False Facades (Best Sellers: Best Romance/Humor )

by Martha Greenwood

  Mrs. Grenford was silent for a while and Frank watched with triumph as the woman's lips slowly thinned, the edges turning white.

  He decided to stoke up the fire just in case. "I just worry that I might be too late and that young Vincent might have already fallen. I hope Samuel will only play and not torment the poor boy - not like the last one . . ."

  Mrs. Grenford stood up abruptly. In a voice that's too calm and too quiet, she spoke. "I'm going to pay my son a visit. Should I find anything wrong, I expect you to claim your nephew immediately or I'll be forced to bring down serious measures."

  Frank stood up, nodding effusively. "Of course! But, shouldn't you pull him out immediately and hand him over to him? I'll be sure to –"

  "Quiet. I have always done things my way and this time, it will be no difference. Should I need your assistance, I will call you. If not, I expect to keep your mouth shut about this and proceed as normal."

  He kept his eyes low. "Yes, I understand. But remember –" He looked up and his dark eyes glittered. "- as soon as you find something wrong, I will be more than happy to take care of the problem for you. Whether or not he's my nephew, it no longer matters. I'm only concerned about you and young Vincent's best interests."

  * * *

  "Just tell me the truth. Am I fat?"

  "Uhhh . . ." A chorus of fumbling males babbled in response.

  Sammy's face crumpled.

  "You're not! You're not! You're perfect!" Will exclaimed.

  "Liar. Stop trying to flatter me."

  "No, it's true!" Caine echoed. "You're as lovely as a lily. Rosy as a rose! Delectable like a – a d-lettered flower – ah, dandelion!"

  "Or a daffodil, you mean?" Tristan suggested with a wry smile.

  "Yes, I suppose that could work as well." Caine nodded.

  "Sammy, you're great the way you are. You could hardly be called fat," Vincent reassured her.

  "Yes! If anything, you can only be termed as pleasantly plump!" Jack added.

  The room turned quiet.

  TWACK! There goes Vincent's hand against the back of Jack's head.

  Sammy whispered, devastated. "Wh - what's the difference between pleasantly plump and FAT?" She covered her face.

  "Pl – pleasantly plump means you're pleasant –"

  "- and plump," Sammy muttered.

  "It was meant as a compliment! Ah, alright, uh, you're as gorgeous as a – a - crap. Uh, intoxicating as a – an indigo colored flower. Oh, oh, you're as pretty as a partridge in a pear tree! There! That should make up for the last few –"

  "Alright, that's it! Everybody kindly get out of our room before we run through the whole alphabet!"

  "But we want to stay . . ." Will protested.

  Sammy smiled wanly. "It's alright, guys. You don't have to stay to cheer up me. I know I'm just acting like a complete airhead these days. I'm fine. I shouldn't be such a girl anymore . . ." Her bottom lip gave a suspicious quiver.

  "Sammy, come on. Who in their right mind would ever call you fat?" Vincent demanded.

  "Yeah, especially with a big, bad boyfriend standing next to her – you won't end up in a right body either," Jack snickered to Will.

  The "big, bad boyfriend" ignored them. "Sammy, if appearances were all that mattered, then I wouldn't have liked you when you were in boy mode."

  "Ugh, mushiness alert." One of the boys in the background coughed.

  "Well, this does bring up an interesting point. I don't know why he was so attracted to Sammy either. Maybe he does have a hidden tendency for, um, how should I put it - being warm for a guy's form, you know?" Caine piped up.

  The others nodded musingly.

  "Or maybe Sammy is just unique!" Vincent snapped. "May – maybe I just innately knew she was a girl or I picked up some, I don't know, female pheromones from her, or maybe whenever we're together, we just have this crackling chemistry that . . . you know . . . crackles."

  "Uh huh."

  "Oh, shut up."

  Silence was particularly deafening then, especially with the pointed looks the boys were passing back and forth between them.

  "Oh, for – why haven't you guys kindly left yet, huh? Must I boot you all out every single time?"

  They blinked at him.

  "Are you deaf? I want to talk to Sammy alone. Private. In our room made for two people only. Two."

  Tristan yawned.

  "Guys, can you please give us a moment or so to talk in private? We can catch up later at dinner." Sammy intervened.

  "Sure thing, Sammy. All you had to do was ask." Will spun cheerfully on his heels and the others followed.

  "I hate them all." Vincent plopped down next to Sammy on the bed as the door slammed.

  He appraised her out of the corners of his eyes. "So anyway, what brought this whole thing on?"

  Sammy turned to look at him, her green eyes startled. "What?"

  "Why did you all of a sudden decide to do the whole diet thing?"

  Her cheeks flushed and she didn't meet his eyes. "Oh, well, nothing much. I just wanted to – it's nothing."

  "Tell me."

  "I – okay, well, it's – I've been thinking about going a diet these couple of months, but what really made me get into it recently is that . . ." She lowered her head and mumbled something.

  "What?"

  Mumble. Mumble. Mumble.

  "I can't hear you."

  Louder mumble.

  "Oh for –" He twisted her around and clapped his hands around her cheeks before trying to lift her head up. She resisted. "Damn, you have a strong neck. Why don't you want to look at me? Come on. Sammy, stop fighting me or you're really going to end up with a broken neck."

  "You know, Will could probably interpret that as a case for domestic violence."

  "He can interpret anything into what he wants to hear. Sammy, come on."

  She sighed and lifted her face to meet his eyes.

  "Tell me."

  Her eyes swerved over to scrutinize the walls and she slowly blushed. "Well, it's just that last week, Coach Graham congratulated me."

  "On what?"

  Her cheeks approached an alarming flame red. "He said it was a good thing to see me get better at training. He said it's about damn time that I went through puberty and stop looking like a puny, girly stick. He – he said thank goodness I was finally getting some meat on my bones and that I was looking - looking bulkier lately!" She let out a moan and leaned forward to rest her forehead on Vincent's shoulder.

  Then she heard a suspicious snicker.

  She pulled back immediately. "You're laughing at me!"

  Vincent rubbed his mouth, but his eyes twinkled. "No, I'm not."

  "You're snickering!"

  "I was just, er, laughing with you, not at you."

  "Oh, don't give me that. Whoever thought up that line should go – go burn or something because whenever someone says that, the recipient is most definitely NOT LAUGHING!"

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But you know, bulky doesn't naturally mean that you're fat. It could mean . . . muscular."

  She stared at him sullenly. "Oh great. So I'm starting to look like a bodybuilder. I'm a manly woman!"

  He chuckled again and she turned her back on him.

  "Aw, Sammy."

  "I'm not talking to you. I'm too busy lifting weights and popping pills. I have to train, you know, so I can keep on being muscular and bulky! Sammy, the Wonder Woman! Sammy, the He She! Sammy, the Manly Woman – eep!"

  A pair of arms locked around her waist before she was dragged backward onto the bed, falling on her back. Smoothly, Vincent twisted himself on top of her and pinned her there, giving her an insolent grin. "Alright, Miss Sammy the Manly Woman, show me how strong you are then."

  She closed her eyes. "I'm not playing, Vince."

  He leaned down to press his forehead against hers. "And I'm not, either. Sammy, stop being so sensitive –"

  Her eyes flew open to glare up at him.

  "Whoops, wrong thing to say, huh? Um
, let me clarify. What I meant to say is that even if the whole world sees you as a bulky boy, you would always be my bulky girlfriend."

  She blinked up at him calmly. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

  "Okay, what I really meant to say is that you are perfect and I don't know what you've been talking about when you say you're getting fat. I don't notice these things unless you're getting too big for me to pick up or too skinny for me to hug –"

  "Are you trying to show that you're not an observant boyfriend?"

  "Okay, okay. What I really, really meant to say is that you're beautiful and I like you a lot. Just the way you are. You can tell I'm not big on liking someone for the appearances since I seemed to have fallen for you when you were a boy, so I expect that even if you turn into a huge, slobbering, pill-popping bodybuilder type of a pig, I would still –"

  She laughed and arched her neck to press her lips against his. "Alright! I get the idea, you pig lover."

  He gave her a lopsided grin and corrected her. "Only you. I'm only a Sammy lover."

  She grimaced.

  "What?"

  "That was so unbelievably mushy and cheesy." She giggled even as a blush swept across her cheeks yet again.

  He shrugged. "Eh, what can I tell you? You created a monster."

  She made a face and then furrowed her eyebrows. "Vince?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

  "What?"

  "Pinning me down."

  "And what if I am?" His grin turned sly.

  "I can sic Will on you, since you're not supposed to force yourself on me."

  "Well, that depends on whether or not it's forcing." He kissed her. "Is it?"

  "Is it what?" She murmured dazedly.

  "Force."

  "Hmm . . . I'm supposed to be really bulky and strong now so I guess I'll have to defend myself."

  He smiled. "I guess you should." He leaned down again – and then jerked when he felt something dig into his sides. "What are you doing?"

  She laughed. "Defending myself." Tickling him without mercy, she dug her fingers into his sides.

  Vincent howled. "Stop that! Stop! Who told you I'm ticklish?"

  "Danielle."

  "I'm gonna kill – AH HAHAHAHA! STOP! I'M GONNA – I CAN'T BREATHE!" He started convulsing, but struggled to stay on top of her. "YOU! I wasn't going to do this since you're a girl and all, but you leave me no choice!" His fingers crept up her sides, running up and down, and she twisted and squealed.

  "Stop it, Vince!"

  "You stop it!"

  "NO!"

  "THEN – wheeze – I'M NOT GONNA – buwahaha – STOP EITHER!"

  "YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO PICK ON – gah -GIRLS!"

  "THIS IS SELF-DEFENSE!"

  "STOP!"

  "NO! YOU STOP!"

  "NO!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she spluttered involuntarily.

  "SAY UNCLE!"

  Sammy stopped suddenly, face going pale.

  "Sammy? What's the matter? What – oh shit. I'm so stupid. That must have brought up a lot of – oh, I'm so sorry." Vincent sat back remorsefully. "I'm so – ACK!"

  Sammy lunged herself at him and knocked him onto his back. She smiled brightly down at him. "Sucker. I win!"

  Vincent made a face, but he smiled in resignation. "That was such a cheap trick. Here I was, so concerned about you and you just betrayed my feelings like that. My ego's all hurt." He grinned. "You should give me a kiss to make it all better."

  "I guess as a victorious, bulky gal, I should be magnanimous and take pity on you."

  "Yes, you should."

  "And I guess, as your girlfriend, I should sometimes give in to your wishes."

  "Yes, you should."

  "Then perhaps I should go and eat that cupcake now . . ." She made a move to climb off of him.

  He tightened his grip on her waist. "Uh huh. I'll like to see you try."

  She laughed. "You're so contradictory."

  "And you're being a tease. What happened to my blushing, shy Sammy?"

  A soft smile touched her lips. "Still here, even though you can be such a bad influence." She closed her eyes and slowly dipped her head down . . .

  BAM!

  "WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING?"

  Sammy and Vincent twisted apart and looked up in astonishment.

  "M - mother? W – what are you doing here?" Vincent choked.

  Mrs. Grenford stood in the open doorway in a neat, white business suit, with her hands at her hips. Her eyes were freezing as she scowled at Sammy and she gritted her teeth. The door was still creaking from the impact of colliding against the wall and it swayed rhythmically. "Hello, Samuel Westlane. How have you been treating my son?"

  Vincent grimaced, closing his eyes. I have got to start making sure the door is locked.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Katherine Grenford's heels clicked furiously through the hallways. Her stomach felt queasy, much like that time her idiot of a husband had insisted on making her try the "homemade sushi" he had so lovingly prepared for her. She rolled her eyes. Thank goodness neither of our children had picked up his "eccentric" genes – at least, I hope not.

  She shook her head and lifted her head up higher, pursing her lips and fixating her eyes on some invisible point off in the far distance. It was her "I'm pondering a huge life altering problem, so nobody better bother me because I have no time for you pitiful beings" look.

  Unfortunately, Headmaster Finnigan seemed to be a pitiful being that didn't want to be ignored. He finally caught up with her and twisted his body in front of her, whipping out his arms to block any further movement on her part. "Mrs. Gren – gasp – ford," he wheezed, his cheeks red from exertion. "How – huff – nice of you – cough – to pay us a visit."

  She met his eyes in a leveling glare. "I'm not here to pay you a visit. I'm here to see my son."

  "Yes, well, why don't we head over to my office so that we can properly sit down, have a cup of tea, and call for Vincent –"

  Katherine sidestepped him without a backward glance. "No need. I can find him myself."

  "But, Mrs. Grenford, it's not exactly proper procedure for you to roam through Creston's hallways –"

  She whirled around and snapped, "Are you saying I'm forbidden to visit my son's own room?"

  "N – no, but he might not be in and –"

  She thrust out her hand and tapped her foot impatiently.

  "W – what?"

  "Master key."

  "H – huh?"

  "I need the master key so that I can get into my son's room."

  "But – why don't we just call Vincent to the office and –"

  "Give me the key or Creston isn't getting a single penny from me from now on."

  Headmaster Finnigan blinked. "I can't, Mrs. Grenford. This is against the rules. You must understand that we can't simply give the key to anybody –"

  "Ah, but I'm not just anybody, am I?" Her pale gray eyes stabbed piercingly into the man and he could have sworn the woman towered over him – even though he knew he should have been taller than her by at least half a foot.

  "Perhaps I should accompany you to Vincent's room then. I'll open it for you –"

  "Give. Me. The. Key."

  Mutedly, he dug out the huge, jingling chain and handed it over. "The one labeled with Vincent's room number is the –"

  She spun around and resumed her path.

  * * *

  Terry Westlane had never felt more vulnerable, useless, terrified in his life. His eyelids were also drooping most disturbingly, despite his heroic attempts to keep focus. When he had first awakened, he hadn't been exactly thrilled that the first sight was of his dear uncle. Then the all-consuming rage had swept over him and lent him an adrenaline rush that had his hands aching to reach up and go all octopus style on Frank's twiggy neck. Nonetheless, the kick was still a satisfying substitute.

  But as always, energy must wane and as it did, Te
rry's body sagged in absolute exhaustion. As he lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, he slowly sifted through his thoughts, his memories. Brain still groggy, he felt like he wading in waist deep cement that was hardening far too quickly.

  He remembered his own body jolting forward and his neck snapping forward and back, wincing as he imagined his brain taking a nasty tumble inside his skull as it tried to keep up with the momentum. No wonder it had shut down on him.

  Terry continued his steady blinking. But what had happened before? Where was I going? Come to think of it, why the hell was I so anxious to kick Frank's butt? Sure, he'd always given me the creeps, but I never felt this urge to just bash his brains in.

  A memory of long red hair, concerned green eyes, and a small smile drifted in and out. Sammy? A tingly feeling tap danced in his gut and he gritted his teeth. Something's wrong. Something's wrong. What is it? Where – where is she? Where are Mom and Dad? Why can't I – what the hell exactly happened?

  He struggled to remain calm. His pulse was racing – there goes that adrenaline rush again. Okay, this is what I know. I remember leaving the house with Mom and Dad to go . . . somewhere. Okay, good enough. Sammy stayed home because she wasn't feeling too well that day. Okay, okay. Doing good so far. So we're driving and driving and then – A loud crash, Dad's frantic cries, Mom's screams, crushing pressure, pain, darkness. His hands started to shake. Alright, car crash. So where are Mom and Dad? Dread and apprehension flipped his gut over. Where's Sammy?

  Terry swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. I woke up, feeling overwhelmingly angry. Desperately angry. I see Frank's face with this creepy smirk. Fury. Pain. Rage. Alright, so something must have happened that I didn't like. Frank was a big jerk somehow and I want to throttle him. That's settled. Now all I have to figure out is what exactly had happened?

  He thought of his sister again. Sammy would have been here. She should have been here. There's something definitely wrong here. No shit, Sherlock. Emotions swept over him again, but this time, it inspired cold shivers tingling down the back of his neck. There was still an intense sensation of rage, but this time, an almost desperate, underlying tone of terror came in with the tide – and he had the uncanny feeling that it had everything to do with his sister.