One Bride for Five Mountain Men: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Jess Bentley

  Mrs. Rawlings looks as tight as a drum. Tighter than I’ve ever seen her. She’s a tough woman at the best of times, but not flexible. She always seems like she’s stretched as far as she can go, and right now she looks about ready to break. Mr. Rawlings, however, is a different story. A businessman, a CEO. He probably has a lot of practice hiding his emotions, and he looks calm, despite having lost his child.

  Not that they ever seemed close. Kelsey sometimes said that he was so good at hiding his emotions that she wondered if there was even anything there to hide. Still, she often played the part of obedient daughter, apple of his eye, even if he didn’t react too much.

  I remember her climbing on his lap, after she was a bit too old to be doing such a thing. “Daddy, please, please,” she mewled, affecting a pout. “You said I could have anything I want!” Her face was a mimicry of childhood, perpetual surprise curling her eyebrows, mouth pursed.

  He would always fall for it too, despite his lack of outward affection—handing her some crisp hundred-dollar bills from his roll. “Don’t spend that all in one place, Kelsey. Make it last this time.”

  They both knew that that was ridiculous. She would spend it in one place. Getting us into some bar with our fake IDs. Buying a bottle, her childhood disguise forgotten, the childish pout turned sexy moue which she would fix on a man by the bar, her hands roaming over his body, making him want her.

  I would always stand in the background, sipping my drink. Now I had to wonder if it was all for show. Was she ever friends with me? Or was I just security for her on these nights? Was she the real psychopath, the real expert at hiding her emotions?

  The lawyer is droning on. I force myself to pay attention to him. I lean forward on my chair and rub the tops of my legs. I’ve been spending too much time in the bar myself. It’s been a few days since I got back from the Paris trip. I did manage to get my apartment—the one that I promised myself on the plane back home—but I haven’t stayed there yet. Nor have I gotten my dog. Instead I’m camping in my parents’ basement, emerging only to eat a few bites, and then when it gets dark I head out to the city, shrugging into my old role of standing silently sipping my drink returning, only now I am alone.

  “I’ll be reading a prepared statement from Kelsey now, written at age twenty-one.” The lawyer licks his fingertip and turns the page. I always thought that was a disgusting habit. “‘Mom and Dad, you might be surprised by the contents of this document, but in all honesty, I never felt loved by you, and due to this, I will not be leaving you anything in my will.’”

  Mrs. Rawlings puts her hands up to her face and holds back a sob. Then she turns to her husband, a pleading look in her eye. “How can she say that?” she stage whispers. But Mr. Rawlings stays stony-faced and impassive.

  The lawyer continues. I watch for any sign of emotion on his brow, just visible above the paper. For myself, I feel kind of cold. Not really surprised exactly, not shocked that she sent a “fuck you” to her parents at a vulnerable time, but she was never one to avoid interpersonal drama.

  Surely, she never thought she would die, though.

  Then why did she make a will?

  “Ryan, to you I leave my car.” Her brother Ryan sits up. Since her car was totaled in the accident, and she died, they wouldn’t have replaced it. Essentially Ryan still had nothing—not the old chartreuse Karmann Ghia that he might have received and might have been happy to get. I watch him shift in his chair out of the corner of my eye.

  “And to Jordan Burke, the one person who ever loved me, to you I leave the contents of my bank account such as it is, and my investments. My family failed me, but you were always there for me in times of trouble, and times of joy.” He hands me a letter. “Here’s a letter. Private communication from Kelsey to you.”

  I look around, not sure how to react. Her parents glare at me—a sight that I am already all too familiar with.

  The sun is almost blinding as I walk out of the law office. How could she have left me almost a quarter of a million dollars? How had Kelsey gotten ahold of that kind of money? I clutch the letter from her in my hand, the paper crinkling a little at the corners, and shove my hand in my purse. I need to read what she wrote to me as soon as possible, but I want to wait until I am far enough away from her parents and family. The look on their faces looms in my mind. Accusatory, suspicious, incredulous.

  Someone hits my shoulder on the sidewalk with their own, bustling past me.

  “What the—” I say, but he’s already gone. Manhattan for you. I tighten my grip on the piece of paper. It means as much or more to me than the money. It’s the last message I will ever have from the woman who was, for better or worse, my best friend.

  When I turn the corner, I see a small coffee shop. It’s no fancy place with good-looking baristas. But because of that, it’s a perfect hideaway, where I won’t be bothered. I walk in, the door jingling. A woman walks out, drying a mug with a dishrag.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “I’ll have a coffee and uh...” I glance at a glass-covered container. “A piece of pie.” I might need some fortifications to get through this.

  “Coming right up,” she says, motioning to the small row of tables up against the wall. “Sit wherever you like.”

  “Thanks.” I’m still clutching the paper in my hand, my fingers beginning to ache a little. I can barely contain myself. It’s not excitement exactly, and it’s not anxiety. What could she possibly want to tell me?

  I pull the chair out and sit down, looking around. There are only two other patrons in the place, and they seem caught up in their own business.

  I pull out the envelope, smoothing it against the chipped Formica table. My heart is beating fast. Oh Kelsey, how did we get to this point? Why aren’t we both here together right now, just having a diner breakfast? Why are you only a letter to me, and a strange inheritance?

  The waitress sets down the coffee and pie with a smile. “There you are. Free refills.”

  “Thanks.” I might need them. Involuntarily I shiver. My mother used to say I would get cold whenever I was emotional, and now it’s become a bit of a sign to me that I am not exactly handling things well once I start shivering.

  My mind goes back to King, and his hands on me, slithering up and down my body, stealing sensations out of me, making me feel. I needed it, because otherwise I was grieving too hard. Too much.

  The envelope just sits there. It’s mocking me with its false innocuousness. Why does it scare me so? It’s just paper. I take another sip of my coffee. For all I know, it could be a sweet message that just tells me she loves me and wants the best for me. So why does it remind me of King and his desire? What could Kelsey have done to make this money?

  The waitress looks at me. “Everything okay, honey?” she asks. “You want anything else?”

  “Not right now, thanks,” I say brightly.

  “You want the bill? Up to you. There ain’t nobody else in here, so you can stay as long as you want.”

  “I think I’ll just hang out for a bit, thanks,” I answer.

  “Suit yourself,” she says, and walks away, purposefully wiping a few tables as she goes.

  I wish things were simple. Why didn’t I just learn how to deal with life, and death, in a normal way? Do other people?

  The envelope stares at me.

  I pick it up, run my fingers over the seam. My finger flirts with the folded paper, going into the opening. It gives way a little, and a little more. It becomes a challenge to unstick the fold without ripping the paper. Can I do it? I slowly, slowly pull one side from another. Ahh! A rip.

  You’re just stalling, Jordan. Knock it off. It’s Kelsey’s voice, ringing out loud and clear in my head. Open the fucking envelope.

  I take my knife and slide it into the crease and pull, and the envelope opens cleanly. I tap the paper out and open it, smoothing the paper on the table again.

  Dear Jordan

  If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I hope you never read
this otherwise, because you’d kill me. The first thing I want to say is that I apologize. I don’t know what to tell you, but I hope that in some way giving you all the money I earned—and I’m using that word ‘earned’ loosely—basically all the money I have will ease the pain of the truth.

  I swallow, hard. What the fuck Kelsey, what did you do?

  I can see your face right now, and it’s killing me. You know I love you right? I do. I love you tons. But I have a secret.

  You see, when I met Graham—you remember him, in high school—he gave me this idea, and I couldn’t get it out of my head. He said that if I just filmed myself at home and put it on the internet, that people would pay to follow me and see me just do normal things, and some not normal things, like shower and you know, stuff you do in your bedroom. Anyway I thought he was crazy, and I still do, but that was a really exciting idea for me.

  So anyway, I didn’t want to do it myself, unless I knew it would work. So I decided to use you as my guinea pig. Don’t be mad! Please! At first, I just hid a small camera in your room, and I just streamed it for me. It was exciting to see you when you didn’t know I was there, and I realized the idea had potential.

  Then I put a few more cameras in your room. And I made a website. I told a few people in the industry, and they passed the word along. It was a pay subscription. And I started pulling in money. More than you could ever imagine. So I did more. I put a camera in your bathroom, and a few more in your apartment, and more money started rolling in. I got pretty excited about it, and started investing, saving, and... spending.

  Remember when I bought you those great shoes from Jimmy Choo? And you walked around your bedroom naked in those shoes? They paid for themselves a million times over. You might wonder why I bought you a few more pairs of shoes. Well that’s why.

  Don’t kill me, Jordan! I know, I’m dead already. But don’t be mad. You’re famous! In certain circles, anyway. You’re a big star. And people love you. So I’m giving you all the money you made, and I’m giving you control of the site, so you can redirect the cash to yourself.

  Of course, you can shut the whole thing down if you want to. But once you see how much money you can make, you might not want to. At least that’s what happened to me. I hope you understand. I feel really bad about it, but that’s why I’m giving you all this that’s left, and the info to make more.

  One more thing. Your fans really get off on the idea that you don’t know they’re watching. So unless you want to lose a lot of fans, don’t change anything you do. Okay?

  Have a great life, and do something fun with the money. Didn’t we always talk about going to Paris? You should do that.

  Love, Kelsey

  My heart is racing. I don’t know what to say, or what to do. I’m filled with terror, anger, rage. Oh my God, I’m going to puke. I push myself out of the booth and race to the bathroom, and I’m kneeling in front of the white porcelain, when the few bites of pie and the coffee I drank spill noisily into it.

  My head is swimming. I grab some toilet paper and wipe my mouth, throw it in the bowl and flush. I stand up and stars float around my head. I grab the counter to steady myself. My face is white. I look ghoulish in this false light. My eyes are sunken and dark.

  My chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I try to slow down my breathing. I don’t want to faint here in this bathroom. It’s disgusting for one thing. But at least it’s private, my brain reminds me.

  Something you haven’t had for years. Privacy.

  Holy shit.

  Every moment I’ve been in my room, I’ve been watched. Not by one person, but potentially thousands. Hundreds of thousands. My face burns as I think of the embarrassing things I’ve done. Things we’ve all done when we thought we were alone. Images flash through my mind: I’m masturbating, crying out; I’m trying on clothes, pinching my fat roll, or oh God, in the bathroom, number two, my period. Showering. It’s horrifying. Why would people pay so much money to see that? And a quarter million has to be only the tip of the iceberg. Kelsey had lots of new clothes, lots of money when she needed it, and of course, her Karmann Ghia. That had to cost a lot. How could I have gone so long being a patsy to her schemes, and not even know it? Why would I put my trust so completely in another person and have them take complete and utter advantage of me?

  Again I think of King.

  It’s not him, it’s me. I’m the kind of person who attracts this. Who trusts too much, who believes what people tell them. I’m alone, I’m something to take advantage of. I don’t have anyone, and I never did.

  I feel the urge to throw up again and as I turn to the stall, it’s already shooting out of my mouth. I’m projectile vomiting. Great.

  The poor waitress.

  It goes mostly in the toilet and I stab futilely at what didn’t with a balled up bit of toilet paper. My stomach churns like the bowl’s contents as I think of what on earth I should do now. I guess the feeling that I was separate from other people, that I couldn’t do anything without Kelsey was partly from other people and the way that they treated me. Who knows if any of them knew? Could my teachers have known? My classmates must have.

  I remember someone calling me a slut, and I didn’t know why. But it must have been after I snuck my boyfriend of the time in my room and had sex with him. He mustn’t have known he was being watched, either. Unless he was in on it.

  Now I don’t know if I can trust anyone. Why should I?

  Is nobody trustworthy?

  I’m the only one I can trust, maybe. But if I could really trust myself, I wouldn’t have ended up with R in that hotel room. I wouldn’t have let myself have a best friend betray me for my whole life.

  Clearly I can’t even count on my own self when push comes to shove.

  I wipe my face again. I have to go back out there, find out what the website is, see what I can learn about this. See if I can shut it down. Come to terms with the fact my whole life has changed. Nowhere is safe.

  I wash my face in the diner bathroom sink, and look myself in the eyes once more. There’s something cold there that I haven’t seen before. Maybe something inside me is finally dead. Some, stupid, trusting and naive part of me is finally dead. And gone. I hope forever.

  I shut the tap and grab some paper towels, running their rough texture over my skin. It doesn’t feel much better, but at least it’s private. Or at least I think so. I look around suspiciously, for cameras in the ceiling, in the soap dispenser, anywhere. Maybe nothing is private. Maybe privacy is an old, outdated concept.

  Pulling the door open with a squeak, I walk slowly back to my table.

  “You okay, hon?” the waitress asks. “Everything still good?” She’s suspicious. I wonder if she’s ever watched me. Does she know who I am?

  “Fine, thanks,” I answer. “I’ll take that bill now,” I say.

  “Sure thing,” she says, and the old register rings its totals and I hand her some money.

  “Keep the change,” I say, and quickly stuff my things in my purse.

  “Thanks,” she says. My stomach just rolls over and I leave, walking blindly out the door and into someone.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he growls, and I tell him to “fuck off,” almost like a reflex. When he meets my eyes, I shiver. Does he know who I am too? Suddenly everyone’s an enemy. I pull my cardigan around myself tighter, scanning the street. The muscles in my face harden. There’s a street vendor, selling sunglasses across the way. The light’s almost ready to change, but I run out in the road, and make it across. I buy the biggest pair I can find and disappear into the subway. I grab a newspaper as well, to hide my face so that I can think things over anonymously. In New York City, one of the best places to hide is in plain sight.

  I have no idea how to deal with this, who to ask, what to do. But I know only one person with the kind of money to hit the problem at its source.

  Chapter 14

  Raleigh

  The security screen flickers to life along with the door chim
e. Jordan's face is in the center, blurry and slightly distorted from the fisheye lens, but that can’t stop me from understanding what I am seeing.

  She knows. She finally knows. And she’s come to me.

  I palm the access buzzer and open the front door, waiting with my heart pounding in my chest. Finally the elevator doors slide open down the hall and I can hear her footsteps, coming closer in a rush.

  She practically falls into my arms as she comes through the doorway, shuddering and shaking like a leaf.

  "All right,” I murmur as I hold her close to me, folding my arms around her and trying to hold her so tight she can’t tremble anymore. But she flattens her palms against my chest and pushes herself away from me.

  “It's all a lie,” she spits out. Her upper lip curls back in an animal snarl and her hand tremble up to her hair. She looks like she is on the verge of a mental break.

  “What's a lie?” I ask as calmly as I can. “Just talk to me, Jordan. Everything will be all right.”

  She takes a breath that choke in the back of her throat, then tries again.

  “Let me get you a drink,” I suggest, pivoting toward my kitchen. In a few moments I press a glass of brandy into her hands and have maneuvered her to the leather sofa. She curls up in the corner with the snifter between her fingers, tucking her heels underneath her. She seems so small there, ensconced in the overstuffed cushions.

  “Start at the beginning,” I suggest.

  To her credit, she tells me everything. How Kelsey manipulated her, lied to her. How they had been such close friends until, apparently, the moment when Kelsey decided to make Jordan her secret business partner.

  But through it all, I get the feeling that she is more upset about the state of their relationship than about the enormous betrayals that have been visited upon her. She seems both relieved and horrified to find that it wasn't her imagination: Kelsey really had withdrawn her affection from Jordan.

  “It's like I was right all along,” she whispers, her voice haunted and awestruck. “All these years… I always felt watched. I never felt safe. And I always thought that Kelsey was hiding something from me. I'd ask her, and ask her, and she always denied it. But it's all true, don't you see?”