Vincent was covering his eyes tiredly with one hand as he drawled, "For once, I agree with Tristan. Please leave before I resort to drastic measures."
Will's voiced was laced with too much hope. "Might the drastic measures have anything to do with some spanking, perchance?"
"Hmmm . . . let me think . . ." Vincent dropped his hand and glowered. "NO."
"Will, go please," Sammy pleaded.
The other boy straightened up and snapped his fingers mournfully. "Drat, and I got my hopes up too."
"I don't even want to know what runs through your head, Will." Tristan shook his head before heading to the door. "I take it you two want some privacy to, ah, reconcile everything?"
Vincent was already nodding when Sammy spoke. "No. You stay, Tristan. I'm thinking about reconciliations of sorts – but it doesn't involve me."
Tristan's gaze immediately turned wary but he didn't submit to his instincts to run. Will grumbled and mumbled as he made his way to the door. "Meanies. Prosecution against beautiful, sexy bisexuals . . . how come he gets to stay and I don't? Not fair . . . meanies. Hurt my feelings . . . emotional traumatic experience . . . gonna grow up crazy . . ."
"You know, you sure take a long time to make your exit," Vincent commented lazily.
Will's bottom lip trembled again.
Sammy smiled sympathetically, "Don't worry. I'll talk to you later, Will. For now, just head back to your room and make sure to lock it up tight. If someone knocks, make sure you know who he is . . ." She shot a quick glance over at Vincent. ". . . and that he doesn't have a hatchet raised over his head."
Will gave a quavering smile as if he was about to go off to his own execution before sniffing loudly. Lifting his head up high, he opened the door, took a step out, flapped his hand back at Sammy in a little wave, and then slammed the door theatrically.
Tristan blinked. "He sure has a flair for dramatics, doesn't he?"
"He's a sweetie," Sammy murmured absentmindedly as she tried to figure out what she had to say. "Alright, Vincent, sit." He sat down promptly on his bed. "Tristan, go sit next to Vincent." They both gave her horrified looks. "Go on!"
"What? On the bed? With him?"
"Is that a problem? It's not like you two are going to be doing anything." She paused. "Are you?"
"Hell, no!" Both voices chorused in.
"Then I see no problem. Now sit!" Tristan sat. Funny, I think I'm beginning to like being in charge. "Alrighty, now that we're all comfortable, I'd like to bring your attention to something that's been bugging me for quite a while."
"The fact that you've been disguised as a boy and I've only known a moment ago?" Vincent asked.
"Uhhh . . . no, but yes, we'll get to that later."
"The fact that we still have to know just exactly why you've been girl undercover?" Tristan commented.
"Uhhh . . . no, but alright, we'll get to that later too."
"The fact that –"
"Wait! Wait! No, the real reason I've called you here today –"
"You didn't exactly call us here," Tristan interrupted. "I sort of dropped by to ask you to go to breakfast . . . which reminds me, I'm pretty hungry right now."
"Yeah, me too. And you didn't call me here either. I sort of found out while you were drunk and I waited around in the room while you locked yourself in the bathroom," Vincent added.
"Really? She was drunk?" Tristan exclaimed. "Funny, I thought she didn't drink. She likes ice cream."
Vincent snorted, "Yeah, well, she must have changed her mind last night –"
"Okay, wait! Wait! See, this is precisely what I wanted to talk to you about," Sammy broke in.
They stared blankly up at her. "What?"
"You! You guys! You two being so chummy with each other!"
They shifted apart from each other. "No, we're not."
"Yes! Yes, you are. You two are so obviously meant for each other and when you aren't trying to rip each other's heads off, you guys can actually talk civilly and joke and have fun. You two are absolutely, one hundred percent wonderful together!" She nodded furiously as she finished her passionate spiel.
The boys had turned green by then. Tristan croaked, "Uh, Sammy, hate to burst your bubble here but … I'm not gay."
Vincent snapped, "We're not gay. Sammy, please don't tell me you've picked up a new hobby and it's matchmaking because frankly, you're not too good at it. Might I suggest stamp collecting?" He fixated a hard, intent stare on her. "And might I remind you that just moments before, I wasn't acting particularly gay with you?" Then he hurried to add, "Well, not that I make it a habit of acting gay during my other times – ah hell, you know what I mean."
She blushed. Dummies. "I meant you guys are great as friends. Jeez."
They blinked. "Ohhh. No."
"Oh, for crying – why not?"
"We went over this before."
"No, we didn't."
"Well, sometimes the past is just too hard to forget and forgive, Sammy." They nodded slowly at her as if she was a little child.
Her temper flared. "Well, considering this past involves a certain girl named Victoria Steele, I would have thought friendship would be more important . . . unless this Victoria is actuallythat important??" Her eyes narrowed at Tristan and he shook his head meekly. Then she pinned Vincent with an even harder glare and he tucked his head submissively. "Then exactly what is the problem here, hmmm?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Face it. You can't think yourselves out of this one." She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at the pair. "So what do we say when we're wrong?"
"We're sorry," they mumbled.
"Not to me! To each other."
"Yeah, yeah, sorry," they muttered out of the corner of their mouths.
"That was the worst apology ever."
They twisted their upper halves of their bodies to face each other before Vincent grudgingly grumbled, "Yeah, sorry, man. You can have Victoria now if you want."
"My apologies as well, Grenford. But for your, uh, kind offer . . ." Tristan shuddered exaggeratedly, "Thanks, but no thanks."
There was a moment of awkward silence as they tried to think of something to say.
Perhaps they should smile? But would that seem a bit too . . . sentimental?
Perhaps some small talk? But about what? The weather?
So they both decided to sort of smirk at each other for a moment or so before Vincent finally reached over to slam his fist into Tristan's arm. Sammy bristled but before she could make a move, Tristan's lips twisted in a smile and he responded similarly by cuffing the other boy. "So you got a new car. About time! That old one looked like junk compared to mine."
Vincent scoffed, "Hardly. Your car might be all slick and glossy but mine's about power."
"Oh yeah?"
"Uh huh."
"Well, what's the engine?"
"3.0 liter 245 horsepower."
"Pretty cool. But mine is …"
Sammy sort of went into a daze from that point on. Staring back and forth between the two guys, her eyebrows alternated from arching to furrowing as she realized just how easilyguys can forget a grudge when they're having an animated conversation about cars and engines and something about carburetors. But I guess . . . this is a good thing . . .
She was all ready to be patient and wait for the tête-à-tête to come to some sort of an interval when she quickly realized to her alarm that it doesn't appear that there was an end to the many car designs in the world. She finally decided to cut in when the pair moved into comparisons of Japanese and American designs.
"Alright, uh, hate to interrupt your male bonding but can we go get some breakfast before you guys bring out a car show?"
The two boys stared at her. "What?" She ducked her head sheepishly. "Alright, I know I started it but well, I am kinda starving here." Her stomach growled in testimony and she turned pink.
"Fine, let's head off then. We'll continue this later," Tristan said breezily as he went to t
he door. "But let me give you a warning now, Sammy. You had better stuff your face and pack in some energy -"
"- because, you know, Sammy . . . you're not going to get off that easily later when it's our turn to sit you down for some interrogation," Vincent finished as he followed the other boy to the door. They smiled smugly in unison.
Sammy suddenly didn't know if it was such a good idea for them to get so friendly.
* * *
Frank Westlane paced the glossy, black marble floor of his house while his trembling hands twitched and tugged each other. He was ready to tear out his hair if his strands weren't so rigid and infallible, courtesy of the gallon of mousse he dumped on them each morning. "Why is this happening to me?" He moaned. "First Father, then my brother and his wife, now this." He spun around in search of something to throw but everything was too expensive to break. Impulsively, he grabbed a vase and lifted it over his head. Too late did he realize that the vase had flowers – and the flowers were immersed in water.
The man spluttered as he was immediately drenched. Frank's face contorted in a nasty grimace as he pulled his arm back to toss the vase against the wall. Then he recalled that he had acquired it for two thousand dollars. Although frustrated, the man meekly returned the offending piece back to its stand.
"Why doesn't anything ever go my way?"
Even though Terry was still in the hospital, unable to speak or move much – despite that goal winning kick he presented Frank – the boy was still too alive for his uncle's satisfaction. Now that he was awake and showed some sort of response, the decision to pull Terry's respirator plug was no longer applicable – and without this threat to hang over Samantha's head, there was basically no hold he had over her. "Damn it." I was being too confident. Had I not loosened the guards around her, she couldn't have run away. BUT I DIDN'T KNOW SHE WOULD TAKE SUCH A RISK! I thought as long as I had Terry, she would meekly obey. Hadn't she thought that I would immediately end all funds for his medical expenses if she angered me? Hadn't she?!
His eyes narrowed. No, she was too smart for her own good. She knew that my reputation was too important to me. She knew my little sham of being a grieving and supporting uncle was helping me gain sympathy and business from those pretentious, rich little nobodies. She knew I wouldn't dare risk it all by killing Terry. No. THE LITTLE BITCH!
He staggered, breath coming in short gasps, and he sat down heavily on the floor, staring at the glittering vase. It twinkled jauntily, almost mocking him. I never break something that I had to pay for. I must always keep up my status in society despite everything – and Samantha knows that. She's played quite an impressive game. Pretended to be scared by my feeble threats, bided her time, ran away, allowed me to keep looking for her while my money are wasted to keep her brother alive. His eyes widened with rage. She was using me! I should have lived up to my words. I should have killed Terry when I had the chance. That'd show her for underestimating me.
His head dropped down to his knees. "But everything's too late now. She's off in her little all boys school while I'm stuck here, playing the role of a kind, worried uncle. Too late now . . ."
His fist slammed down onto the cold floor next to him. No. It's not over yet. She may have outplayed me in the beginning games but I can still catch up. His eyes glittered darkly. I know where she is now and if worse comes to worse, I'll just take her back by force. No more playing around now that using Terry is out. It's time to make the final move. His lips curled upwards. Then I'll show her what happens when she's not a good little girl. Then I'll show her the meaning of pain.
"Sir?"
His head jerked up to pin the nervous maid with a lethal glare. "What?"
"Are – are you alright? I – do you need me to get a towel for you?"
He suddenly realized that he looked absolutely ridiculous, crouched down on the floor while water dripped off of him. In a flash, he was back on his feet and staring down his nose at the woman. "I'm fine," he snapped. "I want to clean up so have someone prepare a nice, hot bath for me. Mop up the floor, get some new flowers for the vase, and –"
He stared peculiarly at the vase before a furtive smile flitted across his lips. With a sudden swoop of his arm, he swept the crystal piece crashing to the floor. His eyes hooded as he gazed at the display of broken gleaming shards, he murmured to the startled maid, "On second thought, I never really liked that thing much anyway. Just sweep it up and dump it all away."
Chapter Twenty Two
Under the inky black shade of a tall, gnarled willow tree, two boys lounged against the grass. The blonde one dressed warmly in a black coat brushed a blade of grass against his lips almost absentmindedly while the other boy with raven colored hair reclined on his back a few feet away from him. With his gray eyes closed tightly and his hands folded behind his head, he looked absolutely at peace with himself – if one didn't notice the slight ticking in his jaw and the tension in his body as if he was ready to leap up at any moment and make a run for it.
"So," Tristan murmured.
"So," Vincent retorted.
"You really deserve an Oscar for that performance back in your room."
A wry, cynical smile curved Vincent's lips. "As do you."
Tristan stared coolly off into the distance. "Funny. I've always thought you were a bit dense, but I'm glad you had enough brains to respond so deftly."
Vincent snorted. "Likewise."
"At least we're in agreement that Sammy doesn't need any more things to worry about."
Grunt. "It'll give her premature wrinkles with all the things she'd have to deal with." Then in a much softer, tender tone, he added, "She deserves to always have a little insipid grin plastered to her face – like Will." Pause. "Okay, maybe not exactly like him."
"At least she's finally confided in us." A steely edge tinted his voice. "Now we know who we have to kill."
Vincent chuckled but it didn't sound quite amused. "If he ever comes near her again, I'll rip his arms off and beat him to death with them."
Another dark laugh. "Ditto."
There was a long period of tensed silence. The wind billowed through the trees, hushing their whispers as they sent leaves twirling down toward the ground.
Tristan's slender fingers snapped a crimson brown leaf out of the air and twirled it around. "Grenford, we're not really a-okay, are we?"
Vincent remained motionless as a leaf made its landing on his forehead. "Really enjoyed that conversation about cars but frankly, I think we've reached our limit. If Sammy wasn't so adamant about us getting all chummy again, I wouldn't have even bothered."
The blonde boy smirked. "Once again, ditto."
"Good thing she was fooled though." Amusement trickled into his words. "I guess compared with her own acting skills, she wouldn't really know the difference between truth and lies. Now all we have to do is at least pretend to be civil with each other whenever she's there."
"Guess I can handle that," Tristan responded with a sardonic smile.
There was yet another interlude and the wind seemed to pick up, trying to fill in the silence.
"Harland, I've been meaning to ask you something." Vincent's eyes opened to slant over at the other boy. "Do you . . . well, I've seen the way you act around her . . . do you have feelings for . . ."
Tristan twirled the brittle stem between his fingers. "Yes," he responded simply.
Grey eyes narrowed into dusty glints. "Is this going to be a repeat of the Victoria incident then?"
Tristan hummed softly. "Nah. I don't know why, but it appears you're the preference here."
A wry grin spread across Vincent's face as he visibly relaxed. "Frankly, I don't know why either. Guess I'm just luckier." They both chuckled.
"Still . . . I'm guessing you wouldn't really appreciate me hanging around you two as much as Sammy wants to believe," Tristan commented. He smirked. "Hell, I don't particularly want to be the third wheel either."
Vincent grinned before haltingly murmuring, "Harland . . . don't get
me wrong. It's not that I particularly detest you. Hell, we were kids then. Mere childhood resentments . . . but you know, sometimes, you just can't go back that easily. Grudges don't fade away overnight."
Tristan smiled lazily. "I know, Grenford." He snapped the crumbling leaf in half and let the wind sweep the pieces off into the blue sky. "Believe me, I know." His cerulean blue eyes followed the dusty bits as they soared off upon the wind. "And just as a fair warning, if you ever hurt Sammy, well . . . you know what they say. All's fair in love and war."
Their eyes met in a silent clash, fiery and challenging. Vincent's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I know, Harland. I know."
* * *
A wide grinned spread across Sammy's face when she saw the two boys and her pace quickened toward them. Holding her textbooks tightly to her chest while balancing her backpack on one shoulder, she came to a breathless stop before them. "Hey! Didn't have class last period, huh?"
They smiled broadly and shook their heads.
"So catching up on lost days?"
They nodded in unison.
"Okay . . . then shall we go to lunch now?"
They nodded again before standing up. Brushing errant leaves off his jacket, Vincent asked Tristan cheerfully, "Say, didn't you say you had to pick up something from your room before?"
The other boy bobbed his head just as enthusiastically, "So I'm going to go off now. See you two later." He strolled away, making rapid progress with his long legs, before Sammy could even blink.
"Wait! Tristan! Do you want us to wait for you?" Sammy called after him. Vincent threw an arm around her shoulders and she staggered underneath the sudden weight, surprised.
The blonde boy merely threw them a small smile over his shoulder and gave an abrupt shake of his head before ambling away.
She furrowed her eyebrows while Vincent leaned down to nuzzle the side of her neck. Is something wrong with Tristan? She reached up to stroke the boy's cheek distractedly. He was smiling, though. But why am I getting this weird feeling – She suddenly realized what she was doing and immediately jerked away from Vincent. "Would you stop that?"
False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor ) Page 22