Breaking the Wrong

by Calia Read

  Placing my hand on his arm, I give him a reassuring squeeze. “Did you miss me?” I ask.

  Aniston tucks his hands into his pockets and pretends to mull over the question. I punch him in the shoulder. “I guess,” he teases. “But you’re home for good now.”

  That isn’t a question. More like a demand. All I do is smile grimly and say nothing. My one goal is to mentally survive this trip. A fight with Aniston minutes after I arrive is the last thing I want.

  Maybe later I’ll tell him that I flew home on purpose. My car and all my belongings are back in Kentucky, and whether Aniston approves or not, I will be flying out of here within a week.

  “Emilia?” Aniston repeats himself. I look up at him and frown. He rolls his eyes and starts to walk toward the baggage claim. Eden is right next to us. She looks between the both of us, watching carefully.

  “You’re done with your list, right?” he asks.

  Aniston doesn’t beat around the bush. I grind my teeth and watch the people around me. “And if I’m not?” I ask neutrally.

  He cuts me a look. “Then you’re playing games when you could have easily finished all of this a long time ago.”

  We stop in front of the luggage carousel. I lean close to him and hiss out, “You’re not there, Aniston. You don’t know what’s going on.”

  Tilting his head in my direction, he looks at me. “And what is going on?”

  People around us grab their luggage and move on, but we stand in the same place, cautiously looking at each other. I finally answer with defeat. “Nothing. There is nothing going on.”

  My Louis Vuitton suitcase comes into sight and I quickly grab it. Aniston still looks at me skeptically. “It’s done,” I say with finality.

  And it was. The list had been finished in my mind for a while now, but to Aniston it would be in effect until Macsen was brought down.

  Just then, my phone rings. The name Macsen flashes across the screen. I told him I would call him when I landed and that was close to an hour ago. I want to answer, but I press ignore and pretend it’s nothing.

  When I glance over at Aniston, he’s tapping his foot impatiently. “Who was that?”

  “Just Tosha,” I lie. “I’ll call her back later.”

  Aniston snorts. I know he’s dying to say more, but he keeps his mouth shut.

  “Come on,” Eden says loudly.

  The two of us turn at the sound of her voice. She smiles reassuringly and grabs my hand. “You’re finally home and I have so much tell you. I don’t want to waste my whole day in an airport. Let’s go home!”

  I’m silent as we walk toward the car. Eden talks the whole time, updating me on everything that’s happened. Aniston walks behind us, letting us have a few minutes alone.

  When we get to Aniston’s car, I volunteer to get in the back seat. Leaving Eden in the front seat to chatter loudly to Aniston. Soon, they start fighting over the radio and while they bicker, I slide my phone out of my purse and quickly write a text to Macsen.

  Just got here. Already want to leave. Miss you.

  Seconds later, I get a response: That’s something Darl would say … have I made you a believer?

  Shut up. Darl would have hijacked the plane like a weirdo.

  A minute later I get a response.

  I miss you, too.

  I smile widely at my phone and when I look up, Aniston is watching me through the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes.

  ~

  “Just think,” I say sweetly over the phone. “One more week and I’ll be back.”

  Macsen’s groan comes through the speaker and I smile at my reflection in the mirror. “Not soon enough.”

  I cradle my phone between my shoulder and ear, and turn to the side to make sure my gown is wrinkle-free. “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask Macsen.

  Twenty-four hours away from him, and I’ve had my phone glued to my hip. It never leaves my sight. Talking to him calms me. Reminds me that there’s someone out there who gets me, who wants me. It makes being back in New York almost bearable.

  Tonight is my parents’ charity event. Every year, for the last three years, they host this event. Every year I’m expected to attend, and every year I painfully put a smile on my face, and talk and laugh and rub shoulders with the people I will never trust.

  “I don’t know yet.” I hear Macsen moving around and imagine him cleaning up his room or picking out a book to read.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he should have come with me, but then I realize that’s for normal couples, couples that don’t have a shadow lurking in their relationship.

  I’ll probably never be able to have him over for family dinners or holidays.

  Someone knocks on my door. Eden peeks her head in and smiles at me. I turn quickly and say into the phone, “I have to go. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Okay. But quickly, before you go, what are you wearing?” Macsen asks suggestively.

  I smile and feel my cheeks getting red. “Not answering.”

  “Killing me,” he mutters.

  “Good-bye, Ma-” I look over my shoulder and see Eden looking at me strangely. “Good-bye,” I say dully and hang up.

  “Who was that?” Eden asks curiously.

  I frown at my screen. “Just … my roommate.”

  “You two are close now?”

  Looking at her, I frown.

  Eden crosses her arms and looks at me with concern. “Aniston told me that you guys weren’t getting along.”

  I walk over to my vanity and pick out a lipstick. “Aniston has a really big mouth,” I say as I look at the red shade. Slowly, I run it over my lips and look at Eden through my mirror. “Severine and I are okay now.”

  “Well,” she says cheerfully, “that’s good.”

  Lying to Eden is painful and never gets easier. I reason in my head that it needs to be done because I have to protect her.

  Frowning, I point at her sweatpants and makeup-free face. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “I’m not going,” she says with a small shrug.

  “Why not?” I bend down and grab my black heels, slide them on my feet, and stand tall. Eden looks around my room awkwardly. I step closer to her. “Are you okay?” I ask with concern.

  She gives me a jerky nod. “Yeah.” She looks down at the ground and when she makes eye contact with me, I see that her eyes are glassy. “This time of year is just really hard.”

  Quickly, I rush forward, unsure of what I should do. I reach out and hold her hand. “You want to talk about it all?”

  “Not really,” she whispers.

  “It’s getting better though, right?” I offer optimistically. Eden looks at me doubtfully and I keep talking. “They say time heals all wounds.”

  “When did you become so … calm?” Her lips quirk up in a small grin.

  “I have always been calm.” And to prove my point, I say my words calmly before I add, “I’m ready to let it go. All of it.”

  Eden says nothing and I walk over to my bed and pick up my clutch. When I turn around, she’s still looking at me thoughtfully.

  “Did your list work that well?” she asks somberly.

  Her question almost makes my hands shake. “You told me never to talk about it,” I remind her.

  “Well, I’m asking now.” She looks me dead in the eye and my heart races. “Did getting revenge on everyone help?”

  I rub my lips together, trying to choose my words carefully. “I can’t say that I regret going after everyone,” I admit slowly. “Some of the people on my list deserved it.”

  “Did Macsen deserve it?” Eden asks bluntly.

  It’s a trick question. There’s no right answer. Unconsciously, I toy with the material of my dress and narrow my eyes. My heart starts to pound frantically in my chest. The guilt is worse than I expected. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Why aren’t you answering?” She shoots back.

  “Did Aniston tell you something?
” I never give her time to answer. “Don’t listen to him,” I say quickly. “You know how he can be full of himself.”

  “Emilia!” Eden shouts my name out impatiently and rolls her eyes. “God, I’m not a child. Just tell me the truth.” She swallows loudly and crosses her arms. “Did Macsen deserve revenge?”

  It feels like hours pass by, but it has only been seconds. There’s no easy way to answer her and it hurts me. Honesty is painful. It’s a healing balm for the one speaking and gives a burning sting for the person on the receiving end. I know I will only have one second of relief for telling the truth, and after that, I’ll feel the harsh sting of my words. I love my sister too much to let her bear the pain alone.

  My throat constricts painfully and I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “He didn’t deserve revenge.”

  Eden looks at me blankly, saying nothing. I expect her to drop to the ground, to sob, or scream at me. I wait for the word traitor to escape from her mouth. She does none of those things. All she does is shrug her shoulders in a helpless gesture and look away. “Well, there you have it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I croak out. Eden only looks at me with confusion. “I didn’t plan this!”

  “Yes, you did,” she says firmly. “You planned everything, Emilia. But what you didn’t plan on was getting burned yourself.”

  Her words pierce my heart because it’s true. I achieved nothing in my revenge, except handing over my heart to the one person I was supposed to hate. “I wanted justice for everything that’s happened.” I say weakly, trying to defend my Burn List. “That’s all!”

  “And did you get it?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  We stand there silently. Both of us stare down at the carpet. I’m ashamed and I’m sure she’s disgusted. Finally, she sighs loudly and I look up. “I’m going downstairs,” Eden mumbles woodenly. “Aniston is waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  EMILIA

  “I’m still pissed at you,” I hiss into Aniston’s ear.

  “Can you let it go?” he says from the side of his mouth.

  He escorts me into The Plaza with a slow gait that allows us to smile and nod at the people we’ve grown up with.

  Aniston is not dumb. He knows I’m angry with him, but he also knows how much I hate these events. My grip on his arm tightens at the sight of all the socialites around me, and he pats my hand.

  “I know you’ve been talking to Eden,” I accuse and let my words hang in the air.

  Keeping his eyes forward, Aniston responds innocently, “I talk to Eden all the time. Why wouldn’t I?”

  The two of us walk into the opulent ballroom, and for a quick second, I stare at the enormous room. The circular tables are covered with ivory tablecloths and the only splash of color comes from the bouquet of pink roses. With the chandeliers dimly lit, the entire effect is romantic and very calming, making it appear that the entire room was set up easily. In reality, it probably took months of my mother talking to her decorator about every tiny detail.

  I should be proud of all the hard work my parents put into this event. After all, this entire function is because of E. Maybe I would be happier about it all if I wasn’t surrounded with people that really don’t care. Only a handful of these faces probably know what this charity is about. The rest see it as a get-together to laugh and talk.

  For me, it’s my own personal hell. And standing next to Aniston isn’t helping my feelings of anxiety.

  He looks at me and rolls his eyes before guiding us away from everyone.

  “I know you told her about Macsen!” I tell him angrily.

  “She already knew about your plan of going after Macsen,” he points out. “I just gave her updates on everything,” Aniston says his words with a devious grin.

  Pulling my arm away from him, I glare and shove my elbow into his side. He grunts but makes no other reaction. “Plan is over,” I say firmly. “You just made everything worse.”

  Aniston’s face whips in my direction and he stares at me in shock. “How did I make it worse? You’re finished with this list,” he says the last sentence, mimicking my voice. I stare at him darkly and he shrugs and leans back against the wall. “If you did nothing wrong there’s no reason things should be bad. Right?”

  I give him a pointed look and dodge his question. “Don’t pull her into this. Please, Aniston.”

  “It’s kind of too late for that. And what’s the big deal again? Let’s forget about it and enjoy the night.” He shakes his head. “I take that back. You need to get wasted to ever enjoy this kind of thing.”

  We walk deeper into the ballroom and Aniston flags down a waiter, who hands us champagne. We’re not carded; the waiter doesn’t blink an eye. I look down at the swirling liquid and drink it all in seconds flat. Aniston gives me a weird look and I shrug. I need a dull buzz to be around these people.

  Our parents stand in the middle of the floor talking to the people. We catch our mother’s eye and she instantly waves us over.

  She’s dressed elegantly in a green gown. It complements her dark red hair that is swept away from her neck. None of us really look like her except E. There is nothing bold about my mother’s looks. Her features are small, making her look delicate. But Joy Wentworth is stronger than she appears. It takes guts to smile and pretend that your soul hasn’t been gutted.

  She looks at my floor-length, black gown and gives me an approving nod. Unconsciously, I run a hand over my hair. It took hours to make sure my finger wave hairstyle was in place. I looked in the mirror thousands of times before I left and even with all my efforts, I’m still paranoid that I don’t look the part.

  “Emiliana,” my mother says gently. “You look stunning.”

  Murmurs of agreement are spoken around us. I smile at everyone and look into my mother’s incredibly sad eyes. “Thank you.”

  “It’s so great to you have you home.” She leans in to Charlotte Langley, her closest friend. “I’m hoping she’ll transfer back to NYU this next semester.”

  Not a chance. My feelings are resolute about staying in Kentucky. I don’t think anything could change my mind.

  Charlotte Langley tilts her head to the side and looks at me thoughtfully. She reminds me of porcelain. She never ages, never gets a wrinkle. Her beauty remains flawless and pristine. Even at the age of forty, this woman has the ability to look at anyone twenty years younger and make them feel ugly. I’m not exempt from that feeling. Aniston stands next to me and when my back straightens, he looks down at me with a frown.

  “It would be wonderful to see your stunning face back at NYU, Emiliana,” Charlotte says smoothly.

  “Yes,” says a male voice. “It would be good to have you there.”

  I look at Julian, Charlotte’s son. He’s clean-cut and I suppose, good looking, but he does nothing for me. Julian is Aniston’s good friend. Ever since they met in high school and ended up going to NYU, they’ve been close. Our dads had a law firm together. I don’t think much of him. He’s a typical friend of Aniston’s—rich, cocky, and he drinks way too much.

  I give him a brief smile and turn toward Charlotte. “Thank you, but I like the school I’m at now. I think I’ll finish my junior year there.”

  “Well, I hope you consider coming back for your senior year. It would be so great to see you, Julian, and Ethaniel all together.”

  I look over at my brother and he stiffens at his first name being used. “She’ll think it over this summer,” my brother confidently tells Charlotte.

  “No, I don’t think I will, Ethaniel,” I say slowly.

  Aniston stiffens and I keep smiling, ignoring all the shocked looks I’m getting from my family. From everyone but my dad.

  I don’t think my dad believes in the word bad. He believes there is good in everyone and maybe that’s why I gravitate more toward him than my mom. I’m like my mom. I can be a pessimist. My dad is always optimistic. That’s where E gets her personality. I look at him, and
for the first time tonight, I smile widely.

  My hair color comes from him, but his strands are becoming peppered with gray. He has wrinkles around his brown eyes and lips, but I think they’re from constantly laughing and smiling.

  Genuine people are rare. And finding them in the circle of people I’ve been raised around is next to impossible. When he helps someone, he does it because he wants to.

  Gregory Wentworth is genuinely rare.

  “Emilia will make the right decision,” my dad comments with a smile.

  “Charlotte has a point, dear.” My mother places her hand on my dad’s arm. “It would be great to have them together for their last year of college.”

  The feeling of being bombarded fills my gut. I scramble for an answer, but my dad beats me to it. “She’s an adult. It’s her choice.”

  The issue is settled and the conversation turns to Charlotte as she talks about her family. Instantly, I drift off into my own little world, thinking of when I can leave the room and call Macsen.

  Charlotte mutters something into my mom’s ear and the two of them look to the entrance. I look with them. I see an incredibly tall woman walking toward us with grace.

  She uses her height to her advantage, looking down on the people around her. But it’s fascinating to me how people react to this lady. Even my own mother smiles graciously at her, partially out of excitement and the age-old female trait, jealousy.

  Everyone parts for her to join this little circle we’ve created, just so they can do the same thing as me: stare.

  She smiles slowly, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. “How is everyone tonight?” the amazon asks.

  She has a sultry voice, but what intrigues me most is her strong accent. I can’t pinpoint it.

  My mother reaches out and guides the blonde woman to her right. Charlotte stands to the left and narrows her eyes. No one else sees the look, but I do.