve never touched buttery soft jeans like these in my whole life. I pull the top on, nearly changing my mind when I realize it’s cropped so that a few inches of flesh are exposed between the waistband of the jeans and the hem of the shirt. I’ve worn crop tops before, but never around people who make me feel inherently insecure about myself. But when I weigh my options, I’d rather face that evil than be forced to go back and rummage through that nightmare of a closet.
Pearl’s nowhere to be found again when I venture back downstairs. It’s not until I step outside that I realize I don’t actually know which neighbors are the Harringtons. The houses on either side of us are nearly identical with their circular drives and brick exteriors. They seem about the same size, too: humongous.
A sharp whistle grabs my attention. I tread forward a few steps, my head turning from side to side as I search out where the noise came from. A second sharp whistle draws my eye to the side of the house on my right.
Smith leans lazily against the exterior wall, a joint clearly positioned between the fingers of one hand as he uses the other to wave me over. I would never admit it out loud but he looks good. His blonde hair looks slightly damp like he’s fresh from the shower, a mental image I try hard to fight off even as my cheeks flush.
“Normally I’d give you shit for checking me out, but the feeling’s mutual.” He gives me an appreciate once-over, his eyes lingering on my stretch of bare skin just like I feared. He points at my side. “What’s that from?” I look to the spot he’s pointing and see the edge of one of the bruises left over from yesterday.
“Are you serious?” I look at him in exasperation. Surely he hasn’t forgotten the way he manhandled me just yesterday. His eyebrows stay raised waiting for an answer. He seriously doesn’t know. “You!” I say louder than I meant to.
For a second, guilt flashes over his face, but then it’s gone. “Next time say something,” he grumbles.
I really wish Sadie was here to slug him for me. I need to get this over with before I snap and do it myself. “Okay, just came to say thanks for the phone I didn’t ask for. So, thanks. Bye.” I turn to flee but Smith hooks a finger in my belt loop before I even get a full step in. He drags me closer, and when I look back at him he’s smirking down at me with those stupidly beautiful blue eyes trained on my face.
“Stick around a minute.” I don’t want to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to give me much of a choice. I nod even as my shoulders slouch in resignation. “Smoke?” He holds his hand out, offering me his joint. I’m so quick to shake my head it probably looks like I’m having a small seizure. I’m relieved when Smith doesn’t push it. He takes a quick drag and drops the joint to the ground, squashing the head of it with the toe of his very fancy looking boots.
I’m about to thank him for that when he leans in and releases a whole mouthful of smoke right into my face. My eyes water as I splutter, stepping away to get a mouthful of fresh air. This is what I get for trying to give someone the benefit of the doubt.
“You’re a fucking asshole.” I stomp away, moving fast enough this time that he doesn’t manage to grab hold of me until I’ve reached the sidewalk. This time he grabs me by my shirt. I have no choice but to stop for him because I have a legitimate fear of my shirt ripping if he tugs too hard. The material is soft, but not all that thick. “What?” I snap. Is he seriously not done humiliating me?
“You need to toughen up and quick, or Jax will eat you alive come Monday.” There’s genuine concern in his eyes as he looks at me, but I’m not sure how much I trust that now. It seems to me like Smith Harrington is very much into playing games—and I’m not interested.
“Seems like he’s not the only one.” I look pointedly at him and he has the nerve to look contrite, like a reprimanded little boy. There’s something else that’s still bothering me. “Why didn’t you just bring the phone over yourself?” For a split second I considered the phone might be a truce, but he’s disproving that theory awfully quick.
He winces. “And speak to you under the watchful eye of the Lexington Estate witch? Yeah, no thank you.” His eyes twinkle with amusement, the only sign he’s joking. “We used to call her that as kids. An old lady all alone in her stone mansion at the top of the hill? That was the only obvious explanation.”
I glance back at the gentle incline leading up to the old stone house. “I’d hardly call that a hill.”
“Close enough when you’re a kid.” He shrugs.
“Right. Well—” I gesture towards the house. “I’m gonna go now,” I say slowly. So far, leaving isn’t going so well for me, but I really don’t want to stand out here all day with him. Now that I have a phone I can talk to Jake again. If anyone can make me laugh about all the drama of yesterday, it’s him.
I retreat a step, but Smith makes up for the distance by taking another step forward. “Juliet.” The way he’s looking at me makes my heart sink. The teasing smile is gone. His eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth. I’m not sure what just changed in the last thirty seconds, but the air between us is suddenly hyper-charged with a different kind of tension.
“What are you doing?” I whisper as he takes another step closer. The toes of his shoes are touching mine now, that’s how close we’re standing. My whole body feels like it’s buzzing, so much so that I can’t even feel my heart beating. I may or may not still be breathing.
He leans in. “You’re really beautiful when you’re angry,” he whispers, the breath from his words caressing my lips because our mouths are barely an inch apart.
I lose track of who closes the distance first. All I know is that when our mouths meet I forget why I was even mad. Our tongues dance uncertainly, both of us fighting for control despite the fact that it’s clear neither one of us has any control left. He slides his fingers into my hair, tilting my head back further so he can deepen the kiss. My hands fist the front of his shirt. I’ve never ever been kissed like this.
The sound of clapping startles us both, but instead of jumping back I somehow jump forward, bumping full-body contact against Smith. His hand settles on my back, and for a second we both forget to react to our new audience as we stand chest to chest staring at each other. I have no idea what the hell just happened.
“What a performance!” The loud voice brings us both back to the present. Jax is glaring at us from beside a sleek black car that’s he parked in front of Smith’s house. “If you’re done slumming it, Harrington, we’ve got things to do.” He points his thumb at the passenger side of his car.
“You knew he was coming?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. Smith’s face looks guilty again, and this time it makes my stomach turn. He didn’t kiss me because he wanted to. He kissed me to give him and his asshole friend one more piece of ammunition against me. I’m an idiot. Truly. “Get off me.” I shove him, turning my back on him before he can see the tears that start trailing hopelessly over my cheeks. Of all the things to cry over, this feels particularly pathetic.
By the time I make it to the front steps of Pearl’s house, I’ve hardened myself enough to stop the flow of tears. I wipe my cheeks and pointedly ignore the revving engine in the distance. This time, I don’t look back.
Pearl isn’t in the entryway anymore—not that much of a surprise considering how much longer I was gone than I’m sure either of us planned. The box with my new phone is still sitting on the marble table inside the door, but I don’t touch it. I don’t think I need a new phone that bad after all. I go searching for Pearl, taking the chance to admire the house for the first time as I go. Most of the house is very traditional and beautiful. A few of the rooms had been modified to the point of being almost unrecognizable, and I find myself a little offended by that as I wonder if my real mother played a hand in the updates. Pearl certainly didn’t seem to be a fan of the modern style, so I can’t imagine she’s responsible for the changes.
“I’m in here,” Pearl’s voice calls
out to me as I almost walk right past an open doorway. I backtrack, poking my head into some kind of library-slash-office. I can’t help but run a hand over the old-school wood paneling as I enter. Pearl’s lips curl up slightly into an almost-smile. “You appreciate all the history in this place. I like that about you.”
I’m pretty sure that’s the biggest compliment Pearl has to offer, and my chest blossoms with pride under her positive words. “Thanks.” She doesn’t seem all that easy to impress. I don’t know, I can’t quite get a read on her still.
She’s like what I imagine would happen if a sweet grandma had a baby with a Russian dictator, but with a red-light district sense of fashion thrown in. Because seriously, most of the clothes in my closet are far trendier and show a lot more flesh than I would expect someone her age to pick out. Plus, there was her whole lack of a reaction to my semi-scandalous dress last night. Pearl is a real mystery.
“Come have a seat, I thought you might like to look at some pictures with me.” She gestures to a velvet sofa surrounded by walls of bookshelves and more books than any one person could ever hope to read in a lifetime. It feels like she’s read my mind, because this is exactly what I wanted. And exactly what I need after that scene outside. I curl up eagerly on one end of the sofa. Then I straighten and plant my feet firmly on the floor when I see her side-eye me.
She picks a photo box up off the desk in the center of the room and joins me on the sofa, balancing the box carefully in her lap. My foot starts to bounce up and down as she slowly takes the lid off. “These are you.” She hands me a stack to flip through. “Unfortunately, there are only a few photos that were taken of you here, mostly from the holiday parties. The others your father sent us in the mail. Your grandfather was still alive that year and he just lived for the days these photos came. He was disappointed your parents bought their own place in the city instead of raising you here. He never thought it was safe enough, and well…” She trails off, but inside I finish the thought for her. He never thought it was safe enough and he turned out to be right. I recognize my grandfather immediately in the pictures, despite having never seen him before.